manojtvofficial

[ethernitty]

im gonnna commit a murder my god

[heymacy]

I love all those sentence prompts you just posted.😂 But I feel like the most appropriate one is probably:

“So why did I have to punch that guy?”

Thank you Arrow!! 💗

Ridiculous Sentence Prompts: "So why did I have to punch that guy?"

--

There were only a few things left in the world that made Mickey really, really angry.

The first was their property manager, Melanie, and her stupid-ass dog with its stupid, stupid diaper.

The second was the fact that a single can of beer cost four times more on the West Side than it did back in their old neighborhood. What special brand of bullshit were these crunchy granola hippies trying to churn out at the Wine, Etc. store, anyway?

The third thing, and probably the only one that would stick around after he adjusted to his new life above the poverty line, was any time that anyone disrespected, hurt, or even mildly annoyed his husband.

Every time they dealt with an irritating client or an overzealous new employee, Mickey would clench his teeth and fight the urge to knock them on their ass. One hit was all it would take, he knew that for certain. He'd taken down Ian's exes, family members, hell, even Ian himself on a few occasions, with a single punch to the throat.

Now, he was an adult, a business owner, a husband and partner that needed to play by society's rules if they were ever going to crawl out of the gutter completely.

The very idea made Mickey's teeth ache.

He bit his bottom lip while they sat side-by-side in their booth at the Alibi, waiting for some schmuck to meet them for an interview.

"We need to start interviewing the guys we hire, Mickey," Ian had said one night while cooking dinner. He chopped the carrots and celery on the wooden cutting board while Mickey sat slumped on the couch, nursing a beer and watching a TikTok Mandy had sent him earlier that day.

He looked up at his husband as he watched an orange and white cat chow down on kibble after his automatic feeder malfunctioned.

Mandy 🌻 (6:09pm): plz tell ian this is him in cat form

Mickey snorted at his phone, barely registering Ian's comment.

"Mick?" Ian tried again, and Mickey looked up from his phone.

"Hmm?" he replied through a mouthful of beer.

"I said we need to start interviewing the guys we hire," Ian said again, using the knife to scrape the carrots and celery off of the cutting board and into the giant pot he had boiling on the stove. Mickey wasn't sure what he was making, but it smelled amazing.

"What for? Those resumé things ain't good enough for you?" Mickey's mouth quirked up on the side as he tried to hide a smirk.

Ian rolled his eyes and used the comically oversized wooden spoon to stir his soup.

"No, Mick. So we don't have another Connor situation."

Mickey snorted. Connor was a dipshit they'd hired back in April to help with pickups, a dipshit that had cost the company almost $2,500 after he "forgot" to make the deposit with Ian and Mickey at the end of his scheduled route.

"I mean, his name's Connor. Kinda feel like you should've known what you were walkin' in to with that one."

"I'm serious," Ian said. "Interviews. We gotta do 'em." He stirred the soup vigorously, the spoon clanking against the side of the pot with every twist.

Mickey sighed deeply and rolled his eyes.

"Fine, we'll interview some new guys. But we're not doing it at a Starbucks or some shit. I'm not ready to go full West Side." He scrunched up his nose and made a face, to which Ian just chuckled.

"Glad you're on board," he teased, getting back to work on his soup, which had started to bubble.

--

Kev and Vee had moved to Louisville a month before, transferring ownership of the bar to Carl and Officer Tipping, who promised to keep everything just as it was. It gave Mickey a sense of calm knowing that even as the rest of his old neighborhood was slipping away, his adolescent stomping grounds now littered with coffee shops and yoga studios, some things remained the same.

He ran his fingers along the familiar crack in the table, a sharp sensation prodding the pads of his fingertips and helping him forget, even temporarily, what they were there to do.

Ian smacked the back of Mickey's hand gently.

"Stop it," he said, referring to the way Mickey was two seconds away from giving himself a splinter.

Mickey huffed and rolled his eyes.

"What's this guy's name again?"

Ian looked at his phone where he had an email pulled up. He glanced over the message then scrolled to the bottom.

"Derek," he said plainly.

"Derek," Mickey mocked, and Ian whacked him in the chest with the back of his hand.

"Knock it off," he said, and Mickey rolled his eyes again.

"Whatever. He's late anyway, let's just bail and go get some pizza."

"He's not late, Mickey. It's only..." he looked at his watch. "3:58. He's got three minutes until he's late."

Just then, as if summoned by Ian's voice, a tall, lanky, blond man walked through the front door of the bar and made his way towards the back corner booth where Ian and Mickey sat.

"You guys Ian and Mackie?"

Ian snorted as he tried to hide his laughter. Mickey rolled his eyes a third time, this time so hard that it was honestly impressive he didn't snap his optic nerves in the process.

"Mickey," Ian corrected politely. He nudged his husband with his elbow and the two of them climbed out of the booth to meet with their interviewee.

Ian shook his hand firmly.

"I'm Ian, and this is my husband Mickey." He smiled and turned to Mickey, who was standing with his hands in his pockets and giving Derek, all six feet two inches of him, an intense once-over. Elbowing his husband for a second time, Mickey relented, pulling his hands from his pockets and reaching out to shake Derek's hand. His giant palm was cold and clammy but also somehow uncomfortably hot. Mickey grimaced.

"Hey," he said gruffly. "Mickey."

"Derek," the other man said as they shook hands. "So you two are married?"

Ian nodded.

"Little over a year now, yeah."

Derek nodded.

"Cool, cool, cool," he said, nodding and looking around. "So this place is...interesting."

The judgmental and condescending way Derek said "interesting" wasn't new or unusual to either of them, but tall lanky blond bitches with North Side energy and a terrible fade saying "interesting" like they wanted to say "disgusting" made Mickey's blood boil.

He clenched his fist without even realizing what he was doing. Ian noticed immediately when Mickey's shoulders tensed up, stiffening in a way that reminded Ian of a startled cat, and he turned to climb back in the booth. He squeezed Mickey's arm once, twice, and dragged him down into the booth with him.

"It was a family friend's place," Ian said, nonchalant, eager to move the conversation away from the Alibi and towards their business. "So, Derek, on your resume, I see that you worked--"

Derek cut Ian off mid-sentence.

"Have they ever thought about turning this place into some sort of art installation or something? Just with the open floor plan and the exposed pipes, it's very pseudo-industrial-chic."

If they hadn't already assumed before by his distinct vocal fry and the smell of coconut hair gel, Derek's use of the term "pseudo-industrial-chic" solidified what the other two already knew: there were three gay motherfuckers in this booth.

Ian stuttered for a second, surprised by Derek's interjection and resistance to changing the subject.

"Don't think so, no." He grabbed his phone and opened up the Gmail app again. "So, anyway, your resume says you worked at--"

"You know what would be really cool in here? A movement class. I went to one in LA once that was hosted by Gwyneth Paltrow and it was liberating."

Mickey snorted and Ian elbowed him in the ribs.

"I bet it was," Ian said, unamused at Derek's refusal to talk about his work history. "So you worked at--"

"Have you guys ever been to LA? Oh my god, it's the best. So chic. I mean, I'm from Evanston originally, so basically anything is chic in comparison. I mean, not here, obviously, but you know. Other places."

Ian sighed.

"Totally," he said. "So, your work history, it says--"

"Hey, do you guys know what the best dispensary is around here? Preferably something upscale, with those iPads you can order on. I need a few new carts--"

"Dude," Mickey cut in. "Can you shut the fuck up for five seconds?"

Derek looked surprised, and Mickey could hear Ian's sharp, apprehensive inhale.

"Excuse me?" Derek said, holding his hand to his chest.

"He's been trying to ask you the same question since we sat down, and you won't shut the fuck up about chic cities and weed, so if you could just answer our questions, that would be great." He looked over at Ian, whose eyes were wide and hesitant, unsure about how things were about to unfold.

"You're very rude," Derek said to Mickey, giving him a scowl.

Mickey snorted.

"Yeah, tell me something I don't know."

Derek's eyes narrowed and his forehead wrinkled up, agitated.

"You should be nicer to the people you want to hire." He crossed his arms over his chest like a petulant child.

Mickey laughed out loud.

"Dude, who says we wanna hire you? I'm pretty sure if you worked for us, I'd blow my brains out in the first two minutes."

Ian tried and failed miserably to conceal his laughter, covering his mouth with his hand and looking down at the table. Mickey leaned over towards his husband.

"I kinda wanna punch this guy in the mouth," he mumbled, and Ian side-eyed him from where he sat beside him.

"Please don't," he replied in a whisper before composing himself and turning back to Derek.

"Look, Derek, you seem like a nice guy, but I don't think this is gonna work out." He held out his hand to signal that the interview was over, but Derek didn't return his handshake. Instead, he pouted like a toddler that had just been scolded for bad behavior.

"Your husband's a dick," Derek said to Ian, and Mickey could literally feel Ian's body stiffen next to him.

"Hey," Mickey said, putting his hand on Ian's knee. "Forget it. Let's go get pizza."

"No," Ian said sternly, turning back to Derek. "Listen, dude, you're also kind of a dick, so why don't we just call this a wash and you can go track down your carts or whatever."

Mickey bit his lip, fighting a smile. He secretly loved when Ian got defensive, as long as it wasn't directed towards him.

"You're both dicks!" Derek said, slamming his hands down on the table. He slid out of the booth and stood up, and Mickey and Ian did the same. The three men stood there, Derek facing the husbands with a pissed-off expression.

"You should go," Ian said, pointing at the door.

Derek snorted.

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised. When the ad said South Side, I knew there was a good chance the owners were a couple of trashy, ghetto assholes. But him?" He pointed at Mickey. "He's a world-class dick."

Before Derek could say anything else, he was cut off by a fist to the jaw and dropped to the floor, unconscious.

The ambient chatter and loud clacking of billiard balls came to a halt as the regulars that sat scattered around the Alibi turned in unison to see what had happened. Once they identified the source of the loud "thud" as one of the Gallagher-Milkovich boys knocking out some blond giant, they immediately turned back to their various activities.

Just another day on the South Side.

Ian cupped his right fist in his left hand and turned to Mickey, bewildered.

"I just punched that guy, Mick," he said, genuinely surprised. "I knocked him out. Shit."

Mickey shrugged.

"He kinda deserved it."

Ian looked at Mickey with a really? sort of expression and shook his head back and forth.

"Still," he said, turning to look at Derek, sprawled out unconscious on the floor like a rag doll.

"C'mon man, it's fine. He'll come to, and when he does, we'll be long gone." He grabbed Ian's upper arm and gave him a tug, but Ian just sat back down in the booth.

"Why did I do that?" he asked, but Mickey knew he was talking only to himself. He sat down beside his husband, stepping over Derek's long ass leg on his way back to the booth.

"I mean, you kinda had to."

Ian looked over at Mickey, eyebrows raised. He stared at his husband for a moment, puzzling, before breaking into a smile.

"What?" Mickey asked, confused as to how Ian could go from having some sort of moral crisis over knocking out a hipster to grinning gleefully at his husband in a half second. Ian reached over and put his hand on Mickey's thigh. Immediately, the mood shifted. Pool cues squeaked as they were chalked up and glasses clinked on the countertops. The distinct chhh-chhh sound of a spray bottle punctured Mickey's ear drums as he looked down at his husband's hand on his thigh.

"So," Ian said, voice quieter than before. "Why did I have to punch that guy?"

Mickey smirked. He could be honest, and say the obvious reason, which was that Derek was a total douche canoe and deserved to be socked in the mouth by someone his own size. He could lie, and say it was because Derek seemed dangerous and Ian was just following his instincts, but that would have been the lie of the fucking century.

Instead, he said neither, and opted for something he knew would make Ian smile.

"Because you love me."

Ian's face broke into a full grin and he giggled, leaning over to kiss his husband once, quickly, well-aware of Mickey's hesitancy towards PDA when they were out and about on the South Side.

When he pulled back, he was smirking, and Mickey knew his cheeks were flushed. He hadn't been expecting the kiss, however brief it was, and his stomach felt a little fluttery.

"I mean, I'm not the kind of guy that just stands by and lets people talk shit about the man he loves." He grinned and Mickey rolled his eyes, remembering Ian telling him about the last words he'd said to Glittery Twink Byron the night they'd gotten engaged.

"You're a fuckin' sap, man."

"True," Ian said, standing up from the booth and stepping over Derek's leg as Mickey had done minutes before. He reached out his hand and pulled his husband from the booth. The two of them stood there momentarily, staring at Derek's lump of a body on the sticky, peanut-shell covered floor.

"Should we like, do something?" Mickey asked, kicking Derek's foot with his own boot. The man didn't move a muscle. Mickey wondered for a second if he might be dead, but the shallow rise and fall of the douche canoe's chest let him know that unfortunately, for all of humankind, the asshole was still alive.

Ian shook his head.

"Nah, he can sleep it off."

He reached down and took Mickey's hand in his own.

"C'mon," he said as he dragged them both towards the door. "Let's go get pizza."

[slashersins-abandoned]

the ones who would smoke

michael myers . big surprise here . big boy likes to get high . however , he prefers editables . if you want to smoke , that’s fine , he won’t take a hit . pass him a brownie . also , be prepared , this man gets lazy and hungry and very touchy . he’s a fucking cuddle monster when he’s high . kind of like a needy kitten who wants pets in the middle of the night and will lay across your face , only to jump off and eat food as loud as they can before coming back for more loving . michael is exactly like that . also , if you want high sex , you’re gonna have to take charge and ride him , he’s just gonna enjoy his high and pleasure while you do the work .

vincent sinclair . it’s one of his favorite ways of relaxing . he’s done it since he was a teen . bo discovered booze , he discovered weed . he’s no less intense when he’s high , still staring at you , still touching you , only his movements are slowed and less delicate . he wants you close , in his lap , against his side . he’ll play metal music in the back ground , letting smoke swirl around the both of you . expect a lot of smoky kisses and long gazes from your man . he’s high as fuck and you’re the only thing important to him right now . a living breathing work of art .

carrie white . carrie ? our sweet girl ? doing the weed ? it’s more likely than you think ! while she might take some convincing , her deep need to rebel against her mother brought on by the courage you give her has this good girl shyly taking a hit . she will cough . give her water and praise and tell her it’s all okay . it happens , you can take it slow . and please do . let the high slowly seep into her skin and lungs and let her feel light and relaxed . she’ll want to cuddle , and you should stroke her hair and just talk . you’ll smoke and talk for hours , never getting so high that you’re both far gone , but getting high enough that everything is slow and hazy . you might even get some shy kisses from your sweet girl , and she’ll giggle and hide in your chest , feeling free for once .

the ones who would rather drink

bo sinclair . everyone knew he’d be on this list . the man drinks so much he should have a beer gut and how he doesn’t is beyond everyone . whether it’s a beer after a days work , a couple after a rough day , or an entire pack after a bitch ass week , this man usually has at least one a day . he likes the buzz he feels . he likes how in some ways he can forget about shit . but mostly he just wants to get fucked up and sleep . while he can be a bastard when sober , he can be one when drunk too , running his mouth . but he also tends to get a little more emotionally open when drunk , so you might end up hearing him say things he will pretend not to remember in the morning .

lester sinclair . another beer drinker in the sinclair home , only he’s a lot more casual about it . he’s like a social drinker , only having two or three . he’s a goofy drunk , stumbling around and laughing and chattering on . vincent and bo find it hard to be upset after a rough week if they have lester over to get drunk . it’s also funny to them that their baby brother is such a light weight . he gets really embarrassed when he does get drunk enough that he’s making a little bit of a fool of himself , but he’s so cute that vincent and bo can only tease him .

thomas hewitt . while this big country boy wouldn’t mind a ice cold beer , he doesn’t drink all that much . maybe once a month or so , sometimes once every two . and he rarely if ever gets drunk . he’s seen charlie / hoyt drunk too many times , and had too many run ins with drunk as fuck bastards when the slaughterhouse was still open . he doesn’t want to be like that , so he keeps himself to no more than two beers at one time . he doesn’t mind the taste of beer , and it really is more of a social “you earned this” type of deal for him .

the ones who would do both

jesse cromeans . this man drinks only the most expensive , oldest scotch , whisky , bourbon , and wine . he drinks casually , he drinks socially . but he does not drink to get drunk . no . he tries his best not to actually . which is surprising to most , as he was considered a bit of a play boy party boy back in his earlier rich boy days . but while he doesn’t get wasted on booze , he does enjoy getting high as fuck . he’ll only do it in the comfort of his own home . relaxing and smoking and watching old videos of his . might jerk off a little , might snuggle up to you . might pull you into his lap and laugh with you as you both watch stupid videos on the internet . one time you laughed at a picture of a blurry paper bag for two hours . jesse won’t leave the house until his high has completely worn off . he doesn’t wanna be caught off his guard .

billy loomis . he’s a bad boy . what can i say ? he’ll drink , he’ll smoke . as long as it’s with you and stu and he’s having fun ? who cares . billy is a messy drunk , getting naked and wanting to bite and kiss over you and stu , even if it doesn’t lead to anything else . it’s just too hot for clothes and he wants his babes close . he’s a munchie having , giggle gremlin when he’s high , however . while its more snickers than giggles he will almost laugh at anything , wanting to be the one cuddled and coddled while he eats chips and shakes with laughter .

stu macher . loud and handsy drunk , however if he drinks too much he gets a bit violent towards others . which is why you and billy know when to cut him off . when he’s just normal drunk , he’s wanting to touch and talk and talk and talk . he won’t know he’s being too loud , just spilling out words and nonsense for fun as he lays across whoever is closer . as a high boy , he’s almost completely quiet . he’ll just lay and stare and watch with his mouth open in awe . sometimes he’ll start giggling but then he’s back to dead eye staring . he’s also gonna be cuddling things that he thinks are you and billy but aren’t . like a pillow . or his cat .

the ones who would never do either

brahms heelshire . this man will only drink sparkling grape juice . he doesn’t have the pallet for booze and he doesn’t like the smell of weed . he has no issue with you drinking , as long as it’s fancy whine , chardonnay , etc . you have to be classy , like mummy and daddy were , if you drink . he might take a sip , but he’ll prefer his juice , thank you .

jason voorhees . he’s highly against all things booze and drug related . he literally kills people who show up on his land , he makes double work of them if they do either of those things . he’s a good boy , momma raised him right . if you do either , he’s conflicted and a bit upset . you’re his special person , you’re good , why are you doing bad things ? if you explain to him that it’s just a small glass with a meal during like , thanksgiving or christmas , he might relent . and if you tell him the weed is for pain and it’s legitimate , he will be less inclined to be upset with you . but still , he doesn’t like it .

bubba sawyer . bubba doesn’t like the way booze and beer make people act . he doesn’t wanna act like that . he got drunk once , and he hated it . it’s the same with weed . he has a strong sense of smell and his little nose hates the way weed smells . which is why he babbles at chop top to call him stinky . if you drink , he might be a bit skittish , thinking you’ll try and hurt him like so many others have . it’ll take a little bit of patience to calm him down , and tell him you’d never . he would like it if you didn’t drink , but if it’s only a little and you aren’t being mean he’s okay . as for the weed , he might pout because now you smell like chop top , but the way you giggle and act is cute . so he doesn’t hate it as much .

jacob goodnight . no . just no . hard no . no drugs . no booze . not you . not him . he just can’t . years of religious abuse have ingrained some roots that are too deep to pull out . and for jacob both of those things are a no .

martin ( 1977 ) . martin doesn’t do either . he already feels off as it is when he hasn’t fed recently . and he has no need for drugs or alcohol . why would he ? besides , he doesn’t want to make any mistakes while intoxicated or high . it’s just that simple . he’ll say no politely if offered . if you drink or smoke he might make a mild complaint about how you don’t need those things , about how it makes you taste off and he likes it when you taste like you . the only drugs you should have inside of you are the ones martin gives you to sleep .

[dearest-kibble]

yan kenma who has you locked up in his apartment- it’s been some time and you’ve given up escaping but you know he live-streams so you kind of start living small clues that you’re there in hope someone will figure it out? but instead of a viewer kenma finds out; and instead of stopping you he just decides to taunt you and play along to the point his viewers make it an inside joke- the emotional rollercoaster that would be? he wouldn’t have to punish you- the crushing despair is enough alone

This is so deliciously fucked up I love it,,, thank you anon, Kenma hits so different. I love him thank you so so so much. i am working on so much,,, thank you for being patient with all my uhhh lateness? this kinda became something a little different than the prompt but hopefully thats good?

Kenma Kozume x Fem reader

tw: Typical yandere-ness, humiliation? Sexism? Mentioned stalking, (If im missing anything please let me know my brain isn’t functioning rn)

You’re sitting on his lap, camera angled so that no one’s view is obstructed by your body, but so that all his views can clearly see you. You’ve been here so long, any hope of leaving, ironically, has left you. But, the thought crept slowly, surely, deeply into your brain and hasn’t left. You turn around on Kenma’s lap, straddling him and you’re sure the live chat is going a little crazy at the thought of Kodzuken having someone in his lap while he streams and he’s probably going to tell you to get off soon, but you’ve got the chat’s attention, and you are going to work with it. You tap Kenma’s cheeks, slight squish on them and you know he hates that it’s on camera all the same, you drum three fingers on his cheek, smiling at him for the camera as your fingertips meet his clammy skin. He doesn’t tell you to stop so across his cheek you swipe your thumb three times as tenderly as possible. As you stand from his lap, you pat his cheeks, three times delicately. You look into his eyes, still as calculating as when you met him, a deceptively warm amber with the tiniest hint of frustration (and somewhere inside, you know it’s probably with you but you can’t care.)

“I’m gonna sit on the couch, ‘kay?” You call softly, hoping you were subtle enough with your plea.

“Oh, okay,” And you think you’re free before he calls a “Wait! Come back for a little.” You’re even halfway to the couch before the words rope you back in. He beckons you to lean down, and whispers into your ear. “I noticed you trying to sign to get out. Morse code isn’t as subtle as you think, you might as well just ask them to get you out,” You chance a quick look towards chat.

“Was that morse code?”

“Holy shit! Yeah, I think that was SOS.”

“You think they actually need to get out or it’s one of those ‘my bfs terrible’ jokes?”

“You see the way they were straddling? Def not a hate my bf sorta thing.”

“See?” He’s still whispering into your ear, game forgotten in lieu of what might be called humiliation.  “They won’t believe you because you want to be here. Regardless of what you say, you would’ve left already if you didn’t.” He smiles at you and affectionately pats your head. Like he’d pet a cat. The idea is still in your mind, though perhaps a little shallower. You glance at the chat once more, someone is still talking about it, but Kenma pushes you away with a “I’ll get you when I’m done, okay?” You end your night on the couch with Kenma. He smiles at you and puts your legs on his lap.

The next livestream is two days after the last one. You have something planned once more, hopefully more effective.

“I’m playing minecraft today, I could set up your computer, and we could play together?” His small smile is back. And though a kind gesture, all you can think about is how easily you could make a point.

“Okay!” The earlier plan is immediately forgotten, and thoughts of what you could do in a game, fills your mind. “Will I have a mic?”

“No, I can’t have you telling them can I?” And it clicks, because of course he’d taunt you. But it’s like your brain grew claws that cannot lose their hold.

“Will I have a camera?” And you know the answer, but Kenma might still surprise you. You’ve already had one shock tonight, maybe you’ll get another.

“No. Sorry. You have chat though.” He pats your head again, ruffling your hair. “I’ve already got you set up, c’mon.” He tugs at your hand, pulling gently.

“Thanks Kenma.” He’s put another computer across from his desk on a much smaller table made for playing cards.

“You’re all set up.”

“Yeah.” He clicks the mouse a few times, waves at the camera to his right. “Can everybody hear me?” He waits a few seconds for chat’s response. “Chat is saying yes, so let’s get right in?” He smiles sheepishly to his camera.

“Hi everyone, I’ m Kodzuken and today we are,” He pauses to look at you with honeyed amber eyes. “Playing Minecraft with my partner.” He nods in your direction. You just open the minecraft tab, the only shortcut that seems to be on the computer.

“It’s a LAN server, click that, okay?” So you click it and say nothing. You start to go through the motions of chopping a tree, making sticks, making a crafting table. Kennma is narrating what he does, and you’re not even sure where he is in game until you're knocked back and turn your mouse to look at him.

“Yeah, I know - she should be relying on me.” He’s responding to something in chat, he’s gotta be. You type a quick,

“What’re they saying?”

“Oh, that my girlfriend shouldn’t be so independent, you rely on me - I'm your boyfriend.” Kenma says it so casually, so acerbically that you immediately take off sprinting from the forest in game.  

“She has these bouts - you saw them last stream - where she likes to try and ‘get away’.” Kenma laughs softly; little glockenspiel notes falling from his mouth. “It’s a really cute joke honestly! Anyway, I’ll put my minecraft bed next to hers later, right now...” You stop paying attention and start planning how you’d try to get your point across more clearly. You could make signs, say “Get me out!” Like Kenma suggested.

“Hey! He looks over the screen at you, piercing eyes staring right through you. “Don’t go off on your own, we’re staying together alright?”

“No.” He’ll have to deal with chatting, possibly hearing you by himself. And you continue through the coded forest. It goes pretty smoothly, though you’re sure Kenma is trying to find you, you’ve already created a mine for yourself, and made a little sign with instructions that reads: “Get me out!”

“Her voice is quite cute, isn’t it? I’ll get to hear it for the rest of my life.” He continues humming out yes’s and no’s to his audience that sit captivated in a land of blocks and pixels.

“Hey, I’m going to use the restroom, is it alright if my girlfriend takes over for me?” He stands, and waves you over into his chair that’s been made for gaming and padded with red accents. He watches you with his cat-like eyes as you sit down and pats your head. “I’ll be right back Kitty, behave.” And you hear his soft footsteps get farther away and the creak of the door twice before you finally look at chat.

Woa, Kudzu got lucky huh?

“Please,” You don’t sound nearly as someone might think you would. You’ve been here too long. “Get me out of here?”

Sure sweetheart, just come over to my place first.

“Just - get me away from him please!”

Girls are so whiny huh?

Hey man, its funny at least amiright?

“It’s not a joke -”

She’s really committed to this bit huh

Damn iim staartin to feel bad for ken

Me to :(

“I’ve been here for year and I don’t want to-”

Wow. what an ungrateful bitch.

Ikr? She’s got a bf and everything and she wants to get out?

“No- it’s not like that - he stalked me for months I-” And the familiar desperation you thought hoped beyond all hope that you had lost bleeds back into your voice all repression surfaces like the tide in your eyes.

Oh fuxxx we made her cry.

relax bet she’s just on her period or smth

“I am not!” A bubble of snot pops from your nose and mucus drips uncomfortably to your lips. “I just-”

What could you want that you don’t have.

“My house! My job! My friends!” And your voice breaks

She wants to go back to a job?

Crazy lady huh.

She wants friends when all she really needs is a man? smh.

“Kitten, what-”

“Leave me the fuck alone!” It’s an outburst that you’ll regret later, for one reason or another. But for now it’s a small comfort to speak your mind. With your voice wavering and congested, you choke out a “Let me go home.” Kenma’s eyebrows furrow but his eyes are still the calculating, cold amber they always are.

“Shh shh, it’s okay.” Instead of the quick pats he’s so fond of, he strokes your hair and massages the nape of your neck like he’s picking up a kitten who's gotten into a fight. “I’m going to cut the stream, okay?”

Who’d want to leave Ken, he’s cutting the stream short to help his gf.

…….yeah

I feel bad.

“You should. Please don’t make her cry.” A few clicks later and the stream cuts. “Do you want me to upload that one?” To get your message out? You’d do anything.

“Yes please…” Someone will have to see it. How miserable you are.

“Then it’ll go up, okay?” He pats your back twice, and he stands again to sit at the computer. Out of the blue he speaks again. “They’re right.” No no no no no. “I’m lucky, i’m so glad you're here with me and that you won’t leave.”

“I will get out!” The proof of your white hot anger is breaking the dam built in your throat.

“Where will you go? Your friends don’t know where you’ve gone, they won’t be happy with you coming back unannounced.”

“My parents-”

“You can rely on me, you don’t need anyone else.”

“But I-”

“Shhh kitty, you’re overreacting let’s get you to bed, you’ve had a stressful day.” And so he walks you back to the room you share that's covered in pictures, and he tucks you under the covers and dries your tears with a blanket. He whispers words to you, faint little nothings about games he’s going to play that you’ll enjoy watching and little bits of trivia about what “Kuroo” is up to. Eventually you fall asleep, with his hand in your hair and a chair pulled up close so he can stare. You both know it but no one will admit, some part of him will always enjoy how you lose hope so quickly.

--

once again! This should not’ve taken so long,,,, and it kinda deviates from request but! there we are! also,,,, you can’t tell me that like,,,,,,, kenma hasn’t been at least exposed to incels and or like,,,, really sexist guys he streams on twitch or youtube or something so- also thank you anon,,, i really like this one

[slashersins]

You've made a few posts about getting stoned with Michael in the past,, how do you think it'd be with some of the other slashers?? And like, which ones do you think would be into it and other ones that maybe aren't sure about it but would try it if they knew you liked it? and which ones would not smoke or take anything EVER? I'm just very curious to hear your take on this !! I mean... don't think you've made any previous posts about this?

okay so , lets break this down into categories ! they’re pretty well spread out , so here we go !

the ones who would smoke

michael myers . big surprise here . big boy likes to get high . however , he prefers editables . if you want to smoke , that’s fine , he won’t take a hit . pass him a brownie . also , be prepared , this man gets lazy and hungry and very touchy . he’s a fucking cuddle monster when he’s high . kind of like a needy kitten who wants pets in the middle of the night and will lay across your face , only to jump off and eat food as loud as they can before coming back for more loving . michael is exactly like that . also , if you want high sex , you’re gonna have to take charge and ride him , he’s just gonna enjoy his high and pleasure while you do the work . 

vincent sinclair . it’s one of his favorite ways of relaxing . he’s done it since he was a teen . bo discovered booze , he discovered weed . he’s no less intense when he’s high , still staring at you , still touching you , only his movements are slowed and less delicate . he wants you close , in his lap , against his side . he’ll play metal music in the back ground , letting smoke swirl around the both of you . expect a lot of smoky kisses and long gazes from your man . he’s high as fuck and you’re the only thing important to him right now . a living breathing work of art . 

carrie white . carrie ? our sweet girl ? doing the weed ? it’s more likely than you think ! while she might take some convincing , her deep need to rebel against her mother brought on by the courage you give her has this good girl shyly taking a hit . she will cough . give her water and praise and tell her it’s all okay . it happens , you can take it slow . and please do . let the high slowly seep into her skin and lungs and let her feel light and relaxed . she’ll want to cuddle , and you should stroke her hair and just talk . you’ll smoke and talk for hours , never getting so high that you’re both far gone , but getting high enough that everything is slow and hazy . you might even get some shy kisses from your sweet girl , and she’ll giggle and hide in your chest , feeling free for once . 

the ones who would rather drink 

bo sinclair . everyone knew he’d be on this list . the man drinks so much he should have a beer gut and how he doesn’t is beyond everyone . whether it’s a beer after a days work , a couple after a rough day , or an entire pack after a bitch ass week , this man usually has at least one a day . he likes the buzz he feels . he likes how in some ways he can forget about shit . but mostly he just wants to get fucked up and sleep . while he can be a bastard when sober , he can be one when drunk too , running his mouth . but he also tends to get a little more emotionally open when drunk , so you might end up hearing him say things he will pretend not to remember in the morning .

lester sinclair . another beer drinker in the sinclair home , only he’s a lot more casual about it . he’s like a social drinker , only having two or three . he’s a goofy drunk , stumbling around and laughing and chattering on . vincent and bo find it hard to be upset after a rough week if they have lester over to get drunk . it’s also funny to them that their baby brother is such a light weight . he gets really embarrassed when he does get drunk enough that he’s making a little bit of a fool of himself , but he’s so cute that vincent and bo can only tease him . 

thomas hewitt . while this big country boy wouldn’t mind a ice cold beer , he doesn’t drink all that much . maybe once a month or so , sometimes once every two . and he rarely if ever gets drunk . he’s seen charlie / hoyt drunk too many times , and had too many run ins with drunk as fuck bastards when the slaughterhouse was still open . he doesn’t want to be like that , so he keeps himself to no more than two beers at one time . he doesn’t mind the taste of beer , and it really is more of a social “you earned this” type of deal for him . 

the ones who would do both

jesse cromeans . this man drinks only the most expensive , oldest scotch , whisky , bourbon , and wine . he drinks casually , he drinks socially . but he does not drink to get drunk . no . he tries his best not to actually . which is surprising to most , as he was considered a bit of a play boy party boy back in his earlier rich boy days . but while he doesn’t get wasted on booze , he does enjoy getting high as fuck . he’ll only do it in the comfort of his own home . relaxing and smoking and watching old videos of his . might jerk off a little , might snuggle up to you . might pull you into his lap and laugh with you as you both watch stupid videos on the internet . one time you laughed at a picture of a blurry paper bag for two hours . jesse won’t leave the house until his high has completely worn off . he doesn’t wanna be caught off his guard .

billy loomis . he’s a bad boy . what can i say ? he’ll drink , he’ll smoke . as long as it’s with you and stu and he’s having fun ? who cares . billy is a messy drunk , getting naked and wanting to bite and kiss over you and stu , even if it doesn’t lead to anything else . it’s just too hot for clothes and he wants his babes close . he’s a munchie having , giggle gremlin when he’s high , however . while its more snickers than giggles he will almost laugh at anything , wanting to be the one cuddled and coddled while he eats chips and shakes with laughter . 

stu macher . loud and handsy drunk , however if he drinks too much he gets a bit violent towards others . which is why you and billy know when to cut him off . when he’s just normal drunk , he’s wanting to touch and talk and talk and talk . he won’t know he’s being too loud , just spilling out words and nonsense for fun as he lays across whoever is closer . as a high boy , he’s almost completely quiet . he’ll just lay and stare and watch with his mouth open in awe . sometimes he’ll start giggling but then he’s back to dead eye staring . he’s also gonna be cuddling things that he thinks are you and billy but aren’t . like a pillow . or his cat . 

the ones who would never do either 

brahms heelshire . this man will only drink sparkling grape juice . he doesn’t have the pallet for booze and he doesn’t like the smell of weed . he has no issue with you drinking , as long as it’s fancy whine , chardonnay , etc . you have to be classy , like mummy and daddy were , if you drink . he might take a sip , but he’ll prefer his juice , thank you . 

jason voorhees . he’s highly against all things booze and drug related . he literally kills people who show up on his land , he makes double work of them if they do either of those things . he’s a good boy , momma raised him right . if you do either , he’s conflicted and a bit upset . you’re his special person , you’re good , why are you doing bad things ? if you explain to him that it’s just a small glass with a meal during like , thanksgiving or christmas , he might relent . and if you tell him the weed is for pain and it’s legitimate , he will be less inclined to be upset with you . but still , he doesn’t like it . 

bubba sawyer . bubba doesn’t like the way booze and beer make people act . he doesn’t wanna act like that . he got drunk once , and he hated it . it’s the same with weed . he has a strong sense of smell and his little nose hates the way weed smells . which is why he babbles at chop top to call him stinky . if you drink , he might be a bit skittish , thinking you’ll try and hurt him like so many others have . it’ll take a little bit of patience to calm him down , and tell him you’d never . he would like it if you didn’t drink , but if it’s only a little and you aren’t being mean he’s okay . as for the weed , he might pout because now you smell like chop top , but the way you giggle and act is cute . so he doesn’t hate it as much . 

jacob goodnight . no . just no . hard no . no drugs . no booze . not you . not him . he just can’t . years of religious abuse have ingrained some roots that are too deep to pull out . and for jacob both of those things are a no .

martin ( 1977 ) . martin doesn’t do either . he already feels off as it is when he hasn’t fed recently . and he has no need for drugs or alcohol . why would he ? besides , he doesn’t want to make any mistakes while intoxicated or high . it’s just that simple . he’ll say no politely if offered . if you drink or smoke he might make a mild complaint about how you don’t need those things , about how it makes you taste off and he likes it when you taste like you . the only drugs you should have inside of you are the ones martin gives you to sleep . 

[carllisle]

In honour of @notquitetwilight ’s birthday, here is the latest instalment of the Cullanos prequel, the famous incident involving Esme, Carlisle’s second wife, and a motorcycle-shaped pizza slicer. 

For those who have missed the instalments so far, see below: 

The Second Mrs Cullano - Carlisle’s wedding to Wife 2

A Taste of Boston Part I - Carlisle and Wife 3 Esme take business with the daughter they are newly reunited with to Boston

A Taste of Boston Part II - Carlisle and Esme take on a hit job while their daughter Rosalie gets to grips with this new lifestyle 

More content can be found on @notquitetwilight ‘s blog under the tag the-cullanos and on my blog @carllisle under the tag the-cullanos. 

This instalment has content warning for sex (not explicit) and violence. Don’t get us wrong, this is still shitposting. But at this point we are really, really invested. Shout to @stregoni-benefici and @carlislesscarf who are screaming in the back of the clown car that me and Juliet are steering. 

The Second Wife and the Pizza Slicer

Esme liked the rain. She liked how the streetlights reflected in the water on the pavement, the neon colours lighting up her path. It didn’t lighten her black mood. The sound of her stiletto steps were lost in the rain as she marched down the street like she owned it. Half of it she did own, not that the IRS needed to know that. There was only one shopfront she was interested in tonight, though. Ahead, the pizzeria stood dark and empty, unassuming and inconspicuous wedged between a barbers’ shop, and a meat deli. Convenient for the pizzeria to have one of their suppliers next door. Those shops were closed too but that was to be expected; it was after 1am. 

Her heart raced in anticipation as she walked through the darkness. Between the buildings was a small alleyway and she slipped down it. At the back door of the pizzeria was Tony, the long-time security guard who took most night shifts on the property, and Esme forced a smiled at him. “Hey handsome. They leave you out here without an umbrella?” 

He grinned at her, rain dripping down his bald head and onto his coat. “I left it on the subway on my way in.” 

“Carl not give you a lift?” Tony lived practically on Carlisle’s route into the pizzeria and he often picked him up when they both had to come in. Tony glanced at the sleek Mercedes that was hidden at the back of the alley and shook his head. “The mrs came in with him today.” 

The mrs. Snakes writhed in her stomach. She couldn’t bite back her spite and it wiped the smile off her face. “Is the cunt with him now?” 

“Nah. She left ‘bout an hour after they arrived. Carlisle helped them out in the kitchen tonight and she didn’t much like being left alone.” 

“Heaven fuckin forbid she make herself useful. She’s only meant to be four months pregnant, ain’t she? Not exactly time for her confinement.” 

Tony’s smile faltered. “Something like that. You got any weapons on ya?” 

Esme frowned. “What if I say no? Ya gonna pat me down?” 

“No. Won’t let you in, though. You’re always packin’.” 

“You got me there.” Esme opened her coat, taking out her two handguns - white and inlaid with mother-of-pearl - and handing them over. Tony raised his eyebrow and she rolled her eyes. Knives were taken out of each shoe along with the two throwing-stars strapped to her thigh. 

“Is that everything?” 

“You know I don’t need weapons to kill him, right? I could kill him with my bare hands.” 

“I know.” He hid her weapons in his coat carefully. “But you won’t. So I don’t worry.” 

Fury rippled through her and her eyes went wide for a moment, but he held her gaze and she let out a hard breath through her nose. He was right. “You’ve worked for us too fuckin long. You can read me too well.” But her hard face broke and she gave him a genuine, albeit brief, grin. Anger had only flared in her because he was too right. “Here,” she gave him her umbrella. “You need this more than me.” 

Tony smiled. “Thanks, Esme. In ya go.” And he pressed his thumb to the scanner on the door and let it swing open. 

She lightly punched him on the shoulder as she passed, and waited for the door to close before making her way down the corridor. Ahead were the stairs to Carlisle’s office and she ran up them quickly, anger creeping back. It had been months since she had been here last. Since Mrs Cullano announced to the world her pregnancy, actually. Esme had cut off all contact with Carlisle that day. He had broken her goddamn heart and sadness hadn’t yet set in. She was still a raging fire and she was ready to burn down anyone who came too close. But when he had called her sounding unhinged and told her to meet her here, she couldn’t tell him no, cause she knew that tone he had - it was the same one he had had when, six months ago, they had been told that ten million had gone missing. Esme had recovered it from the 15-year-old hacking prodigy who had stolen it before adding her to the payroll, but before that Carlisle had been enraged and dangerous and he needed her to hold him back. Something bad had happened. 

“Carlisle?” The door to his office was unlocked but he wasn’t inside and it was dark. On the far side of the room was a wall of bookshelves and she quickly crossed to it and pulled on one book - The Godfather by Mario Puzo - and the bookshelf swung open like a door. Carlisle had always joked how cool he thought secret doorways were and they both thought the choice of book to be the secret lever was funny. It felt like a million years ago. It felt like yesterday. Behind it was another corridor and a metal spiral staircase that led down to the final door - that only opened one way - into the restaurant below. No one was allowed to use this but Carlisle and Esme, not even Mrs Cullano. Her heels clacked on the iron and her fur coat dragged out behind her. She tossed it aside on one of the booths close to the kitchen and she caught sight of her reflection in the windows. No, I don’t want to seduce my ex boyfriend, she had told herself earlier, but her wardrobe choice said otherwise. She wore the red satin dress he had bought her for his second wedding, backless save for chains of diamonds and clinging to every curve she had, and the ring he had bought her as a sign of their commitment still kept its place on her right hand. She looked away, embarrassed at how long it had taken her to make her hair so sleek and soft, or how long it had taken to slap on her face. It was exactly how she had looked at his wedding, like she wanted to punish him for marrying that bitch. 

“Carlisle?” 

“Kitchen,” came his reply. 

She strutted through the kitchen door and tried to keep her breathing under control. After not seeing him for so long, the sight of him was overwhelming. Carlisle stood at the salad bar chopping lettuce. On the counter behind him was a fresh pizza, the slicer forgotten next to it. 

“You didn’t sound right on the phone.” 

“I ain’t right.” He looked up at her and his eyes went wide. “Oh God, Es. You look…” 

“Whaddya want?” 

His jaw clenched. “It’s her.” 

“Her?” Esme heard the spite in that one word. “Your baby bank?” 

Carlisle turned to toss the knife he was using into the sink. “Don’t call her that.” 

“What? You don’t want me calling her what she is?” 

“She ain’t.” 

Esme laughed bitterly. “She got your baby in her, ain’t she? The fuck else you want me to call her? Yummy mommy? Mother of your child? Gimme a fuckin break.” 

“Es-”

“No, don’t! You called me out here in a fuckin storm to help with your marital problems? Get outta here!”

“Es-”

“I don’t wanna hear it! You dragged me out here in the middle of the fuckin night to tell me you got problems with your cunt of a wife? The one you knocked up who’s now shouting from every fuckin rooftop that Carlisle Cullano came in her! God, it makes me sick.” 

“What the fuck is wrong with-”

“Shut up!” Esme stared at him across the kitchen. It was hard not to cry. It felt like her heart was breaking. When she had heard that Mrs Cullano was pregnant it felt like her world was collapsing. In the month and a half since then everything had gone black and white but that was what it was always like without her other half, just empty. Carlisle put colour into the world. 

“Weeks without contact and this is how we’re gonna start, huh?” His words weren’t gentle. He looked wounded. “Not even a ‘hello’?”

Esme sucked her teeth. “Hi.” 

Carlisle laughed humourlessly. “So we’ll cut the bullshit, will we? Right to it? Where the fuck have you been?” 

“On vacation.” 

“Where?” 

“Nowhere in particular. Just needed a break.”

“From what, Es? Me? What’s got you so bothered?” 

“Your kid, Carlisle! She’s having your fuckin baby!” Esme’s shout came short and furious and she threw a plate at the far wall. It smashed loudly. “D’ya know what that’s doin to me?”

He stared at her across the kitchen, mouth open and eyes wide. He looked angry. “Ain’t that what you wanted for me? To have a wife and kids, cause you knew it’s what I wanted? I did what you told me.” 

Esme threw her hands into the air. “Yeah, and?” 

“I’m not a fuckin mind reader!” He slammed his fists on the metal worktop, his voice getting louder. “‘I want you to have a wife and a family’, that’s what you said to me on the morning of my fucking wedding! I asked you to marry me on the day of my fucking wedding to her! And you turned me down again! I did what you told me to do and now you’re fucking punishing me! How’s that fair?” 

Blond hair fell into his eyes like it did when they fucked. His face was red like it was then too. Esme saw the pain in his face, the anger that matched her own. “You shoulda known.” 

“You didn’t even know. I can’t read minds and I can’t see the future and I can’t feel how you’re feelin unless you tell me!”

“Alright.” Esme stormed over to him and slammed her hand on the counter next to his. She raised her chin in a challenge. “I hate her. I hate her perfect face, her perfect fuckin body, every strand of hair on that empty fuckin head. I hate that you chose her.” 

“I didn’t!” He seemed to tower over her but she stood her ground. “I chose you! I choose you every goddamn time! But you don’t ever choose me! Do you know how many times you broken my heart?”

If it was half the number of times she had broken her own heart, Esme was sorry. She swallowed the lump in her throat. It was impossible to talk about right now. “You gonna tell me why you’re calling me out here sounding like that?” 

It looked like Carlisle wanted to shout again and his hands balled into fists either side of his salad.. “She ain’t pregnant, and if she was it wouldn’t be mine. Probably my cousin Renato’s.” 

That pulled Esme up short. There was too much to unpack. “Whaddya talkin about?” 

“She been fuckin him. For months, Es. Maybe a year.”

“Renato? But why? He looks so much like you but he’s got half the braincells and twice the idiocy. Why’s she fuckin a Dollar Tree version of you?” 

“Cause I weren’t gettin her pregnant.” He dropped his gaze. 

Esme blinked, trying to process it. Her lash extensions were heavy and made her vision go funny, so she fixed her gaze on Carlisle’s face instead. “How’d you find out about them?” 

“She kept sneaking off so I had her followed. Got plenty of photos proving it. I’ve seen way more of Renato than I’m comfortable confessing to Father Thomas, but at least he looks like me. Guess it’s kinda like watching my clone fuck my wife.” 

“That ain’t right. And why the fuck would she lie about being pregnant?” Esme’s hands were trembling. 

He sighed. “She knows I don’t love her and I think she knows I wanna leave but she would miss the money, ya know? So she wants a way to keep me tied to her.” 

Esme’s anger was bubbling beneath the surface. She hated that bitch more than ever for making Carlisle look like that. “How did ya find out about the faked pregnancy?” 

“Medical records are kept online now. Your little hacker found hers. Two weeks ago she had a negative pregnancy test at her doctors’, and another one twelve weeks ago. There was never a fuckin baby.” 

“That lying cunt. Why’d you think it’s your cousin’s if there had been one, anyway? Ain’t you hittin it raw?” 

“Yeah. But… I can’t have kids.” 

“We had one. Or did you forget?” 

Carlisle grabbed Esme’s wrist and roughly pulled her closer. “I think about her every day, Es. Every goddamn day, just like I think about you.”

“Don’t.” She tried to pull away half-heartedly, her voice angry. “I can’t.” He ran his fingers through her hair and she stumbled closer until their bodies were pressed together. Knowing the wife wasn’t pregnant had broken down one of Esme’s walls. “Why’d you say you can’t have kids?” 

“I got the snip.” 

“When?” 

“Two weeks into my first marriage.”

Esme gripped the front of his jacket in both hands. “Why?” 

He slid his hands to the small of her back and his fingers caught on the diamonds. “You look so fucking good, Es.”

She shook him lightly. “Why’d you do that?” 

Carlisle grinned half-heartedly. “Cause I knew I didn’t want no kids with no one but you.”

“I wanted to die when I heard she was knocked up.”

He stroked her hair again. “Don’t say that, Essie.”

“I mean it. I thought about it, ya know? I was gonna drive my car into the Hudson and let it drown me.”

“Hey.” Carlisle held her chin between his finger and thumb and tilted her face up to look her in the eye. “Don’t ever say that, baby. I ain’t livin in a world without ya, alright? You go, I go.”

She took his hand and kissed his palm, keeping her gaze locked with his. “You go, I go.”

“I fuckin love you, Es.” 

“I fuckin hate her.”

“Yeah, me too.” Carlisle sighed and ran his finger down her neck and torso, watching how the silk of her dress moved over her skin. “What are we gonna do?” 

“We? She’s your wife.” 

He chuckled. “My problem is your problem, ain’t it?”

Esme hit his chest again. She was still furious. “Unfortunately, yeah. Want me to kill her?” 

“Nah. I don’t want cops sniffing around ya. Someone else should probably do it.” 

“Tanya owes me a favour, what about her?” 

“Don’t trust her, Es, she’ll double cross ya soon as she’ll fuck ya.” 

She managed half a smirk. “Weren’t that long ago she fucked us. Guess we’re due for a double crossing, then. So not her. The Blacks?”

“They don’t trust us and I can’t blame em for that. We’ll think of someone.”

There was a long silence then. Esme pulled free from his arms and slowly wandered around the pizzeria kitchen. Her heels echoed over tile and steel. She was the other side of the industrial island counter and Carlisle was arranging his salad into edible art when she spoke again. “I wanna do it, Carl.”

“What?” He looked up at her with lettuce sticking out the corner of his mouth. 

“I wanna be the one.”

“I dunno if that’s the best idea.” He turned away from her to grab a slice of pizza that was on the counter behind him. 

“You married the cunt.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know she was gonna be this fuckin crazy!” Carlisle protested indignantly. He took a bite and wrinkled his nose. “Fuck. Why does my dough always turn out like shit?” 

“Cause you ain’t ever learned from the Old Country. You do it the American way.” 

“Shut the fuck up!” he laughed. “Most Italian place you ever been is the Shore!”

“That’s cause my cheap partner never took me on vacation anywhere more exotic than Miami Beach!” She strutted back over to him and took a bite from the slice. “God, it is shit. Reckon even Renato could do better.”

He laughed again and wrapped her in his arms and stroked the skin of her back. “I missed you, ya know?”

“Yeah, me too. But I mean it, Carlisle. I wanna be the one to pull the trigger.” 

Sweeping her hair over her shoulder, Carlisle kissed her neck. “You gonna shoot her?” 

It was impossible to keep her eyes open. “Maybe. I dunno. Fuck,” she sighed quietly when he bit where her neck met her shoulder. She had missed him more than words could say. “I want her gone. She betrayed you and she took you from me.” 

His kisses moved down her collarbones and to the neckline of her dress. “No one can ever take me from you, Esme. I’m yours.” When he grasped her by the waist and turned her, she knew what he wanted. He lifted her onto the counter next to the bad pizza and he kissed her mouth. She parted her lips and grinned when she tasted salad and pizza margherita on his tongue. It didn’t matter. It was him. 

After a while he sank to his knees in front of her and pushed up her red dress. “Fuck, Es. No underwear? Did you come here with an agenda?”

“Who says I wasn’t going somewhere else after here?” she asked, but her voice was shaky as he pulled her to the edge of the counter. She gripped the edge for support and the pizza slicer brushed her fingers.  

“You sleeping with someone else?” Carlisle murmured against her inner thigh. 

“Well since we stopped seeing each other, I have an opening available.” 

“No you fuckin don’t.” His blond head disappeared under the short hem of her dress and Esme wondered, in the back of her mind, if Tony would be able to hear her screams. Carlisle certainly liked her taste better than the pizza. 

Some time later they were both so lost in their passion that they didn’t hear the unlocking of the front door or the quiet steps in the restaurant. Esme’s face was buried in Carlisle’s neck as he pounded her on the counter and his eyes were closed in bliss. 

“What a fuckin surprise.” 

Both of their gazes snapped to the kitchen door that had swung open. Stood in the unflattering  industrial fluorescents stood Mrs Cullano, a pistol raised. It reminded Esme of the one she had taken to their wedding. Unreliable, difficult. Mrs Cullano was no shooter. Instinctively Carlisle shielded Esme with his body, still inside her. Esme couldn’t hold back a moan at his movement. 

“You’re dead, Platt,” Mrs Cullano hissed, her finger on the trigger. Her arm wasn’t steady. 

“Kill her and I’ll tear your fuckin throat out.” Carlisle’s voice was low and deadly. 

“And murder our baby?” 

“Give it up. There ain’t no baby. And if there was, it would be Renato’s. You think I’d let you have my kids? You’re mad.” 

Mrs Cullano’s face went red. 

“Carlisle,” Esme said quietly. She turned Carlisle’s face back to her. “She ain’t got the guts. Fuck me. Please?” It was a move of dominance to show Mrs Cullano, an outsider, that no one would ever come between them or their love. And that Carlisle would always choose Esme no matter what. He leaned down to kiss her and moved with her. 

The scream that Mrs Cullano let out haunted them both for years to come. Absolute grief and loss echoed in the kitchen, rage and delirium. When the gun went off the bullet went stray and was embedded in the wall over the stove. Without missing a beat, Esme grabbed the pizza slicer next to her and threw it with unbelievable precision. The only sound was that of the young woman’s body collapsing onto the floor, the round blade with a handle in the shape of a Harley-Davidson buried deep into her forehead. Instant death. Blood poured from the wound. Esme felt relief and pride wash over her. 

“Fuck,” Carlisle gasped, moving faster. He kissed her hard and gripped her hips and then rested their sweaty foreheads together. “That was so fucking hot. Marry me, Es? Marry me, please!”

Esme moaned and nodded, clutching his back to stop her from losing herself completely. They were both close, both more turned on by exacting revenge than they could handle. “Yes! Yes, Carl, I’ll marry you!” 

After they had finished and set their clothes right, Esme stood over the dead Mrs Cullano’s body. “Jesus Christ, what a fuckin mess. This blood is gonna take ages to clean, look, it’s gone all under the cupboards! Ugh. I don’t have the energy.” 

“What should we do with her?” 

“I dunno. She’s your fuckin wife.” 

“Was. She’s no one’s wife now, she’s fuckin dead.” 

“Well, yeah. Hey, d’ya mean what you said? To marry ya?” 

“Yeah. Did you really mean you would?” 

Esme stepped over the body and made sure not to get blood on her Jimmy Choos. “Yeah. I wanna be your wife.” 

Neither of them smiled, but they shared a long gaze. Then Carlisle pulled out his phone and quickly dialled a number. “Hey, it’s me. Get some of your guys down the pizzeria, we need some clearing up done. Yeah. Mhm. Three or four. Yeah. Platt’s with me. Ha! Yeah. Yeah, the Mrs found us. Esme put her down, though, so we need it sorted. Clean-up and removal, remember this is a working kitchen, alright? I want it clean of evidence and up to code, ya goddit? Okay. See ya in twenty.” 

Esme opened one of the cleaning cupboards and pulled out a spray and cloth. 

“Hey, don’t worry about that,” Carlisle told her and he waved a hand. “They’ll be here soon for her.” 

Esme looked pointedly at the counter where he had fucked her and grinned. “I was thinking more about cleaning that up. Don’t want extra flavour in the pizza tomorrow, do ya?” Bending over, she sprayed the wet area on the metal countertop. With great satisfaction she felt him press against her backside and stroke up her back. “Ready for round two already?” 

“You fuckin bet. D’you know how much it turned me on to see you like that?” 

“Yeah. But save it. Let’s not have our first time as an engaged couple be in front of your dead wife. Bring’s a whole new meaning to ‘the body’s not even cold’, don’t it?” 

Grinning, Carlisle kissed her back. “Or when she told me she’d let me keep you ‘over her dead body’, huh? Joke’s on her.”

Esme wiped the counter down thoroughly and threw the cloth in the nearby bin. She turned and loosely wrapped her arms around his neck. “Ain’t no one tell the Surgeon what he can and cannot do. 

“Nah, no one. No one but his Heart.”

[animatorweirdo]

Frozen heart: A big bite

You encounter a hideous looking wolf and almost get your head chopped off. Someone familiar comes to the rescue. 

This is the second part. I don’t know how to link things.

Warning: slight blood, mild cursing

You returned to the village after leaving the forest. You were greeted with good nights from the villagers. You politely bid them goodnight back and try to speed walk back to your house. The villagers were nice and all, but you rather not interact with people. Talking to people was not one of your specialties, so you rather not talk to people in the first place. Camilla was good at it, so you often leave the talking to her.

You finally arrived at your destination. The night was still young and there was smoke coming out of the chimney. You sighed in relief. Just in time to get some dinner. It smelled like you were having smashed potatoes and meat sauce tonight. You pushed through the door.

"What took you so long?"Camilla asked after she saw you coming through the door. "Took a nap, saw a nightmare, woke up, then walked back here," You gave a short explanation. You set your basket on the kitchen counter. "Good thing you made it in time. I'm almost done," Camilla said. She picked the pot with the smashed potatoes and walked toward the kitchen table. You quickly set the mushrooms in the bowl before walking to the dinner table. There was no way you were gonna miss eating fresh warm food. The mushrooms can wait.

You ate the food like a starved animal. It was good and your hunger only grew. Too bad you two didn't have any salt. It would have made the taste a lot better. "Oh, I met an elf in the meadow we were," You spoke out with food in your mouth. Camilla glanced at you with interest. "Oh really? What they were like?" She questioned. "It was an elf man, who plays the harp really well. His name is Maglor," You explained. "That's cool," Camilla answered. "But... we have a problem," she said. You frowned and stopped eating. "What kind of problem?" You asked. Whenever Camilla had that look. It meant something serious. "Your meds... we are starting to go low on your medical pills," She said. You frowned then dropped the fork on the table. You took out a container you always had with you. You opened it and saw five red pills and a description. "Shit..." You muttered. This was bad. Really bad.

You pulled out the description and another paper, the recipe to make the pill. "Can we find the same ingredients here?" You gave the recipe and the description to Camilla. "If we are lucky, but I doubt that we can find the same ingredients," She said. You mentally whined. This was a bad situation. You slapped yourself for forgetting something that important. Those pills are the only things that allow you to stay you and kept 'it' contained. Just thinking about it makes your skin crawl. Your thoughts came back to the nightmare you had at the meadow. You can still feel the cold touch of snow on your hands and the eyes that stalked you from the darkness. Your hands started to shake a bit. You have lived comfortably for five months that you almost forgot about your true nightmare.

"Hey," Camilla snapped you out of your thoughts. You turned your attention toward her. "How about we go check around if we can at least find the basic ingredients?" She asked. "Okay..." You nodded quietly. "We still have time, so let's not waste it," She said. She grabbed your hand, and with her thumb, she gave you gentle rubs to the back of your hand. You gently smiled and held her hand in return. You were lucky to have Camilla in your life.

"Wake up lazy!" Camilla woke you up. You gasped and sniffed the air. What was going on? Were the aliens attacking or what? What day is it? Wait, what year is it? Your brains were trying to comprehend what was happening. "Get up. We are going to a magic plant hunt," Camilla said, getting prepared to leave. You rubbed your eyes and stared into the void. Did you just sleep well? The question plagued your existence. You looked through the open window and saw a sunrise. Well, you are happy that you managed to avoid nightmares this time, but you hated how Camilla can wake up early and not be tired. "(Name)! Get up!" Camilla grabbed your leg and pulled you off your bed."Hm!" You hit the flooring with a thud. You whined and growled at the same time. Camilla, you bitch. She was a terrible person sometimes. And just when you had a sensitive moment last night.

"Tell why we are here again?" You questioned as you two adventure through the forest very far away from the village. "Because the kingsfoil is supposed to grow around here," Camilla looked around. "That's just literal grass. How does grass help in my meds? Are we gonna burn it like weed?" You started to question your life at this point. First, Camilla ruins your magnificent rare sleep, and now you're looking for grass. "It's said to be some kind of magic grass. I know it sounds crazy, but with you, I'm willing to take a chance," She explained. You groaned. "Unless... you can pop out Fire lilies out of nowhere," She then stated. You groaned louder. "All right, let's go find the stupid grass," You finally started looking around. A magical grass. That was ridiculous even for your standards.

You pushed your hands into a bush and looked if there was any magic grass under it. Nope. What were you thinking? You were about to pull back until something sharp prickled your finger. You hissed in pain and pulled your finger out of the bush. "Shit..." You muttered as you saw blood coming out of your finger. For a tiny wound, it was bleeding pretty badly. You put your bloody finger inside your mouth to stop the bleeding. What a bugger? You looked around elsewhere for the magic grass. You walked over to Camilla, who was checking out something at the roots of a tree. "Any luck?" You questioned. Camilla was about to answer, but a snap of a twig caught both of your attention. You both looked up to see... something terrifying.

A giant deformed wolf growled at you both. You and Camilla stood back slowly from the beast. It had an ugly brown hide, and its eyes looked like they were about to pop out of its skull. It was huge, and its teeth looked like they could tear you apart in a matter of seconds. What the heck was that thing? You and Camilla took slow steps back. You both tried; not to show any fear. You were, however, shaking from the inside. You have never encountered a beast like this one.

"That's one ugly dog," You stated.

The wolf beast let out a bark like a roar at you."Run..." Camilla said. You both made the run for it. You yelped when you heard a roar behind you and loud stomps. It was chasing after you, wasn't it?

"Parkour!" You jumped over a stone, the wolf beast right at your heels. "There!" Camilla pointed at a thick tree with a lot of branches. It looked like it could hold you two and keep you at the safe distance from the beast behind you. Hopefully.

You and Camilla ran toward the tree and with swiftness and strength. Started climbing. You managed to climb high enough just as the wolf beast tried to bite your arse off. You sat down on a branch and stared down at the angry wolf beast. The beast was clawing the tree and jumping with jaws open. It was determined to get you two. You glanced at Camilla, who sat on a higher branch. "What now?" You asked. You both were safe for now but still trapped with a wolf beast; that was trying to eat you two. "Let me think..." She looked around with a thoughtful expression. You stared at the wolf beast with a hopeless expression. It looked hungry and terrifying. Your heart was literally pounding next to your ear.

"You know what? I'm not gonna join you on a next magic grass hunt if we are gonna get hunted by a rabid wolf," You stated. Camilla was still working on coming up with an escape plan. "I think I got it," She finally said something. "Please do tell me, I don't wanna be wolf meal tonight-!" You yelled as you were suddenly pulled down off the tree. "(Name)!"Camilla yelled.

You fell from the tree and hit the ground with a harsh slam. You wheezed for air and held your aching ribs, which were literally screaming in pain. You coughed hard. The deep growl made you turn around and face the terrible wolf beast. It licked its mouth while staring at you hungrily. The bastard bit your leg and pulled you down. You started breathing fast as you crawled away from it. The wolf beast roared and lunged at you. You screamed when it hovered above you. You held your hands up grabbing its head, trying to prevent it from biting your head off. Its jaws were literally only a few centimetres away from your face. The teeth looked bigger from your point of view. They are terrifying, and you didn't want to get shredded by those. Even the breath of this beast smelled bad.

Camilla took out a dagger she kept for emergencies. She jumped from her branch toward you and the wolf beast. The beast howled in pain after Camilla stabbed it in the back. The beast got off of you and started buckling to get Camilla off its back. Camilla held on to her dagger, which was still deep in the wolf beast's back. You watched from the sideline as your best friend was riding a rabid wolf. You should do something, but you didn't know what. Camilla's scream caught your attention. The wolf beast chomped down on her arm and with a harsh tug. It pulled Camilla off its back. Camilla hit the ground with a grunt. Her arm was bleeding pretty badly. "Camilla!" You quickly stood up. The wolf beast growled and prepared to attack her. You gasped and with all your strength. You charged at the beast.

Camilla turned toward the wolf beast with a terrified look. It roared at her and lunged. She gasped and brought her healthy arm up to defend herself from the attack, but before the wolf beast could even touch her. You tackled the beast on the ground. You and the beast wrestled on the ground before it completely overpowered you, and you were once again under it, trying to prevent it from chopping your head off. "Son of a bitch!" You yelled, holding the jaws away from your face. Camilla tried to get up, but her injured arm made her stay put. She looked helplessly at you and the wolf beast. You stared at the wolf beast's jaws, and something familiar clicked within you. The sense of death. Were you really gonna die here? Was this thing gonna eat Camilla once it was done with you? The question haunted your mind and woke rage within you. You pushed your finger deeper into the wolf beast's skin. You stared into its neck, having an uncontrollable need to bite it and kill it. Pictures of blood and flesh flooded into your mind. The need to taste blood burned your throat. Your hands started to turn pale white, and a familiar feeling of cold zapped across you. A sound of a swish caught your ears, and before you even knew it; there was a long arrow in the wolf beast's shoulder. It yelped in pain. You felt the heavy body of the beast getting off of you. The wold beast stumbled on its feet. You looked over when you heard whines of horses. Riders on giant horses galloped to the area. The wolf beast growled at the sight of them. One of the riders had a bow and shot the wolf beast with another arrow. The wolf beast howled in pain before dropping to the ground. Dead.

You stood up and walked over to Camilla, who was clutching her arm. "Are you okay?" You asked, helping her up. "Well, I got bitten by a rabid wolf and obviously bleeding, but Yeah. I think I'm Okay. Hopefully, I'm not turning into a werewolf," She answered with a sarcastic smile. You both jumped back when a horse snorted near you two. A giant horse stood before you. "Who are you, and what is your business around here?" The rider demanded. He was a male with long hair and obvious pointy ears. He had a snappy look on his face. Are all elves this angry looking?

You were about to say something, but then a familiar voice spoke out. "At ease. These two are harmless," Maglor rode toward you three with his own glorious stallion. "Go make sure the rest of the warg packs has been taken care of," He said. "Yes, my lord," The rude elf bowed and rode away. Maglor then turned toward you and Camilla. Damn, you didn't know this musician was a royal one. "What are you two doing so far away from the human village?" He asked, mostly looking at you. "We were searching for kingsfoil, but then that creature attacked us," Camilla explained. "Thank you for rescuing us, my lord," She then bowed in respect. You stood quiet and watched. "It's not safe to move around here freely. Wargs have managed to break into these lands, so you should stay in your village for further notice," He explained. So those things were called wargs. Well, that makes sense since they were ugly as hell. Maglor was still looking at you. Stop looking at me! You yelled at him in your imagination.

"Would you like to get that wound treated, my lady?" He looked at Camilla. "No need. This is nothing but a scratch. I'm able to treat it myself. I think It's best for us to leave now so we won't disturb your hunting," She waved him off. And that's why you leave the talking to her. He nodded at her. "As you wish, but I shall have on one of my guards to escort you two safely back to your village, so no more attacks shall happen," He turned his horse around. "Thank you, my lord," Camilla said. He glanced at you. You two held eye contact for a moment before he chuckled and rode away. You frowned at him. Was he laughing at your situation right now? The nerve of that elf! Even if you got into a tricky situation and had to be rescued. He doesn't need to rub it in your face. "(Name)! Come on" Camilla called, standing next to a guard who Maglor graciously gave you for protection. You sighed and walked toward your friend. This magic grass hunt was a too big bite to handle. Even when it was just for the grass.

[snappedsky]

Fanatics 81.2

The battle is just beginning.

*Links to previous and next chapters in reblog*

--

Reawakening Part 2

           “Those stupid, fucking, zombie…fucks!” Johnny barks as he paces angrily around the living room. “I’m gonna hunt them down and crush them beneath my boots!”

           “Nny,” Eff says, resting his hand on Johnny’s shoulder. He immediately removes it when Johnny snarls at him. “You know I love it when you’re scary and violent. But right now, you’ve got something more important to worry about.”

           He motions into the kitchen where Squee is sitting at the table, Devi and Tenna next to him.

           “Right,” Nny sighs.

           “Leave the zombie fucks to us,” Reverend Meat says reassuringly.

           “Yeah, I’m itching to smash them all to a pulp,” D-boy adds as the Night Terrors go outside and Nny goes into the kitchen. He rests his hand on Squee’s back, rubbing it comfortingly.

           “How long has it been bothering you?” Devi asks.

           “I don’t know, a week?” Squee replies, “at first it was easy enough to deal with. It was just Squishy Pete and the Night Terrors usually got rid of him fast enough.”

           “Squishy Pete?” Tenna questions.

           “But now it’s getting worse,” he continues, “I can feel it trying to surround me. Like a suffocating darkness.”

           “I haven’t felt anything,” Devi says and looks at Johnny. “Have you?”            He shrugs. “Kind of. I don’t think it’s ever really left me though.”

           “So what do we do?” Tenna asks.

           “What we’ve done every other time the Nightmare’s returned,” Squee replies, “take out its minions until it leaves us alone.”

           “Yeah, but, the last couple times it hasn’t affected you this badly,” Devi points out.

           “I’m fine. I just…have to hold out long enough,” he insists, “I can handle it.”            The others look at him, unconvinced and concerned. Then Johnny clears his throat.

           “Well, if the zombies are here then that means Zoli is too,” he growls, “I have half a mind to hunt her down and end this now. That crazy, demon bitch.”

           As he starts pacing around again, muttering angrily, Squee looks at Devi and Tenna. “You two should go home. It’ll be safer there.”

           “What about you?” Tenna asks.

           “I’ll be fine,” he replies, “the Night Terrors are keeping watch. And if a fight breaks out, I don’t want you getting mixed up in it.”

           The girls share a look. They don’t want to leave Squee alone but they get the feeling he won’t take no for an answer.

           “Alright,” Devi nods and they stand up. “But if you need anything, just text me.”            “I will,” Squee replies, forcing a smile. “Oh uh Nny can drive you home. Right, Nny?”

           “Huh?” Johnny stops pacing. “Oh, alright, I guess. Let’s go.”

           As the three of them head outside, Johnny points at the roof where the Night Terrors are hanging out. “I’ll be back in a bit. Watch the house.”            “You bet,” Reverend Meat waves as Johnny, Devi, and Tenna get into the car and drive away.

           Back in the house, Squee lies down on the couch, sighing heavily. He smiles weakly as Nugget curls up on his stomach before closing his eyes and rubbing his aching head.

           Reverend Meat watches this through the window before pulling himself back onto the roof.

           “He’s not doing well,” he states.

           “He’s already looking like a husk,” D-boy agrees, “I mean, when was the last time he’s even written?”

           “We need to do something or we might actually lose him,” Sickness insists.

           “Why don’t we hunt down those zombie fucks?” Eff suggests, “we destroy them and capture them before they even have a chance. And then maybe we can draw Zoli into an ambush.”

           “Is it a good idea to leave Squee alone though?” Sickness asks.

           “We’ll split up,” Reverend Meat declares, “three of us will hunt the zombies and the fourth will stay guard.”

           “Okay. How do we decide?” D-boy asks.

           “Rock paper scissors?” Eff suggests.    

           They get ready to play when Sickness suddenly stops. “Wait. You see that?”            She points down the street where a familiar young woman with very short black hair and round glasses is standing.

           “Tess?” Reverend Meat questions.

           “Wow, she is the last one I expected to see,” Eff comments.

           “What is she doing?” D-boy asks, “just…standing there?”

           “I’ll go see,” Sickness declares and hops down onto the road.

           “Hey, Tess,” Sickness says as she warily approaches the zombie girl. Tess just stares at her, still and expressionless. “Zoli finally let you out for some air, huh? So, this some kind of trap?”

           Without a word, Tess turns the palm of her hand towards Sickness. Black tendrils shoot out, taking her by surprise and wrapping around her completely before she has a chance to escape.

           “Sickness!” Reverend Meat, D-boy, and Eff exclaim.

           They leap off the building towards Tess as she starts running away, her Nightmare tendrils carrying the wriggling, struggling Sickness. She has a good head start for a couple blocks, but she can’t outmaneuver the Doughboys’ agility and D-boy tackles her to the ground.

           “Gotcha!” he snarls while Eff slices through the tendrils. Reverend Meat quickly rips apart the rest, freeing Sickness. She coughs and gasps for breath before glaring at Tess.

           “Oh, you’re gonna pay for that,” she snarls.

           Tess doesn’t even struggle as D-boy holds her down, her glasses lying on the ground a few inches from her face.

           “Careful, guys,” Reverend Meat warns, “she might have more tricks up her sleeve.”

           “This was a trap, wasn’t it?” Sickness demands, “what, were you trying to lead us straight to the other zombies? Or Zoli?”

           “Something like that,” Tess replies drily.

           “Oof, you’re really beaten down, aren’t you?” Eff comments, lifting her head by her hair. “It’s been a while since we’ve seen you. Zoli finally decide to give you a chance?”

           “I defied her once and helped Squee and Johnny,” Tess explains, “I…can’t make that mistake again.”            “Mistake?” D-boy scoffs, “we’ve been helping Squee for a long time now. You just didn’t do it right.”

           Tess spits angrily. “What do you guys know? You have no idea what I’ve been through! I’ve been trapped in endless darkness for years! Surrounded by nothing, just….pure nothingness! It’s maddening! I couldn’t even remember what sunlight looked like or-or any other sound than my own voice! Do you have any idea what that’s like?”            The Night Terrors stare at her, speechless for a second, before D-boy croaks, “yes.”            “Aw man!” Eff cries, gripping his head. “We’re sympathizing with her!”

           Tess stares at them with surprise as D-boy frees her and they stand aside. She’s too stunned to even stand up.

           “Of course we know that happened to you,” Reverend Meat says, “the Nightmare did that to all us every time we failed. You’re right, it is…maddening.”

           “But that was before Squee freed us,” Sickness adds, “he saved us and that’s why we won’t let the Nightmare take him.”            “But, just this once, because we feel sorry for you,” D-boy says, “we’ll let you go.”

           Tess sighs, hanging her head. “I can’t escape.”

           “Maybe not yet,” Eff replies, “but when we defeat Zoli, you might have a chance.”

           She looks at them, shocked. “You’re gonna…help me?”

           D-boy shrugs. “Like I said, we feel sorry for you.”

           Tess looks away, feeling conflicted, before standing up and facing them. “Zoli plans to take away everyone Squee cares about. She thinks this will break him down enough to finally make him susceptible to the Nightmare.”

           “Hm, so that’s her plan,” Reverend Meat muses.

           “Fuck, Tess, you really are a disappointment.”

           The Night Terrors look up at the familiar voice as Jimmy, Krik, Dillon, and Edgar hop down from a roof behind Tess. She immediately falls back, cowering from them.

           “You know how hard we had to fight to convince Zoli to let you out?” Dillon asks, “and you had to go and do this.”

           Tess tries to argue but before she can say anything, Reverend Meat grabs her and tosses her behind him.

           “Well, well,” he smirks, “it’s the zombie edgelords.”

           “Yeah, we’re the edgelords,” Krik snorts, “have any of you looked in a mirror lately?”

           “Looking forward to getting chopped up again, Jimmy?” Eff asks as he draws to knives from his hat.

           “That won’t happen again,” he snarls, “we have a few new tricks up our sleeves.”

           “Great,” D-boy smirks as he draws his mallet. “We like tricks.”

           Meanwhile, Johnny parks his car in the parking lot of Devi and Tenna’s apartment building and they both get out.

           “Take care of Squee, got it?” Devi orders.

           “Yeah, yeah,” he replies dismissively.

           She starts to turn away when he calls her again. “Devi. Uh…if you see anything weird…just call me, okay?”            She stares at him with surprise but he refuses to make eye contact. “Okay,” she smiles.

           “What if I see anything weird?” Tenna asks.

           “No, if I give you permission to call me, then you’ll call every five minutes,” Nny snaps.

           “Fine,” she groans.

           Johnny watches as they enter the building before leaving. He drives for a couple blocks, his eyes constantly darting around, checking his surroundings. Finally, he stops on a random, empty street and parks at the curb. He walks for another block or two before stopping.

           “Alright,” he says loudly, “I know you’re there. So come out already.”

           Zoli drops down in front him. She tosses back her very long, black hair as she stands up straight, sticking her hands into the pockets of her brown trench coat.

           “Hey, Nny,” she grins, “you look well.”

           “Why’d you wait?” Johnny asks, “why not go after the girls?”

           “Psh, what fun would that be?” she scoffs, “they’re small fries, and I want some action.”

           “And I want to end this.”

           “Then-.” Zoli pulls her scythe out of her coat. “Come end this.”            Johnny snarls, draws his knives, and charges.

           Meanwhile, across the city, Zim, Dib, Gaz, Tak, and Pepito walk away from the Skool to Zim’s house.

           “So, let me be sure I understand,” Dib says, “this…Nightmare…wears down its victim emotionally and mentally with annoying minions in order to absorb their imagination, rendering them into husks of their former selves.”            “Exactly,” Pepito replies.

           “And it’s been after Squee his whole life because of his powerful imagination,” Zim adds, “but Squee had Shmee, who came from an entity called the Daydream which is the Nightmare’s enemy.”

           “Right.”

           “But now Shmee’s gone, so there’s nothing to hold the Nightmare back,” Tak says.

           “Yes.”

           “And Squee’s kept this from us this whole time,” Gaz adds, “because he’s worried it’s too dangerous and he doesn’t want us getting involved.”

           “Yeah.”

           “Well, then, our path is clear,” Zim states, “obviously we gotta help him. So how do we do that?”

           “I don’t know,” Pepito sighs.

           “Well, how have they stopped the Nightmare before?” Dib asks.

           “They destroy its minions,” he replies.

           “Then we’ll do that,” Zim declares.

           “But we don’t know where they are,” Pepito points out.

           “Then we’ll hunt them down,” Tak suggests.

           “But we don’t know what they look like.”            Everyone’s quiet for a second, as they consider their situation.

           “You said Squee’s being tormented by some kind of stress toy,” Gaz says, “and whenever it’s destroyed, it gives him a moment of peace.”

           “Yeah, but it’ll keep coming back,” Pepito replies.

           “Well, then, we’ll just keep destroying it until it gets the message.”

           “Gaz is right,” Dib nods, “right now Squee is hurting and the best thing we can do for him, as his friends, is be there for him.”

           “Well, then, what are we waiting for?” Zim demands, “let’s go to him!”

           “We’re literally on the way to the car,” Tak points out, aggravated.

           They hurry the rest of the way to Zim’s base to get in the Epic and fly to Squee’s side.

[imagineteller1]

Horror Night

Warnings: language, gore.

Pairings: Daryl x reader x Negan.

My heart felt heavy on my chest. I choked in every breath I took. I watched, what used to be Abraham, crushed in the floor. Everything was ringing. The tears blinding my vision.

Negan talked but I didn't pay attention, I couldn't. He was in front of Rosita, trying to get her to see the bloody bat of the man she loved. In a second, Daryl took a swing at Negan.

"Daryl! No!" I screamed and ran towards him, my hands extended in an attempt to grab him. Before I could reach him, some of Negan's men were already holding me down as well as Daryl.

"No!" Negan yelled pointing his bat at Daryl. "That- oh," he chuckled. "That is a no no. The whole thing, not one bit of that shit flies here." He now kneeled in front of me. His rough hand was pulling on my chin to look up at him. "Brave little thing here, eh?"

I pulled my face away from his grasp. He stood back up. A blonde man held Daryl's crossbow at his face.

"You want me to kill him? Right here?"

"No!" I screamed. Trashing my body in the men's grip, I kicked around.

"Hey! Hey, what part of staying quiet do you not get?" Negan turned to me with his bat.

"Please, please, don't kill him. I'm begging you." I sobbed and I felt like I couldn't breath. My breath was stuck in my throat. I felt like I was having a panic attack. When I started shaking more violently I knew I was. My limbs felt as if they weren't there. I felt heavy but at the same time lite.

I heard Negan say something and then Daryl was thrown back in line. He approached me and kneeled back down. I tried to push the men away but they just gripped tighter. "I c-an't brea-th." I stuttered.

"What did you say again, darlin'"

"I-I can't br-eath." He signalled his men and I was dropped. My palms were on the ground as I tried to calm down. My chest heaved violently as I gasped for air. I felt like I was drowning.

"Holy fucking shit, she is having an attack." He joked.

New tears reamed down my face and fell to the dirt. This could be it. I looked at Daryl. He was looking at me, I saw a tear flow down his cheek. He tried to walked towards me but he was pushed down.

I closed my eyes and tried to calm my breathing. Deep breaths. I could feel the oxygen make its way to my lungs. I heard Daryl's voice telling me to calm down like he had done countless of time, but in difference, he wasn't holding me this time.

After what felt like hours I opened my eyes and felt like I could breathe again.

"Still with us, doll?" Negan asked jokingly. "Both of you are so impulsive, not surprised you two are fucking." He took my face in his hand forcefully.

I glared up at him and he chuckled. "Get her back in line." Like that I was thrown in my back and dragged to where I had been kneeling before.

"Anyway... that's not how it works. Now, I already told you people, first one's free. Then what did I say, I said I would shut that shit down." He had a maniac smile on his face. "No exceptions. Now I don't know what kind of lying assholes you've been dealing with, but I'm a man of my word. First impressions are important." Short silence. "I need you to know me. So, back to it."

In a second Negan's bat connected with Glenn's head. I blinked a few times. Not being able to believe this was really happening. We had just lost two of the strongest men of our group in a couple of minutes. I looked at Maggie and saw her sobbing.

I looked back at Glenn. You could see his skull and one of his eyes was bulging out of its socket.

My heart was beating out of my chest and I could hear every beat thumping.

"Buddy, you still there?" Negan asked mockingly. He muttered something and then exclaimed. "You are trying to speak! But you just took a hell of a hit. I just popped your skull so hard your eyeball just popped out. This is as gross as shit."

"Maggie I-I'll find yo-u." Glenn finally was able to mutter out.

"Oh, hell." Negan spoke. His voice was calm and serious. Like he actually felt sorry. "I can see this is hard, amiga. I am sorry. I truly am. But, I did say..." a smile now played in his lips. "No exceptions." He swinged at Glenn again. I jumped back in place.

No, no, no.

"You bunch of pussies... I'm just getting started. Lucille is thirsty." He kept hitting and hitting. There was nothing left to hit yet he kept swinging his bat. After he got tired he stepped away and joked. "She is a vampire bat."

The only sound was Negan's boot and our cries.

"What? Was the joke that bad?"

Rick looked up from his spot with a trembling yet determined look in his eyes. "I'm gonna kill you."

"What? I didn't quite catch that. You're gonna have to speak up." Negan mocked.

"Not today... not tomorrow... but I'm gonna kill you."

"Jesus," Negan scoffed. "Simon, what did he have? Knife?"

"He had a hatchet."

"Hatchet?" He smiled.

"An axe."

Negan laughed. "Simon, is my right hand man. Having one of those is important. I mean, what do you have left without 'em. A whole pile of work. You have one? Maybe one of these fine people still breathing. Oh, or did I-" he made a clock sound with his tongue.

Rick remained silent. Negan sighed. "Sure, yeah. Give me his axe."

Who I believed was Simon, stepped up with axe in hand and gave it to Negan. He stood up and grabbed Rick by the shoulder. "We'll be right back, maybe Rick will be with me. If not, well we can just turn these people's inside out. I mean, the ones that are left."

With that he shut the trailer's door closed and drove away.

I looked at Daryl. He was shaking. His gunshot wound could get infected with all the trauma his body was going through right now. I went to stand up but was held in place.

"I'm not gonna do anything. You have all of our weapons, what could I do?" I tried to reason with the men.

"You stay on your knees, bitch. Unless you want to end up like your friends over there." He signalled to the bodies that laid on the floor. With a thud I sat back in the ground, pulling my legs to my chest.

--

Hours had passed and the sun had come up when the trailer came back. No one came out for a couple of minutes. The air was full of tension as we hoped to see Rick still alive. When the door finally opened, Rick was pushed to the ground and Negan came out, he dragged Rick back to us.

"Here we are. Let me ask you something, Rick. You even know what that little trip was about?"

Rick remained silence.

"Speak when you're spoken to."

"Okay... okay."

"That trip was about the way you looked at me. I wanted to change that. I wanted you to understand. But you're still looking at me the same damn way... like I shit in your scrambled eggs, and that's not gonna work." He paced around and then kneeled next to Rick. "So... do I give you another chance?"

"Yeah. Yes. Yes."

Patting Rick's shoulder he stood up. "Okay." He chuckled. "All right. And here it is- the grand prize game. What you do now will decide whether your crap day becomes everyone's last crap day or just another crap day. Get some guns to the back of their heads.”

Guns cocked from behind us.

"Good. Now... level with their noses, so if you have to fire..." he imitates an explosion. "It'll be a real mess."

Silence.

"Kid." He said looking at Carl. "Right here." He pointed to the ground beside Rick. Carl was frozen in place. "Kid... now." Carl took slow steps. Negan took of his belt. "You a southpaw?"

"Am I a what?"

"You a lefty?"

"No."

"Good." He smiled as he took Carl's arm and tied the belt around it, cutting the circulation. "That hurt?"

"No."

"Should. It's supposed to." He finished tying the belt. "All right. Get down on the ground, kid, next to daddy. Spread them wings." He took Carl's hat off.

Carl did as told. "Simon, you got a pen?"

"Yeah." He threw it at Negan. He took of the cap with his teeth and kneeled next to Carl.

"Sorry, kid. This is gonna be as cold as a warlock's ballsack, just like he was hanging his ballsack above you and dragging it across the forearm." We all watched in horror as Negan drew a line in Carl's arm. "There you go. Gives you a little leverage."

"Please. Please. Please don't. Please don't." Rick begged.

"Me?" Negan chuckled. "I ain't doing shit." He stood up. "Ah. Rick, I want you to take your axe... cut of your son's left arm off, right on that line. Now I know- I know. You're gonna have to process that for a second. That makes sense. Still, though, I'm gonna need you to do it, or all these people are gonna die. Then Carl dies, then the people back home die... and then you, eventually. I'm gonna keep you breathing for a few years, just so you can stew on it."

"You- you don't have to do this. We understand. We understand." Michonne spoke.

"You understand. Yeah. I'm not sure Rick does." He advertido his attention back to Rick. "I'm gonna need a clean cut right there on that line. Now, I know this is a screwed up thing to ask, but it's gonna have to be like a salami slice- nothing messy, clean, forty five degrees- give us something to fold over. We got a great doctor. The kid'll be fine. Probably. Rick this needs to happen now- chop, chop- or I will crush the little fella's skull myself."

"Please, we all understand. Rick understands. We all work for you, stop this. You don't need to prove a point because you already did." I tried. This was my family. I wasn't gonna stay quiet and not try anything. My arms pointed at the fallen bodies.

I felt a gun press against the back of my head.

"It can- it can- it can be me." Rick stuttered out. "It can be me. Y-you can do it to me. I c- I can go with- with you."

"No. This is the only way. Rick... pick up the axe." Rick didn't move. "Not making a decision is a big decision." Negan's voice raised. "You really want to see all these people die? You will. You will see every ugly thing." He still didn't move. "Oh, my god." He groaned. "Are you gonna make me count? Okay, Rick. You win. I am counting."

"Three!"

"Please." Rick cried out. "Please. It can be me. Please!"

"Two!" He kneeled next to Rick.

"Please, don't do-" Rick sobbed and I looked away.

"This is it."

Rick screamed. I shut my eyes closed. Tears running down my cheeks.

"One!"

"Dad... just do it. Just do it." I heard Carl whisper.

I looked back at the scene.

Rick held the axe high, preparing to cut his son's arm.

"Rick." Negan stopped him. "You answer to me. You provide for me. You belong to me. Right?" Rick nodded hastily. "Speak when you're spoken to!" Negan's voice beamed making everyone jump. "You answer to me. You provide for me."

"Provide for you." Rick answered shakily.

"You belong to me, right?!"

"Right." Rick breathed heavy.

"Right. That... is the look I wanted to see." He stood up and took the axe. "We did it... all of us, together... even the dead ones on the ground. Hell, they get the spirit award, for sure." He sighed. "Today was a productive damn day! Now, I hope, for all your sake... that you get it now... that you understand how this work. Things have changed. Whatever you had going for you... that is over now." He chuckled.

There was a moment of silence before he spoke again. "Ah, Dwight... load him up." He signalled to Daryl who struggled in, who I suppose was Dwight's, arms.

"What are you gonna do to him?" I asked. Trying to sound as strong as I could. Negan turned to me.

"How could I forget about you?" He took long yet calming strides towards me. "You, darlin', are coming with me too."

"Why?" I sounded more panicked than I wanted to.

"Because..." he smiled. "You've got a mouth on you and I really, really like it. Keeps me on my feet. I have a proposal for you..." he waited for my name.

"Lucia."

He smiled and licked his lips. "You hear that, Lucille? They sound similar... okay, Lucia. I have this proposal for you. You come with me, be one of my wives, and I, won't kill another one of your group, for your blabbing mouth. How does that sound, hm?"

Shock was written all over my face. "It's your choice, Lucia. Either you come with me or... I kill another one of your friends. So, what will it be?" He passed his finger along my jawline. I looked at the truck where Daryl was in.

Maybe, if I went with him I could find a way to help Daryl escape. I looked around the group. I wasn't gonna let anyone else die, much less because of my fault.

"Okay." I said. Turning off all my emotions.

"Great." He smiled. "You and I are gonna have a lot of fun together." He licked his lips while scanning my body. "Fan-fucking-tastic. Simon, put her in my truck. I still have some words to say to our new pal Rick."

As Simon grabbed my arm and led me to a truck I looked back and saw Rick watching me. I gave him a slight nod with my head, telling him I had a plan.

I wrote this a some time ago but hadn’t posted it here. Requests are open ❤️

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Fallen Idols: Final Part

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1,811

Warnings: typical supernatural violence, language, angst, blood, you know the usual

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Any and all comments on these are appreciated. I really want to hear what you guys think about this one!

Feedback is the glue that holds my writing together.

Tags at the bottom

“Yahtzee,” Sam grinned.

“What is it?” you asked with your head on Dean’s shoulder as he messed with his laptop. Sam wanted him to do some research, but he was playing an internet game secretly.

“The seeds aren't from around here. In fact, they're not from any tree or plant in the country. They’re from Eastern Europe from a forest in the Balkans, which is not even there anymore. It was chopped down, like, thirty years ago. Apparently, local legend has it that the forest was guarded by a pagan god whose name was Leshi. Um, a mischievous god, could take on infinite forms and feed from his worshipers. He could only be appeased with the blood from his worshippers. It would drain 'em, then stuff their stomachs with the seeds.”

“Okay, so how's he doing it? What, he touches James Dean's keychain and then morphs into James Dean?” you wondered as you got up from the bed.

“Hm. It's as good a guess as any.”

“Yeah, well, whatever. How do we kill him?” Dean asked the important question.

“Says here to chop off his head with an iron axe.”

“All right. Let's go gank ourselves a Paris Hilton,” he said with the most serious face he could muster up.

Being back at the wax museum was mortifying, but there was a teenage girl’s life on the line. A flashlight was in one hand while you tiptoed through the museum, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Sam and Dean split up in different directions until you heard Sam whistle for you and Dean to join him. Walking over to the tallest Winchester, you noticed two signs on the door which might be where Leshi is. “CLOSED FOR RENOVATIONS” and “DANGER DO NOT ENTER” hung on the door. Rolling your eyes, you broke the latch with your magic before entering the place. Dean had the axe ready to use in case Paris Hilton does show up.

The room was decorated to be like a clearing in the woods with a path leading up the middle to a white house with a wax figure of a man in a suit standing on the front porch. Upon entering, you noticed a woman tied to one of the trees, and you knew it must be Danielle. Pushing past the brothers, you barely made it to the girl before the axe in Dean’s hand went flying into the trunk of another nearby tree.

Leshi appeared behind Dean with a wicked smile before punching him multiple times in the face which caused him to crumble to the ground.

“Go help. I got her,” you whispered to Sam who rushed over to help. 

Leshi flipped her hair as you worked the girls’ binds. Leshi shoved Sam as hard as she could into the post of the fake house, effectively knocking him out.

“Awesome,” she grinned. 

She raised her stiletto-clad foot and stomped on Dean’s face which knocked him out. She finally turned to you with an evil smile.

“I don’t think so,” she declared as she raised her hand to use her powers to send your head flying into the tree that the girl was tied to. 

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you collapsed in darkness.

The sound of metal sliding against metal is what woke you up. The ground is what you saw first, and you realized from the restraints on your hands was that you were tied just like the young woman. Sam and Dean woke up not too long after you, and Leshi grinned when she realized you three were awake.

“Oh, I'm so glad you're awake for this. This is gonna be huge.”

“Super. Yeah, I wouldn't wanna miss it,” Dean grumbled. 

He looked over at you just as your eyes flashed blue to let him know you were going to get the ropes untied before doing the same to his and Sam’s.

“I mean, I've been stuffing myself with fast food lately. So, it's nice to do the ritual right. Prepare a nice, slow meal for a change,” she grinned as she filed her nails against the carving knife she had in her hands which was causing sparks.

“Just like the good old days, huh?”

“You have no idea. People adored me. They used to throw themselves at me, with smiles on their faces.”

“Yeah, I guess these days nobody gives a flying shit about some backwoods forest god, huh?” Dean snapped, and Leshi stopped filing her nails with a threatening glare.

“No, not since they cut down my forest and built a Yugo plant.”

“March of progress, sister,” he chuckled. Focusing all of your attention to the binds, you felt your magic dance around your wrist as they began to untie the ropes to set you free.

“For years now, I've been wandering, hungry, and scared. Scrounging for scraps. So not sexy. But then, the best thing ever happened. Someone tripped the apocalypse, and I thought, what the hell, I'm tired of watching what I eat. I wanna pig out. So, I found this little place. It's awesome. Adoring fans stroll right in the door.”

“Yeah. But they're not your fans,” Sam tried to reason.

“So? They worship Lincoln, Gandhi, Hilton... whatever. I'll take what I can get.”

“You know, I gotta tell you, you are not the first God we've met, but you are... the nuttiest,” Dean chuckled. Your binds were loose enough so they fell, and you kept your hands where they were to keep up with the illusion that you were still bound before shooting your magic over to Dean’s wrist secretly to have his binds untied.

“No, you, you people, you're the crazy ones. You used to worship Gods. But this? This is what passes for idolatry? Celebrities? What have they got besides small dogs and spray tans? You people used to have old-time religion. Now you have Us Weekly.”

“I don't know, I'm more of a Penthouse Forum man myself,” Dean smirked with a wink as his binds fell to the ground. He kept his hands here as well just as your magic bounced from his wrist to Sam’s.

“Maybe,” she stalked over to Dean, “but... there's still a lot of yummy meat on those bones, boy.”

“Well I hate to break it to you, sister, but, uh... you can't eat me. See, I'm not a Paris Hilton BFF. I've never even seen House of Wax.”

“No. But I can totally read your mind, Dean. I know who your hero is. Your daddy. Am I right?” she smirked and walked over to the axe she threw into the tree earlier. “And this belonged to him. Didn't it? Poor little Dean. All you ever wanted was to be loved by your idol. One distant father figure, coming right up.”

“Not today, bitch,” you grinned as your eyes flashed a bright blue.

She turned around just as a ball of blue magic hit her square in the face. She stumbled a bit from the impact, and Dean raced at her before tackling her to the ground. The binds on Sam’s wrists snapped, and he wasted no time in rushing over to the axe before yanking it out of the tree. Leshi punched Dean before you sent another ball of magic straight to her chest which knocked her off your boyfriend. She groaned as her healed lolled on the ground seconds before Sam brought the axe down on her neck… again… and again… and again… and then a final time. Her head rolled off to the side as blood poured from her body.

Panting, you looked over at Danielle who moaned in pain. Rushing over to her, you placed your fingers at her neck to search for a pulse. It was barely there, but there nonetheless.

“She’s alive. Barely, but still.”

“Not a word,” Dean groaned as he pointed a finger at his brother who had blood sprayed over half of his face.

“Dude. You just got whaled on by Paris Hilton!”

“Shut up,” Dean groaned in pain.

After the motel was packed and cleaned out, you and the brothers left with your bags slung over your shoulders as Dean hung up the phone.

“That was Sheriff Carnegie. Danielle's gonna be all right. She's sworn off The Simple Life, but other than that, she’s going to be okay.”

“Glad to hear it,” you nodded.

“It gets better. Sheriff's putting out an APB on Paris Hilton. That ought to be good,” he laughed as he took out his keys and opened the trunk of the car. Putting your bags inside with the boys’, Dean sighed as he looked at his brother.

“Hey, listen, I was thinking about what you said yesterday. About me keeping too tight of a leash on you. Hell, maybe you're right. I mean, look, I'm not exactly Mister Innocent in this whole mess either, you know. I did break the first seal.”

“You didn't know.”

“Yeah, well, neither did you.”

“I wasn’t there for you when you needed me the most,” you sighed. Even though you had nothing to do with the apocalypse, you still had guilt for shutting Sam out when he needed you the most.

“I'm not saying demon blood was a great way to go, but, you did kill Lilith.”

“And start the apocalypse.”

“Which neither of us saw coming, I mean, who'd have thought killing Lilith would've been a bad thing? Point is, I was so worried about watching your every move that I didn't see what it was actually doing to you. So, for that I'm sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” you added.

“Thanks,” Sam nodded as Dean closed the trunk.

“So, where do we go from here?” Dean asked.

“The way I see it, we got one shot at surviving this. Maybe I am on deck for the devil, maybe same with you and Michael and Y/N with Amara, maybe there's no changing that. But, we can stop wringing our hands over it. We gotta just grab onto whatever's in front of us, kick its ass, and go down fighting.”

“That we can do,” you grinned.

“Okay. But we're gonna have to do it on the same level.”

“You got it,” Dean agreed. “I say we get the hell outta here.”

“Yes, please,” you nodded. Sam and Dean were about to go their respective ways when Deans topped his brother with a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, you wanna drive?” Dean offered.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I could, uh... I could use a nap.”

“Hell shot gun!” you grinned before rushing to the front of the car. Both brothers laughed at this before Sam took the keys from his hand. Everyone got into the car before Sam started it and drove off.

“Next time, I’m driving,” you declared.

“Keep dreaming, sweetheart,” Dean grinned teasingly.

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[soaptunes]

Soap’s 2020 AOTY Reviews: JPEGMAFIA - EP!

This EP (!) is really just a collection of all the loose singles Peggy dropped on a roughly monthly basis over the course of 2020. Despite that, and maybe even because of it, it’s still a contender for best rap project of the year.

I feel like I’m getting tired of saying that JPEGMAFIA is one of the most creative artists making experimental hip-hop right now. Even more tired of that appellation is Peggy himself, who on one track here proudly shouts out, “Fuck the underground, I’m going pop.” Of course, on the same song (the raucous, clattering “COVERED IN MONEY!”) he claims he beats his dick when he looks in the mirror and compares his gun to Portia La Rossi’s strap-on, so. Take that as you will. 

It’s strange that Peggy’s 2019 album All My Heroes Are Cornballs is over a year old now. That isn’t that long ago, but a lifetime has happened since then, and the thing still sounds more immediate than most projects that dropped this year. The same is true of 2018’s Veteran, but both projects have some songs that fall short. I won’t get specific, this isn’t a review of those albums, but a few tracks on both are experiments that don’t pan out - they get lost in the weeds of harshness and strange samples, they lack strong hooks or funny bars, they follow an obscure groove that’s hard to get a handle on. EP! proves that cut down to its essential moments, a JPEGMAFIA record can be a 25-minute blast. 

This is only 8 songs, we can take it track-by-track, which I think we’ll be doing for any EP reviews I do on here.

The first song is “BALD!,” a song that dropped in February, just before the pandemic turned this singles series into a quarantine project. If your first thought is that the beat sounds like something out of an obscure Nintendo racing game, that’s because it is - the main sample here is from Ridge Racer 3D for the 3DS. In pretty much every picture of JPEGMAFIA you can find from before this song’s release, he’s wearing a bandana or sweatband or something around his forehead, but this song literally served as the announcement to his fanbase that he’d shaved his head. This is a fucking hilarious concept for a song to begin with, but the beat is genuinely pretty and Peggy’s flow is merciless. Knocking the breakbeats out from under the synths makes them wash out and sound like the audio equivalent of a shitty screensaver, which I mean in the best way possible. 

BEST BAR: “Hairline proof God needs balance, BALD.”

“COVERED IN MONEY!” is a serious contender for song of the year for me. I would absolutely love to watch this guy figure out a beat, because the instrumental on this goes unbelievably hard and simultaneously makes no sense at all. It’s squeaky, stomping, clattering, shambolic, and feels like it’s completely falling apart. Does a beat like this come together in his head first? The drum pattern is borderline nonsensical, did it just come from him messing around in ProTools? I would genuinely love to know, he’s seriously a gifted producer and I wish he’d produce more for other rappers. Somehow Peggy hops into a triplet flow on top of this wonderful mess, the overall impression ending up somewhere in the ballpark of a cartoon character rapping while bouncing on a rusty pogo stick. The man namedrops Ving Rhames, Cannibal Ox, Bernie Mac, and the aforementioned Portia La Rossi all on the same song, and he’s really out for blood on this one, it’s one of his best flows ever. The way he makes the listener wait for the “fuck the underground” line is flawless, he’s slipping between time signatures effortlessly. He does an amazing job of wrangling the herky-jerky rhythms of the beat on the hook, making one of his stickiest choruses yet with the instant-classic line about “borderline dressing in drag.” There’s a beat switch about halfway through the song, which Genius tells me is a second half tilted “The Devil Wears Prada,” but “BALD!” has a lyric about them fucking up his lyrics on Genius, so, you know. It’s not as much fun beat-wise but his bars are just as good, and the song ties up with Peggy repeatedly apologizing and claiming he’s just been “shitted on.” This track is a must-listen, in my opinion, definitely one of the best of the year.

BEST BAR: “I’m covered in money, I’m out for the bag, I flew out the country, borderline dressin’ in drag.”

The sensual R&B of “BODYGUARD!” isn’t a total departure from stuff Peggy has done before - “Jesus Forgive Me, I Am A Thot” had some of those vibes and “Free The Frail” proved that not only can he write a great melodic song, he’s a respectable singer. Bodyguard is Sexy Peggy coming to full fruition though, warm synths draping around  soft beats and lyrics that could’ve come out of any 90’s hit. Peggy’s ear for a nice chord progression is evident, and there’s still strange touches like clipped vocals, off-kilter melodies, background chatter, and what sounds like a bicycle chain winding as part of the beat. This one took awhile to grow on me but it definitely did, and it provides a much-needed moment of calm on the EP.

BEST BAR: N/A, but I do like “who’s gonna turn me? Bitches gotta earn me.”

Then comes the remix of “BALD!” with Denzel Curry. The beat kicks in in the same way as it did before, and Peggy’s first verse is identical, but the entire back two-thirds of the song is one furious verse from Denzel. At first, his section gets a more muscular version of the racing game beat, but midway through, Peggy drops the drums out and just lets Denzel do his thing over a skeletal, washed-out instrumental. He spans a wide array of topics, from his stress over violence in his hometown, to loss of touch with his friends, to how cutting his famous dreads let him feel freer and more in control of himself. It’s a very cool verse, and I appreciate him linking it back to the haircut theme in an original way.

BEST BAR: “Dreadlocks had your boy like Sideshow Bob”

“CUTIE PIE!” puts Peggy on a genuine boom-bap beat, with nonstop flexing about his production chops. He gets pretty specific, and the title is apt given how genuinely adorable the sounds on the beat are. This one rolls almost normal for a JPEGMAFIA song, and despite the trove of weird references and the colorful atmosphere, it feels almost like a breakthrough, like he’s being more realistic or candid in his boasting. Like these are genuine points of pride for him and not just braggadocio, you know? Props for the music video here too, it’s definitely one of the best of the bunch. Super distinctive and weird, with Peggy hiding behind cacti and dancing in the middle of the desert with a near-nude woman.

BEST BAR: “Your beats inaccurate, muddy low end and you over-compressin’, ‘cuz you don’t know what you doin’, so y’all be stackin’ it, don’t know the diff so they just hold and attack it.”

The beat on “THE BENDS!” is almost oppressive, orchestra hits and a glacial pace lending the track a dark atmosphere. Autotune slurs Peggy’s bars, and the lyrics are relentlessly cynical and bleak. His actual political beliefs are obfuscated behind humor like “caught a body in a MAGA hat” as usual, but he ends the song with a breathy “fuck Trump,” so that much is clear. The glowing synth lines under the heavy saw bass give the first verse a cinematic quality, the “fantasies, fantasies, fantasies” line only adding to that. This is one of the briefer cuts, and one of the weaker ones too, but even this one has a ton of personality. 

BEST BAR: “Strap on my hip ‘cuz I’m bitter and old, Mountain Dew sippers, they hating the scroll”

“ROUGH 7” is EP!’s only true miss, and it’s definitely not Peggy’s fault. The beat is shadowy and evasive, and his verse is ice-cold, but the featured rapper, Tommy Genesis, kind of flattens the song. Her adlibs are cringe-inducing and her rapping is flat and devoid of personality, she tries to do the emo-rap scream double-track but it doesn’t work with her style, especially since what she’s rapping about isn’t tragic or even sad at all. The track picks up instantly once Peggy comes on, as usual he can slither into the cracks of an unusual beat and inject his cartoonish, acrobatic character into it. This is a topically unremarkable verse by JPEGMAFIA standards, but he leans into the beat’s rhythms like on “COVERED IN MONEY!” and it ends up working out in his favor and restabilizing the song by the close. His dejected “wow.” and “huh.” and “nasty.” adlibs help make it too, it’s really kind of ridiculous to compare his adlibs to Genesis’s.

BEST BAR: “Light a square n*** up like Billie Jean.”

Peggy closes the EP with “living single,” probably the second-best song either. He sings a surprisingly heartfelt interpolation of Mariah Carey’s “Always Be My Baby” as the hook, bringing to mind his has-to-be-heard-to-be-believed cover of “Call Me Maybe.” This beat could pass for vaporwave, its slurred groove and downshifted vocal snippets lending an atmosphere to it like Peggy is sitting outside a club smoking after too much alcohol. The stabbing synth riff that breaks through the fuzz keeps him on his toes and lets him work up a relatively speedy flow over the dazed instrumental. I’m not sure why I rate this one so highly, but the vibes are excellent and this is one of the best verses on the project for sure, it’s another one where he really hooks his flow into the off-kilter lurch of the beat. That may be my favorite thing about him as a rapper, the way he can tie himself to a beat and make sure it’s working for him instead of being outshined by it, even if it’s completely insane.

BEST BAR: “Champagne for the pain and sufferin’, fans same color as voice of Tim Duncan” 

Hoo, I wrote a ton about that. Maybe I won’t go track by track for the next EP, this is way too long already. In any case, I think due to its brevity and release method this great little record is going to get passed up on a ton of year-end lists, which is a damn shame. It has easily some of JPEGMAFIA’s best work on it - with no time for filler or botched experiments, Peggy delivered a tight, consistent, outrageously entertaining experimental rap joyride.

[jungxk]

accidents

filed under: dad!yoongi makes me soft and also h*rny

notes: i really couldn’t resist writing a soft husband and father yoongi drabble. this is a present for those who are patiently waiting for my other fic just one. i’ll be updating it soon but until then pls enjoy!

genre: fluff, comedy, romance

warnings: some brief smut at the end

length: 2.4k

when he was younger, yoongi wondered if he'd even get married let alone have kids. he wasn't really the sappy type; didn't treasure every keepsake, didn't celebrate month-a-versaries and sure as hell didn't coo over tiny baby shoes. but he loved you in his reliable, quiet, comforting way that you adored, and they always did say shit about meeting the right person. which happened to be you. his wife.

two decades later, and yoongi still doesn't consider himself a kids person. the only difference now is that he has his own. three to be exact; all of them accidents, but the pleasant kind. like finding spare change in his coat pocket. although your youngest child - eunmi, who's almost a year and a half - definitely gave him the shock of his life since he didn't think he'd be that guy that'd still be having kids at his age. but you both dealt with it, and coped considering. because it's not like yoongi's kids weren't annoying, whiny, puke-machines. but they were his puke-machines.

"sana, stop wedgy-ing your brother," yoongi hisses while he looks for his card, which is difficult to do with a baby strapped to his chest. "and yugyeom, stop pissing off your sister." 

the kids continue fighting anyway, his nine year old daughter currently tackling his seven year old son into the ground and knocking over one of the bagged groceries in the process. he sighs, watching the broken milk carton soak the shop floor helplessly.

"that's thirty-two seventy," the cashier repeats, not even bothering to hide the disgust on her face when his son suddenly starts wailing loud enough for the windows to crack, digging his snotty nose into yoongi's pant leg.

"yeah one minute," yoongi huffs, lifting one of eunmi's chubby legs off his stomach to pat down another pocket.

"noona pushed me!" he cries, tears wetting his rosy cheeks. "appa did you see? she pushed me!"

"yeah i saw," he sighs sympathetically, patting his son's head. "say sorry to him, sana."

"no!" she stamps her foot, little mouth up in a pout. "he pulled my hair! amma says i shouldn't let boys push me around!"

"he's your brother," yoongi looks down at him apologetically. "but she's right, you deserved it."

yugyeom's lip wobbles up at him, burying his damp face into yoongi's leg again before mumbling, "sorry, noona."

"it's okay," sana grins triumphantly, glad that she won.

"you say sorry too," yoongi warns, finally finding his wallet in his back jeans pocket. eunmi is starting to fidget in her carrier so it's difficult to open it without all his cards flying everywhere, yugyeom clinging to his leg making his balance even more unsteady. "it's not nice to push people, sana-yah. especially not your brother, he looks up to you so you should set an example."

"thirty-two seventy," the cashier says again, making yoongi grit his teeth.

"yeah i heard you," he bites back, shoving his card at her. sana's arms are still crossed stubbornly. "sana. babe, come on."

"fine," she hangs her head and grumbles, "sorry yeomie."

"s'okay," the little boy answers, suddenly cheerful and grabbing his sisters hand to run off and wait by the car together, tracking the milk all over the floor to the exit.

eunmi chooses this moment to grab a fistful of yoongi's hair, and he finds it incredible that his daughter's first word hasn't been a swear considering how much he does around her. he snatches his card back from the grumpy cashier even with a baby hanging off his head, silently promising never to venture out to the store without you ever again. and he means it this time.

x

x

x

"i want spaghetti!"

"i want kimchi jjigae!"

"you can't have both," yoongi rubs his temples, the throbbing behind them refusing to relent. the kids had been arguing over dinner for half an hour now, and since eunmi was going through a phase of wanting to fall asleep on yoongi's shoulder and absolutely nowhere else lest she screams bloody murder, his legs were beginning to throb. he was at his wits end. "you're going to have to come to a compromise."

yugyeom tilts his head. "compromise?"

"it's when you decide on something that makes you both happy," he says, shifting the baby onto his other hip.

the children turn to each other for a split second, eyes locking in that way only siblings can when they share a single brain cell. "kimchi spaghetti!"

god, did yoongi need a whisky right now.

"there's no such thing as kimchi spaghetti," he says as calmly as possible, but the urge to consume alcohol threatens to total him. even his kids could tell he was at the end of his proverbial rope. sana takes the opportunity to pluck his phone out his pocket and tap away at it with her little fingers, and yoongi wonders yet again whether it's a blessing or a curse that kids grew up with technology at their disposal these days. "what are you doing, sana?"

"kimchi spaghetti," she answers, turning the phone to show him an array of red pasta dishes on google images. "it's real appa, i promise! look!"

so yoongi does, the brightness of the screen making his eyes water without his glasses. he still didn't buy it but it was almost six in the evening and he was starving and he missed you, so if throwing some tomato sauce and old kimchi next to a bit of spaghetti made the day end sooner he'd take it. sighing in defeat, he plucks the phone from his daughter's little hand and puts on top of the fridge on his way to retrieve the chopping board. "fine. now help me wash some tomatoes, please."

he can't help but smile when the children cheer.

x

x

x

when you finally arrive home a couple hours later, your heart swells at the sight of your husband half asleep on the foot of the bed. even after all these years you had such a big crush on him. having already checked on the kids who were asleep in their rooms, you leave your top buttons undone from where you'd just nursed eunmi. you were coming to the end of the weaning process and soon she'd be exclusively on solids, and fuck if yoongi's favourite thing about parenthood wasn't what it did to your tits. he deserved to enjoy after manning the fort alone this afternoon.

you sit down gently on the comforter, fingers running through his dark hair as he stirs and registers your weight on the bed. his eyes practically light up when he sees you smiling down at him, his saviour in a button down and old nursing bra. he scoots in to rest his head on your thighs, nose digging into your soft tummy. he missed you so much. "when did you get home?"

"a while ago," you giggle, feeling him kiss your belly button through the fabric. he stops when he notices your open shirt, staring at your chest. "i just fed the baby," you laugh again when yoongi's covers you with his body weight so that you lie back against the pillows under him, his head nuzzling between your breasts. you could smell the dry baby vomit and cotton wipes on his shirt, eyes fluttering closed when he begins to kiss up your sternum. "well done for putting the kids to bed alone. how was dinner?"

he grunts, favouring your right breast with his mouth while he fondles the other. "they ate. do with that information what you will."

you grin, splitting your thighs around his hips to let yoongi warm up even closer to your body. "and the grocery store?"

"blonde bitch was at the till again," he huffs over your covered nipple. "i'm just pissed she wasn't the one sana wedgied."

"one of these days she's gonna catch on you don't like her and say something impolite," you chastise, but you're sighing contently under all yoongi's kissing. you had only left him with his own devices for a few hours, but it must have really taken its toll this time. "you know how outspoken she is."

"like her mother," he pecks your collar bone. "i encourage it."

"for now. let's see how you cope when she becomes a teenager."

"please don't," yoongi whines pathetically, because there was no subject he hated more than the mention of his kids growing up. it was by far the shittiest part of this whole procreating thing, watching the little trolls he carried around and coddled get older and need him less and less. he'd never admit it but if yoongi could keep the kids at eunmi's age right now forever, then he would in a heartbeat. cute, chubby, dependant. every father's dream. "so how did your appointment go?"

he feels you stiffen slightly under him. "good," a beat. "really good. definitely don't have a stomach bug,"

"really?" he peers up at you quizzically. "but you were throwing up this whole weekend."

"yeah..." you audibly swallow.

yoongi sits up, giving you some much needed air. you swing your legs over the edge of the bed to stand up again, pacing all the way to the vanity and back while he watches in silence. contrary to popular belief, you had always been the calm one. the one who always took everything in her stride, who never batted an eyelash at life's unexpected turns as if you saw it coming a mile away even though you didn't. yoongi was nowhere near that adaptable, but it didn't matter because you were. if you could handle it, he knew he could eventually too. which is why he looks so concerned when you shoot him a frazzled look.

"babe?" he says softly, resting his elbows on his knees while he watches you. "what is it?"

you peer up at him with your big eyes, so pretty and cute and delectable, and it's like he's nineteen all over again. "i'm pregnant again, yoongi."

a beat. "you're lying."

you shake your head slowly. "7 weeks tomorrow."

fuzzy. that's how yoongi feels, like his body has been emptied of all its insides and stuffed full of cotton. there's not even a train of thought floating through his head because he's too busy staring off into space, shakey hands coming to cover his face after a long five minutes. pregnant. again. he thought you two had already done the surprise baby thing with eunmi, she was supposed to be the happy accident, the cliché third child that no one saw coming.

"four," yoongi mutters.

"huh?" you step closer to him, peeling his hands from his face to reveal his dazed eyes.

"four kids," he huffs, staring up at you in disbelief. he was already tired just thinking about it. there was a time in yoongi's life where he didn't even know if he could keep a steady girlfriend for longer than two months and now he was here. about to be a father for the fourth time. the ice cream and toothepaste craving runs at three in the morning, the foggy pregnancy brain, the back massages, the maternity clothes. you'd have to get a bigger car. and not only that...the birth. feeding, changing, nappies, baby powder, toys, nursery bills. "four...four kids. that's double me and you. do you realise how grossly outnumbered we are..."

you bite your lip while you pet his hair. "i know it's a lot," you say softly, because you had gone through the exact same breakdown a few hours prior. yoongi just sits there dumbly while you cup his cheeks. "to take in, i mean."

he closes his eyes. "i'm going to be forty-one next month."

you wince. if you two were unprepared for eunmi, then this baby would be ten times that. you had settled into this four-bed place after taking out a mortgage just as big thinking that your family would be here for good, finalised your will the year prior, gave away all of eunmi's old baby grows she didn't fit into anymore - so set for a life of five. and now all of a sudden with no warning, it would be six. "yoongi, listen to me."

he looks up at you. "four kids...four. that's like...that's like a litter."

"i know," you say solemnly, pressing your lips together. "i know, okay? the idea of doing this again almost made me rip my hair out in that doctor’s room, so...if you don't think you can do it, tell me. just tell me now. if you can't cope that's okay."

he keeps staring at your open blouse, only half-listening. because amongst the flashing images of bills and calpol and snotty noses and joint pain there's also...giggles. first steps. chubby cheeks and reading late at night. picnics and sunday mornings and fighting over who's turn it was to pick the next song in the car. your exhausted smile after delivery when you hold a baby. school plays. first piece of homework. getting to know his kids slowly, little by little every day, excited for who they’ll become. that special type of relief yoongi only feels when all the kids are asleep and you take him to bed and strip naked for him.

he finally exhales. "okay."

"okay you can't cope?"

"okay," he corrects, taking your hands. "as in i can do it if you can."

holding back your smile is futile because yoongi can feel it against his own when he kisses you, pulling you back onto the bed. only when he removes your underwear and runs his fingers through your slick do you say anything. "i can't believe you knocked me up four times, min yoongi."

"i can," he grunts, rubbing his thumb over your clit while he watches you gasp for him. the upside to all this was that pregnancy sex really was his favourite sex, since his pullout game was never great. clearly. the desire to finish inside you was just too fierce a pleasure to withstand, so yoongi waits until after he cums to entertain the idea of a vasectomy.

[oozmart]

Here’s another oneshot about Dahlia and the Sawyers!  Hope yall enjoy :)

_______________________________________________________________________

Dahlia plopped down on the couch, took a deep breath, and let out a long sigh.  She just danced like she’d never danced before to her favorite mix tape.  She might as well, she was home alone for once.   The house was her ballroom.

It wasn’t often Dahlia was home alone.  Although no one could ever really be home alone in the Sawyer house, Grandpa was always there.  Fortunately he didn’t say or do much.  He just sat in his chair and watched her go to town on the make-shift dance floor that was the Sawyer’s underground living room.  

Dahlia was grandpa-sitting while the boys went hunting.  Drayton went with them to help spot decent prey.  The pickings have been a bit slim lately, but thats just how it is this time of year.  Its slow season.  Drayton was always the crankiest around this time of year.  “WE’RE LOSING MONEY EVERY DAY,” he’d yell, “IT’S BAD ENOUGH YOU BOYS AREN’T BRINGING HOME ENOUGH GRUB!  NOW I’VE GOTTA DO THE WORK OF 3 MEN!”  It was nothing new to anyone who lived under the same roof as him.

Dahlia may not have been hunting, but she thought she worked hard enough taking care of the house.  She was the only person, besides Drayton, who had a real job and earned any income for this family.  Even on her day off she took the time to clean the house, do the dishes, do the laundry, sort the leftovers in the fridge, feed grandpa, AND bake 2 pies.  Those boys could barely do one chore on a good day, let alone all of them.

These acts weren’t simply out of kindness or obligation, however.  Dahlia was itching to get on Drayton’s good side, because she had some special plans for her and her favorite Sawyer brother, Chop Top.  The tense energy and busy schedule Drayton created left them little to no wiggle room for alone time as a couple, despite their many attempts.  She wouldn’t fail tonight though.  She was feeling extra frisky.  

The small lady wasn’t sure why, but her heart yearned for her lover’s arms more than ever.  She wanted him to hold her, pin her down, tie her up, bite her, cut her…  Nothing was off limits tonight.  Dahlia flustered herself over the nasty thoughts.  She fanned her face, still sweaty from all the dancing.  She thought about how Chop would beg for her when he wanted to have her.  He would do anything just to get in her pants.  She wondered how he would react when the tables were turned.  What would he do if he saw her beg for him?  Would he like it?  She placed her hand on her leg, and slowly slid it up to her pelvic bone, thinking about the night ahead of her.

In the midst of her fantasy, she heard a small moan.  She looked to grandpa, who was wiggling a bit in his chair.  Dahlia sniffed the air.  Smoke?  She gasped, “MY PIES!!!” She leapt from the couch and ran to the kitchen.  She frantically slipped on a pair of oven mitts and opened the oven door.  She sighed from relief, “A bit well-done, but still good!  Phew!  Thanks, grandpa!”  She pulled the tray out of the oven and set it on top of the stove to cool.  

“YOU TWO COON SHITS CAN’T DO ANYTHING RIGHT!!!” The sound of Drayton’s complaining echoed through the dirt walls.  Dahlia turned sharply, realizing they were finally back from a long day’s work.  She threw off her mitts and bolted for a mirror.  She bumped a skeleton sitting at a small vanity to the floor to fix her hair.  She took it down from her ponytail, and shook out all the sweat.  She smiled at her reflection, cute as usual.  A little wet, but it was kinda sexy.

“Aw, come on, bro!  I- It wasn’t that bad!  We got oooooonnnneeee!!!”  

Dahlia’s heart skipped a beat upon hearing her lover’s raspy voice.  

Drayton was the first to enter the living space, “I told you once, I told you a thousand and ten times!  ONE WON’T CUT IT!!!”  Dahlia skipped over to Drayton with a chipper attitude, much to his dismay, “Whatdya want, girly?” he spit out that nickname like it was a disease.

Dahlia gestured to the room, “Notice anything?”  Drayton looked around a moment, as she waited in anticipation for some gratification.  

“You, uh, you knocked over that there skeleton.” He pointed to the skeleton on the floor beside the vanity.  “You oughta pick it up.” he ordered, making his way to the kitchen.  Dahlia rolled her eyes and huffed.  She stomped over to the skeleton and sat it back up on the stool, its head rolling off in the process.  Ignoring the decapitated head, she proceeded to follow behind Drayton.  “I cleaned the house!  In fact, I did all the chores.” she boasted, hoping he might give her just a sliver of praise.  

“You did the dishes?” he asked.  She nodded proudly.  “Well,” he continued, “looks like you’re gonna have to do more once those pies get eaten.”  He continued to go about business as usual, as if she didn’t work her ass off all day for this very moment.  She sighed and shrugged it off, that was the closest to a thank you she would get out of him for today.  His mind was obviously in other places.

Bubba came into the kitchen lugging a chunk of meat he shaved off of some poor idiot who got caught.  Despite being covered in blood, he grabbed Dahlia and pulled her in for a hug.  She cried in disgust, “BUBBAAA!!!  You’re gonna get blood in my hair!!!”  She pushed herself off of him, and gave him a cold stare.  He looked down in shame, wiping his hands on his apron.  As if that did anything, the apron was blood-soaked too.  Dahlia gave another exasperated sigh, “You boys are going to be the death of me…” she muttered, and patted the big-little brother on the arm. 

“H-H-Hey, cook!  Whereya want this???” Chop Top shouted from the entrance holding up a bucket of gouged out eyeballs.  Drayton shouted back, “Where the fuck else would I want them?!?!?  Bring’em here to the kitchen, ya dumbass!!!”  

Dahlia’s eyes became hearts as her man hobbled across the room like a goblin.  She threw herself against a large pipe and struck a seductive pose, only for him to pass her right by.  This girl just about had enough of the Sawyer’s for one evening.  The boys hadn’t even been home for 10 minutes and they seemed to be going out of their way to make a fool out of her.

Chop Top set the bucket on the counter next to Drayton.  Once this small task was complete, he set his sights on Dahlia.  He creeped over to her, and stood over her unnoticed for a moment.  “H-H-Hey lil mama.” he said softly.

A chill went down Dahlia’s spine.  He called her by her pet name.  This set off all those feelings she had when she was sitting on the couch mere moments ago.  She quickly turned and jumped up into his arms, smacking a big kiss on his lips.  

Losing his balance, he fell to the ground with a thud.  “AH!” he shrieked, “You stupid bitch!!! Jumpin’ like a spider monkey all over me!”  Still on top of him, she continued to kiss him all over his face.  The average person may find him grotesque, but she thought he was a hunk.  Chop Top knew better though.  This behavior was weird, even for Dahlia.  “W-W-What’s wrong with you?” he couldn’t help but smile when he asked.  As odd as it was, he did enjoy the physical attention.

“Ooh, I just REALLY wanna listen to the radio tonight, big daddy!  Can we? Can we, please?!?!”  That was their little secret code term for “let’s get our groove on.”  While his pet name for her was Lil Mama, she called him Big Daddy.  She didn’t say it often, but when she did it meant she wanted it bad.

Chop Top’s pale white face turned red like a cherry.  He never saw her so eager before.  It was he who usually initiated everything.  It was very different throwing yourself at a girl than having a girl throw themselves at you.  It made him a bit nervous, he could feel a sweat start under his arms.  All he could mutter out was a small stutter, “Y-Y-Ya?”

Drayton stomped over, and grabbing Dahlia by the arm, yanked her off his lap.  “No one’s gonna listen to nothin if we don’t get any work done!!!”  Still having a grip on her, he tossed her towards the kitchen.  He then proceeded to grab Chop Top by the shirt and lift him onto his feet.  Chop Top didn’t say a word, which was very unlike him.  “Whats the matter with ya boy?” Drayton asked, mildly concerned but mostly annoyed.  Chop Top just stared blankly in Dahlia’s direction, his heart beating like he just ran a marathon.  The old man had no time to waste, so he just shook his head and left him there to stare.  “Well, i’ve got 2 other sets of hands that aren’t completely cuckoo shit yet.” the old man muttered under his breath, but still loud enough that everyone heard.

Bubba continued to haul meat back and forth from the cutting room to the kitchen.  He passed Chop Top with his blank stare and stopped.  He was worried about his big brother.  He was usually loud and obnoxious, but he suddenly seemed dumbfounded.  Bubba tapped his arm as gently as he could.  He continued to give little nudges until Chop Top finally shook out of the trance.  “BUBBA!” he shouted, “You ever feel like your hearts gonna explode and your body is shakin and your mind is goin CRAZY OUT OF THIS WORLD?!?!”  

Unsure how to properly respond, Bubba simply shrugged his shoulders.  He stayed by his side still, worried his brother was falling ill.  The middle Sawyer realized his little bro wouldn’t understand, and quickly brushed him away.  The big man sighed, hoping everything was going to be alright for his favorite brother.

Chop Top moseyed to the kitchen and stood next to his little woman as she began cutting up the pie.  He wanted to speak, but he found himself unable to open his mouth.  Once again frozen in time.  He watched her as she casually worked like a little housewife, enamored by each motion she made.  Her fingertips carefully graced the crust of the pie, as not to crush it inward.  Her eyes, so soft and yet so laser focused on the task at hand.  Her lips at a slight curve, not quite a smile, but still ever as content.  He watched on as she used the knife to scoop up a slice and plop it onto a plate, the berry filling spilling out of the sides.  Dahlia looked up at him, dead in the eyes.  She lifted the knife up to her mouth and licked off the red cherry goo.  

He just couldn’t look away from her, how could this small creature have this much power over him?  What did she have planned?  What was she going to do to him?  Licking that knife got his hopes up that she might slice his neck or stomach.  She usually refused to hurt him like that, despite him being an outspoken masochist.  What changed in her that made her so…… horny?

“Chop Top?  Hello?  Are all the lights on upstairs?” Dahlia tried to get his attention by waving her hands in his face.  “You’re starting to make me worried!”  The tall man blinked himself out of a trance once again, and stammered out a small response, “I-I-I’m ok.”  

She smiled into a sigh of relied, “Well thank goodness!” She picked up the plate of pie and a fork, “You gotta taste some of my delicious cherry pie!  I made it just for you!”  A small blush showed on her cheeks as her smile grew wider.  She scooped up the tip of the slice onto the fork and held it up to her lover’s mouth.  He opened his mouth and the fork slid in.  He took the bite and slowly chewed, enjoying the sweet taste of the berries.  Dahlia was still smiling like a lovestruck fool right up at him.  “If you’re not in the mood to eat right now we could always do something else.” she bobbed her head from side to side to help insinuate her sexual intentions, “If you’re in the mood?  I know I am.” She continued bobbing her head, waiting for a response.

Drayton butted between the two of them to grab two plates and the knife.  “You oughta stop that weird head shit you’re gonna snap your neck.” he shook his own head in frustration before going to the other side of her to cut up some pie for him and Bubba.  Dahlia gave a huff.  Drayton seemed to love getting between the two of them.  He didn’t exactly approve of what Chop Top and Dahlia did behind closed doors, so he pretended like he didn’t know.  Although Dahlia was sure everyone in the house knew based on how loud they’d turn the radio up certain nights.

Chop finally came to and spoke up, “Listen babes, did you- uh, do something different?  With your hair or your eyes or something?”  

“My eyes?”  She tilted her head in confusion.  How does one change their eyes, she wondered.

“I just feel like you’re different today.  Its makin me nervous!”  he admitted.   Dahlia turned on her bedroom eyes, and took a step closer to him, “I think you’re nervous because for once I want you, rather than you wanting me.”  She placed her hands on his chest, rubbing up and down sensually.

A chill went up his spine when she touched him.  Despite the shift in their usual dynamic, he was extremely turned on.  “Oh, I want you!  Don’t make no mistake about that, lil mama!”  He took her hands and wrapped them around his waist.  He rested his arms on her shoulders and began to sway from side to side.  The nerves melted away into his typical horny energy.  She giggled as she followed his rhythm.  He lowered his face down to hers and placed his forehead against hers, with a wild, toothy grin plastered on his face.  

Dahlia was still smiling like an idiot too, as she whispered, “I love you, Bobby.”   

Chop Top chuckled.  He was once again nervous, but he had a better handle on himself now for some reason. “I love you too, lil mama.”  He took a step back and grabbed her by the wrists, letting out a laugh like a deranged hyena, he started to dance to music only he could hear playing in his head.  Dahlia joined in, whipping her head around and letting her hair fly everywhere.  

Drayton and Bubba watched on from the kitchen table.  The eldest Sawyer shook his head disapprovingly, “Buncha idiots….” He turned to his littlest brother, “Bubba, don’t you ever get yourself mixed up in that bullshit.”   Bubba stayed quiet as he watched the couple dance.  All he saw was a happy couple.  He wanted to have something like that.  He wasn’t sure how or why, but it was a nice thing to want.

[lovemesomerafael]

Destroying The Planet To Save It     Chapter 32:  Fuckin’ Hell, Steve

            Chapters 1 - 30   Chapter 31   Read It On AO3

“The doctors say you’ll make a full recovery, but it’s going to take a while.”

“You don’t sound too happy about that,” Tony replied carefully.  He knew when Pepper was pissed.

And Pepper was pissed right now.

“I’m not.  That’s a long time to have to wait before I can kill you.”

“Now, see-“

“You know what, Tony?  Don’t talk.  Nothing you can say will make what you did any less insanely reckless.  And if you tell me you love me, I can and will throw you out that window.  If you loved me, you would think about what it would do to me to learn you’ve been shot three times in the chest.”

“Getting shot wasn’t in the plan-“

“In the chest, Tony.”  She skewered him with her scowl.

“Sorry, Pep,” he murmured quietly.

Something in Tony’s voice made Pepper look a little closer at his face.

“I’m sorry, Pepper.  Truly.”

The moist sincerity in his deep brown eyes struck her.  He still looked scared.  Had since he’d been shot, she imagined.  Certainly since he’d been stable enough to be flown back to New York and the medical floor of his Tower.  He also looked sorry, and exhausted, and vulnerable.  She knew that she was the only person in the world he ever let see that side of him, and it tore at her heart.  There wasn’t any thought or volition, only movement as she flew to his side to throw herself into the arms he held open.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

She took a moment to choke down her sob before whispering back, “I love you.  I love you so much.  Please don’t leave me…”

“I won’t.  I’m not.  Shhhhhhhhh.” Tony stroked her hair as she cried. He didn’t bother about his own tears.

He’d really cut it too close this time.  

 In the room next door, Steve was cradling Sharon in his good arm as she snuggled next to him in his hospital bed.  She wasn’t defending him, though.  She was just letting Bucky shout at him and call him a dumbass about ninety-seven different ways as he paced back and forth at the end of Steve’s bed.  She was even laughing sometimes, which Steve didn’t think was necessary.  

Of course, he’d known this was coming, and he knew Bucky wasn’t actually angry.  This was just the way Bucky needed to bleed all the residual fear out of his system.  After the way Steve had acted following the quinjet crash, Steve supposed, it was also Bucky’s turn.  

But he was kinda outdoing himself at the moment.

“So you fucking tell the guy to shoot you?  What in the jumped-up hell is the matter with you, Steve?  I gotta be with you every fucking minute to keep you from doin’ this kinda shit?”

“Sorry, Buck, I didn’t-“

“I’m a hundred years old, punk, my heart can’t take this anymore.  Hell, you’re a hundred, too, which means you shoulda grown out of your idiot phase a few decades ago now!”  

“Look, Tony was-“

“You know how close that bullet was to your heart?  Major blood vessels?  I got news for you, pal, the serum didn’t make you bulletproof.  You can still bleed out.  You been to war, you’ve seen how fast that can happen.  Fuckin’ hell, Steve!”

“Bucky, stop.”

“No!  I’m gonna bust your chops, and you’re gonna lay there and take it, because you do this every time!  Every fuckin’ time, you gotta go wadin’ into trouble until you’re in it up to your eyeballs, you dumb knucklehead.  You go barrelin’ into a room and take on a coupla gorillas with guns, and you tell one of ‘em to shoot you?  I’m gonna fuckin’ shoot you just so I don’t gotta deal with this crap anymore!”

Steve couldn’t help it.  He started to smile.  He knew that was just gonna make Bucky madder, but he simply couldn’t keep it in.  It was so good to have Bucky back.  So good. It ached, how warm and familiar and right this felt.  

“If that’s a smile…  Sharon, you’re gonna hafta move, because I’m gonna slug him.”

Sharon believed him.  So much so, that she got up from the bed.

“No, Sharon, we were comfortable-“ Steve complained, but Bucky was already by his side, fist cocked and eyes full of fire.

He wasn’t really going to hit Steve.  Probably.

What Bucky did instead was bend down and gather Steve’s massive shoulders in his arms, pulling him up from his pillow until Bucky was crushing Steve to his chest.  Which hurt like a bitch.

“Bucky, ouch!  Watch it!”

“Shut up, you big baby.  You did it to me and I had broken ribs, which hurts way worse and you know it,” Bucky’s voice rumbled in his chest against Steve’s ear.  

For a minute, Bucky just squeezed Steve, while Steve tried to breathe through the pain.  

“Fuckin’ hell, Stevie,” Bucky grumbled, and Steve knew the mandatory ass-chewing was about over. Bucky had finally yelled himself out.

 *************

 Tony Stark knew how to throw a party.  Everyone knew that.  What everyone didn’t know is that, closet romantic that he was, he also knew how to throw a wedding.  Which was to say, let Pepper do it.  Tony knew his limitations.  

Okay, he didn’t, but he knew this one.

The Avengers’ upstate Compound was set amidst a few acres of lush land, beautifully maintained.  There was an outdoor area that got used frequently when the weather was nice, like today, which featured a brand-new gazebo of rustic-looking local wood.  It was decked out in tulle and flowers, lit softly and well by a thousand twinkle lights and additional, indirect lights.  Pepper said the lighting for the event had been designed by the best team she could hire. She also said it cost Tony dearly, but she thought it was worth it.

Tony didn’t know anything about any of that, he just knew that he could see and hear the minister just fine, and he’d never seen Banner… glow like that.  Tony smirked.  Poor fuck’s got it bad.  But then he looked at Catherine, and he couldn’t really blame Bruce.  She was stunning.  And she sure seemed to be head over heels for Banner.  

He pulled his right arm in its fashionable black sling closer to his side and twisted to look around. Damn, when did the Avengers all get so paired off?  He supposed he shouldn’t feel the slight sense of superiority he did, because Pepper was sitting right next to him, and he was clinging pretty tightly to her hand at the moment.  

Natasha surprised him. There was something about her lately. She was no less dry and supercilious, no softer or more emotional, just… different.  Tony couldn’t have explained how her public interaction with Clint had changed, but it had.  In some indefinable way, although they weren’t given to public displays of affection, it was obvious they were a couple.  They hadn’t denied it when Tony had finally asked about it during a team dinner, but they also hadn’t volunteered any information.  Tony knew Clint, though.  He was no doubt dying to talk about it.  He was just forbidden to, at least in public. Tony made a promise to himself that he would corner Clint later on tonight and get him drunk.  Make him spill.  Meanwhile, Clint sat looking damn handsome, Tony had to admit, in his suit, next to Natasha, who was somehow managing to radiate both deep satisfaction and hair-trigger ferocity at the same time.  Neat trick, that.  

There were fewer than fifty people sitting in the chairs set up in front of the gazebo, with their silk covers in the soft light green Catherine had insisted on including in the wedding color scheme.  She swore it wasn’t a joke, just an acknowledgement that she meant it when she vowed “For better or worse.”  Pepper had mixed it with a delicate pink and cream, and the setting was truly spectacular, but in a quiet way that fit the couple.  It was definitely overwhelmingly romantic.

The combination of such a small number of guests, with the overall taste and beauty of the event, somehow made it more sumptuous.  Bruce and Catherine didn’t care about that, they just wanted their wedding to be intimate. They wanted to share it with those they loved and cared for, while keeping their privacy from the merely curious. Neither of them denied the additional fact that keeping the event small meant it could happen more quickly.   They’d waited long enough for the marriage that had been inevitable since their mutual friend Andris, who was here tonight, had goaded a grad student into pitting them against one another in a seminar in Munich.

Sam had trouble appreciating the decor, however, because all he could see was Anita.  Her floor-length, halter-topped gown was entirely appropriate even as it showed a lot of skin, the flowy fabric a light shade of teal that made all that skin glow.  She had complimented the fit of his suit more than once, but he felt invisible next to her, as beautiful as she looked.  That was fine by Sam.  All he wanted to do was be near her, focusing on her long, toned arms and watching her appreciate the romance of the evening, waiting for the next time she would smile at him.

The ceremony was fairly brief, and beautiful, and to no one’s surprise, Steve cried the most.  Bucky was merciless about it, but he was the only one who could get away with that.  Sharon found it adorable.  

Sharon found pretty much everything about Steve adorable.  She hadn’t yelled at him – much – for getting shot.  She’d just said about a thousand prayers of thanks that it wasn’t life-threatening, and that the serum allowed him to heal so quickly.  This was Steve.  This was the man she loved completely and forever, and he also happened to be Captain America, which was a dangerous job.  So be it.  She would just pray a lot and make sure he knew, every moment, how much she loved him.

When the sunset ceremony was over, there was nothing left to do but make sure to say a few polite words to the few guests – close friends and family members – who weren’t either Avengers or S.H.I.E.L.D. agents.  That done, Steve took Sharon by the hand and leaned over to whisper, “You wanna go for a walk?”

Like Sharon would say no to a man who looked like that in a blue suit.  

Steve grabbed two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter and handed one to Sharon as they meandered along a flagstone path.  Sharon hadn’t spent any time here at the Compound, so she was happily surprised when the path led past the ornamental shrubbery into a small, unexpected outdoor seating area. It was surrounded by fairly tall flowering shrubs that Sharon didn’t know the name of, which made it a private little oasis.  For Bruce and Catherine’s wedding, burning torches had been set at each corner, giving the space a warm, magical glow.  They sat down close together on a stone bench and took a few sips of their champagne.

“You know, I was born in 1918,” Steve noted.

Sharon blinked and shook her head in wonder.  “I know. Crazy.”

“Yeah.  It was a different time then, in a lot of ways.”

Sharon nodded, her eyebrows bunching just a little.  Where was he going with this?

“I’ve tried to catch up.”

“You’ve done an amazing job. I can’t even imagine what it must be like for you.”

“But there’s something I got wrong.”

“Oh?”

Steve took another sip and leaned his head a little closer to Sharon’s so he could look in her eyes. “Some things are fashion.  Some things are… I don’t know… progress, let’s say. And I get that people have different beliefs and values.  I also get that some of the beliefs and values we used to have when I was a kid were wrong.  Unfair. Hurtful, even.”

Sharon nodded, just waiting for him to get to the point.

“But some weren’t.  And I think I made a mistake, trying to be modern. In fact, I know I did.  And I know you won’t see it this way, but I disrespected you, and I’m sorry.”

“Steve, what are you…?”

“I love you, Sharon.  I’m always gonna love you, and I know that. You’re so much smarter than me, and wiser, and you’re completely successful in your own right.  I’m so proud to be with you.  Plus, you’re beautiful and sexy, and…”

Steve set down his champagne and pulled something from his pocket as he knelt on the lush grass before Sharon.

“Steve-“ she gulped.

“I love you,” he repeated, taking Sharon’s left hand in his.  He lifted it in his right and, with his left, showed her a simple gold ring with a single diamond that sparkled in the light of the torches.  He lowered it until he held it just off the end of her left ring finger.  “I love you, Sharon, and I don’t just want to live with you, like being together is just convenient, or temporary.  I want to marry you.  I want us to be a family.  I want to make you my wife so that you, and everyone else, will know how much you mean to me.  How much I value you.  Sharon Carter, will you be my wife?”

Sharon’s breathy, “Yes!” was barely audible against the soft backdrop of music and voices coming from the wedding reception.  

Steve took his time, carefully setting the ring on Sharon’s finger.  She noticed that it fit perfectly, and wondered how many professional spies had been involved in making that happen.  Then Steve looked up again, the tears welling in his eyes a match for the few spilling down her cheeks.  When he kissed her, he cradled her face in his hands, like something precious and infinitely delicate.  

It was a long time before she’d finished telling him how much she loved him, and how happy she planned to make him.  

 Pepper had arranged for a small dance floor to be set up in front of the gazebo, where the chairs had been for the ceremony.  While a state-of-the-art soundsystem had played appropriate music through the ceremony and wove a quiet, elegant spell throughout the sit-down dinner that followed, now a live band was set up in the gazebo.  Sam and Anita had been on the dance floor since the moment Bruce and Catherine invited everyone to join them while they had their first dance.  

Although he had no illusions that anyone would be watching them raptly, the way everyone was watching Sam and Anita, Clint didn’t want them to.  He wanted to dance with Natasha, close and slow, and maybe whisper some sweet nothings to her from time to time.  

They’d danced together before, of course, but not since they’d declared themselves a couple, officially and permanently.  Clint found himself fighting his emotions, lest he outdo Steve’s display during the ceremony.  The woman he held in his arms felt entirely different from the Natasha he’d danced with a hundred other times in the presence of the Avengers.  This Natasha held him close.  She smiled into his eyes and nuzzled his jaw.  She leaned into him, melting her body to his and closing her eyes. There was nothing vulgar or conspicuous about it, although he was sure that they held each other and interacted like lovers, whereas before they had danced as close friends.  But the subtle change, for Clint Barton, was everything.

“Stick a fork in me,” he murmured into Natasha’s ear as he guided her gracefully through a turn.

“Such a strange expression.”

“Mmmmm.  But it fits.  Me. Now.  I can’t think of a single thing I want.  I am completely content in this moment.”

“You have a low bar for contentment, Barton.”

“No,” he corrected her.  “I don’t.”

He heard and felt, rather than saw, Natasha smile.  When he felt her pull him just a little bit closer, Clint realized that he could, in fact, be happier than he’d been a second before.  

“I can think of some things I want,” Natasha said during the next song, tipping up her head to whisper some of them in his ear.  

“I don’t think I should do that to you in front of Catherine’s mom.  She’s gotta be at least eighty.”

“I agree.  But I want it now.”

“It’s Bruce and Catherine’s wedding, Tasha.  We can’t leave this early.”

“We’ll come back. After.  And if you can’t disappear without anyone noticing, Barton, I’m going to start questioning your spy skills.”

“Ooh.  Gauntlet thrown.”

“Yes.”  She backed a step or two away from him and, with a smolder, said, “Don’t keep me waiting.”

With that, somehow, she disappeared into a very small crowd.

  Sam and Anita hadn’t spoken much about the future.  They hadn’t had much time.  But since returning from Argentina, they’d learned of Steve’s plan to create a second Avengers base on the grounds of S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters in D.C.  Their future seemed to have sort of taken care of itself.  

“Barnes has a place in D.C. already, says there’s plenty of room if I want to live there, too.  I might take him up on that, at least for a while. It’s been a while since I lived in D.C.”

Anita wasn’t able to respond right away, because this was the part of the dance where Sam held her hand over her head while she did a series of complicated twirls around him.  When she snapped back into his arms, their chests colliding solidly, she was smiling.  

“Well, maybe now’s the time to tell you what Coulson said to me while we were talking earlier.”

“Yeah?  Something happen?”

“He’s promoting me.  I’ll still be in the field on special assignments, but I’ll be training more.”  She looked flirtatiously up at him through her eyelashes.  “And part of my job will be ‘liaising’ with the Avengers.”

“Oh, you know how I like to ‘liaise’,” Sam grinned.

“And you’re very, very good at it.”

Anita watched appreciatively as Sam executed some intricate steps that took them across the whole dance floor. Which was tiny, but it was still an impressive display of his grace and his fine physique.  “Damn, Master Sergeant,” she breathed.

“You like that, huh?  Plenty more where that came from.”

“Good.  Because you and me, we’re gonna be doing a lot of dancing.”

Sam’s face was alight as he replied, “I can’t tell you how much I like the sound of that.”

With that, he tightened his arm around her waist and led her through smart, brisk turns that caused her gown to billow out around their legs, to the delight of several onlookers.

 Bucky had been covering for Steve for a while now.  He knew, of course, what was happening.  Hell, he’d helped Steve plan what he was gonna say.  So every time someone asked where Steve was, Bucky made sure to tell them he had something he needed to do, and would be back soon.  He wasn’t sure why he felt relieved when he saw Steve and Sharon, arm in arm and looking like they were walking a few feet off the ground. He’d told Steve a hundred times how stupid it was to even consider that she’d say no.  But it was nice to know he’d been right.  Huh.  Little Stevie, marryin’ a bombshell like Sharon.  How about that?

He gave them both a smile big enough to convey his congratulations, then decided to go seek his own bombshell. He knew that Steve and Sharon wouldn’t announce their engagement tonight.  Tonight was about Bruce and Catherine.

Which, incidentally, was who Joss was talking to when he stepped up next to her and handed her a glass of champagne.  He himself had switched to beer after the toasts were over.  He moved the bottle to his metal hand and interlaced his flesh fingers with Joss’s.

“It was perfect.  It’s all perfect.  I think this might be my favorite wedding I’ve ever been to,” Joss was saying.

“It’s definitely mine,” Bruce agreed, mooning at his new wife who, Bucky noticed with a grin, mooned right back.

“Ugh.  If I wanted that much sweetness, I’d have another piece of cake.”

Neither Bruce nor Catherine bothered to respond to Bucky’s gentle gibe other than to laugh happily.  At that moment, a table full of Catherine’s relatives called them over.  “Bride and Groom duties,” Catherine apologized, and led a starry-eyed Bruce over to the table.

Joss turned to Bucky, standing very close in the soft glow from the thousands of twinkle lights woven through every tree and plant big enough to support the weight.  

“Have I told you how gorgeous you look in that suit?”  She asked, smiling up at him.

“Three times now.  But it’s nice to hear, especially coming from you, when you look like that.”

Bucky tilted his face toward hers and kissed Joss softly, and for a long time.

“Will you dance with me?” He asked.

“Every time you ask,” she responded, and given the look on her face, he believed her.  She looked as moony as the newly-married couple.  It suddenly occurred to him to wonder whether he looked like that, too.  Truth to tell, he kinda hoped he did, so Joss would know how he felt.

Modern music wasn’t the same, and people didn’t learn to dance anymore, but Bucky could make the music work, and he was so good at leading that Joss was becoming a pretty good partner. Bucky had also spent a few very romantic evenings giving her dance lessons.  Not a few of the wedding guests watched the two of them on the tiny dance floor, oblivious of anything beyond the music and each other.  Steve smiled as he caught sight of them.  People watching Bucky own a dance floor was nothing new for Steve.

Joss eventually decided it was time for a break, although Bucky could have gone on forever.  He wasn’t sure whether that was a dancing thing or a supersoldier thing, though, so he didn’t mention it.  He simply squired Joss to a table as far from other people as he could, and went to get them drinks.  When he returned, she had a thoughtful look on her face.  

“Uh-oh.  What’d I do?”  He asked, purposely using that grin he’d been told was irresistible enough to get him out of anything.

“It’s nothing bad.  I don’t think.  I’m not really sure, actually, because I don’t really know what it means. I’ve been wondering whether now is the time to talk about it.”

“Ah.  That.”

Joss nodded as she sipped from her beer bottle.  “Bucky, you bought the row house I live in.”

“Uh-huh.  I did.”

“But why?”

“Because I love it.  You know how much I like that house.  I also happen to have a stupid amount of money, which I never spend.  I’m gonna have to spend a lot of time in D.C. now that the Avengers are gonna have a permanent base there, so I need a place to stay.  So that’s that.  Oh, and by the way?  You  don’t have to pay rent anymore.”

Joss frowned.  “I don’t know how I feel about being a kept woman.”

“Personally, I feel great about it, but if you object, then fine, pay rent.  But I’m not letting you get rid of the historical aspects of the building.” Bucky suddenly sat up a little straighter and scrunched his eyebrows together.  “Wait.  That building’s not much older than me.  Did I just call myself historical?”

“Sweetie, you’re practically an artifact. It’s part of what makes you, you.”

Bucky took Joss’s hand and they knitted their fingers together on the table.  “Once you go centenarian, you never go back.”

“Pretty sure that’s true. At least for me.”

“Do I need to keep you away from nursing homes?”

Joss almost choked on a swallow of beer laughing at that.  “Well, I like a pretty specific type of centenarian.”

“Just need to keep you away from Steve, then, huh?”

“Never been much for blonds,” she answered, leaning toward Bucky with a significant look.  “I have a thing for guys with dark hair.”

“Wow. That is specific.”

“Mmmmm. Probably explains my sparse dating history.”

“Yeah, not a lot of hundred-year-old guys with dark hair and guns running around,” Bucky agreed thoughtfully, not entirely successful in smothering his grin.

“Don’t forget knives.”

“Those, too. You better stick with me, Joss. Your dating pool is… wow. Small.”

She cocked her eyebrow at him. “Are you asking me to go steady?”

“I think that was the fifties,” he answered, and brought her hand to his lips.  Bucky kept his face serious as he said, “Me, I’m askin’ you to be my best girl.  Whaddaya say? Will you?”

“Yes. Oh, hell, yes!” Joss cried, and Bucky let out a little yelp when she threw herself into his lap.

 Tony had been putting off this moment all night.  It didn’t actually have to happen tonight, but Tony was feeling like tonight was a night of getting things resolved.  Bruce and Catherine were finally married, and he was pretty sure Cap and Sharon were engaged. Steve had sought Tony’s advice about diamonds earlier in the week, and Tony sincerely doubted Cap was thinking of getting his ear pierced.  Besides, Tony had seen the ring on Sharon’s finger and the way she and Steve were both beaming joy all over the place like wifi.  It felt like the right time.  And Tony was just buzzed enough.

He strolled around the outdoor area, checking out Sam and Anita showing some seriously impressive moves on the dance floor and saying hello to everyone who caught his eye as he walked among the tables.  He purposely avoided catching Bruce’s eye, because he really didn’t want to be thanked again for giving them this wedding.  It made him uncomfortable, for one thing.  And for another, Tony was just as happy about Bruce getting married as Bruce was, because it meant he wouldn’t be haunting the tower, moping around like Eeyore off his meds anymore.  When he finally reached Steve, standing at the edge of the lit area watching Sharon dance with Bucky, Tony just stood next to him, sipping excellent whiskey and trying to find his voice.

“How’s the chest?”  Steve finally asked.

“Eh,” Tony shrugged.  “Got another week in the sling, but I’m doing physical therapy now.  In a pool, which I kind of don’t think is a real thing, but it’s nice.”

“It’s a real thing, Tony.”

“Maybe.  Anyway, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about, you know. Everything.”

Steve made a questioning hum.

“You, um, took a bullet for me.”

“Always said I would.”

“Yeah, well, I always say I’d have Barton’s back no matter what, but if we were bein’ chased by zombies,  I’d trip him in a heartbeat.  People say stuff.”

Steve’s look was so sincere, he was so honestly trying to figure out whether Tony was joking, that it was really quite challenging to maintain a straight face.  

“Look, I’m trying to thank you here, Cap.  I’m trying to say that I…  I got in trouble, and every one of you came to my rescue.  And then you, you let that asshole shoot you to keep him off me, and you fall on me like a fucking human shield – you seriously weigh a ton, by the way, don’t ever do that again – and it… changed things.  They were changing anyway, but…”

“What things?”

“I told you that I’d never get over seeing my teammates, my friends, at that airport.  That whenever I look at you, I see…   Well, you know what I said.  But even with my verbal gifts, I’m never gonna be able to tell you how good Barton and Natasha looked when they ran into that room at the dam like the fuckin’ cavalry.  Except, you know, in tight leather.  And then you…”

Tony turned to face Steve fully. “Thank you.  You called everyone back, and they came.  The same people from the airport, and they dropped everything. For me.”

“Well, Sam had already started his mission, so…”

“Even Sam.  The minute his mission was done, he commandeered that Air Force jet to get back here, even though it got him in all kinds of hot water. That mess is still not sorted out.”

Steve nodded.  “Yeah,” he mumbled, frowning as he looked for words. “Yeah.  Because we’re a team.   All of us.  You and me, Tony.”  Steve peered deeply into Tony’s eyes as he said that, willing him to understand.  “I almost cost us that.  And it was one of the biggest mistakes of my life.  I know that now, and I’m sorry.  For what it’s worth, I understand now.  I understand why you did what you did, and that it was the right thing for you to do.  I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too.  I told you I understand now why you had to go after Barnes, and I do.  And it’s not just about the Winter Soldier stuff, what they did to him.  Now that I’ve met him, seen you together…   I didn’t give you any choice.  That was something you had to do, and you couldn’t do it alone.   I understand that getting the others to help you, that was something I made you do.  I made them do.  And I’m sorry.”

For a moment, the two stood looking into one another’s faces, nodding almost imperceptibly because, finally, they each understood what had driven the other to do what had seemed, at the time, unforgiveable.  But then the moment stretched, and Tony began to shift his eyes around Steve’s face, and then to things behind him, and Steve began to fidget, until, mercifully, they both realized the ridiculousness of the moment and began to laugh.  They embraced, once again as brothers, and it felt like, at long last, a huge chunk of the world shifted back into place.

As they made to go their separate ways, Steve said over his shoulder, “You understand I’ve always said I’d take ‘a bullet.’  One. So, you know, now that I have, you might wanna be more careful.”

“Okay, one: I’ve already had that lecture from Pepper.  And two: you’re still an asshole.”

They turned and walked away from one another, both smiling and dabbing at their eyes.

 Bruce and Catherine called it a night when it was still fairly early.  They were exhausted from the demands of trying to make sure they spent enough time with each of their guests, and they were leaving early the next morning to fly back to London.  One of Tony Stark’s wedding gifts had been to fly Catherine’s mother and the other members of her family who had attended the wedding to and from England on one of his jets.  Bruce and Catherine were going to accompany them, then go on to honeymoon on Sardinia.

He insisted on carrying her over the threshold of their apartment in the Compound, although they were planning to live in the Tower so that they could continue their respective work. She laughed, entirely unable to be anything but ecstatic in this moment.  

“I insist that, from now on, you call me nothing but Mrs. Banner.  I’m going to make everyone call me that.  I might even change my name to Mrs. Banner.”

“I think you just did that. Mrs. Banner.”

“Oh.  You’re right!  How clever of me!”

Bruce laughed as he laid her on the bed.  “Are you drunk?”

“Yes.  Drunk on love.  Drunk on happiness.  And, yes, perhaps, just a wee bit drunk on champagne.  Are you going to take advantage of me?”

“Well, I-“

“Before you answer, you should know that I’m going to take advantage of you.  In case that’s relevant.”

Bruce flopped down on the bed next to her, so that both of them were collapsed on top of the bed covers, still in their wedding clothes, including shoes.  He gave a long groan that was a mixture of about a hundred things.

“I guess I’m a little drunk, too.  I don’t think it’s taking advantage if we’re both drunk.”  He turned his head to look at his wife, smiling like a dork when she turned her head to look at him.

“I love you.  I love that you’re my husband.”

“Me, too.  Are you really going to be Mrs. Banner?”

“No.”

Bruce hummed a bit in disappointment, but kept smiling.

“Doctor Banner,” Catherine corrected.

“Wait, really?”

“Really.  You don’t object?”

“No,” Bruce said, sitting up.  “I don’t- I mean, it might get a little confusing sometimes.  But I think that would be…  Am I a troglodyte because I really love the idea of you sharing my name?”

“Maybe.  But you’re my troglodyte now.  So come over here and snog me, Dr. Banner.”

“Aye aye, Dr. Banner,” Bruce practically giggled, as he eased himself down over Catherine.

“Gads, we’re sappy. Glad no one can hear us.”

“Friday can hear us.”

“Yes, Sir, Dr. Banner, but I’m not listening,” came Friday’s voice from wherever it was Friday’s voice came from.

Bruce and Catherine were already kissing too deeply to devote much attention to laughing.

  The lights in the outdoor area where the wedding and reception had taken place had been off for a while now.  The mess was still there; Pepper no doubt had a crew coming bright and early to deal with that, but they’d all suspected the party would last into the wee hours, and it had.  

Steve had known, somehow, that he’d find Bucky out here, standing looking up at the stars, the glowing tip of his cigarette going bright occasionally as he inhaled.  Steve took a step onto the dew-wet grass, wanting to see how close he could get to the silhouette he could barely make out in the gloom before Bucky noticed him.  As expected, that one step had been it.  Without turning around, Bucky grunted, “Can’t sleep?”

Steve grunted and shrugged a little.  “Too keyed up still.  Sharon’s asleep, didn’t want to disturb her.”

Bucky grunted back, then handed Steve the pack of cigarettes.  This was the only time Bucky ever smoked after the war; late nights when he couldn’t sleep.  Steve never smoked, but as he had with Director Coulson that afternoon on the roof of Stark Tower, he pulled one out of the pack and accepted a light from Bucky’s war-era Zippo.  

“Told ya’ she’d say yes, lamebrain.”

Steve almost coughed as he snickered.  “The polite thing to say is congratulations.”

“Ain’t ever been accused of bein’ polite,” Bucky smirked.  “Still, I do congratulate you.  You got way luckier than you deserve, pal.  Sharon is a helluva girl.”

“Yeah.”

“No way you deserve her.”

“Absolutely not. Gonna try, though.”

“You do that.  ‘Cause you fuck it up, I’m on her side.”

“Don’t blame you.”

They smoked for a while, looking up at the stars and across the Compound grounds, where an early-morning mist was beginning to form.

“You’re gonna be my best man, right?”

“’Course.”

A few minutes later, Steve asked, “Joss OK with you buying her house?”

Bucky shrugged. “Seems to be.  Insists on payin’ rent, though.  Wants a lease so I can’t throw her out on her ear if I get mad at her.”

“She doesn’t really think you’d do that?”

“’Course not.  But she’s smart.  It’s a good idea.”

“You really like her, huh?”

“I do.  Ain’t ready to ask her to marry me, but…”

“You just met. Anyway, you don’t have to get married just ‘cause I am.  Everyone already knows I’m twice the man you’ll ever be.”

Bucky’s low chuckle felt like a thousand other times they’d stood together, smoking in the darkness. Another deeply companionable silence descended that lasted until Bucky lit up another cigarette, and Steve accepted a second.  That, too, was familiar.  Steve didn’t want another cigarette.  He doubted Bucky did, either.  But they both wanted a few more minutes of this quiet, unquestioned bond and the complete understanding between them that had never needed many words.  

“How the hell’d we get here, huh, pal?”  Bucky asked halfway into their new smokes.

Steve shook his head. “Damnedest thing, ain’t it?  Glad you’re here with me, Buck.  Real glad.”

“Well, someone’s gotta keep your dumb ass outta trouble.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ THE END ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[moved99999999999]

U guys wanna know what I think about that hell hotel show

I feel like twitter’s very tired of seeing ppl talk about Hazbin Hotel, so I putting my opinions on tumblr where they belong. I’m not a “professional critic” by any means, but I’ll try my best given what I know. And don’t worry, I’ll be incredibly nit-picky to suit the internet’s needs.

I’m gonna mainly focus on HH itself instead of Vivzie’s accusations because that's a WHOLE other can of worms to open.

During the time of me writing this, I haven’t watched any YT reviews, but I’ve read a few threads criticising the show, so take that as my social influence bias.

My ted talk is allllll below the cut. Enjoy~

Context: 

My first exposure of Vivzie’s work was her “Die Young” animation that I came across around 2016. Instantly I fell in love with how “smooth” and lively her animation was, and especially the fact that it was hand drawn. Animation like that was extremely rare to come by (and still is) and seeing her execute it so well with such complexed characters was amazing to my fetus self. 

A few years later and I see the first trailer for HH. I instantly went OH I RECOGNISE THAT STYLE AND THOSE CHARACTER TYPE DESIGNS and was looking forward to what it had to offer. 

On “opening day” I watched the pilot ASAP to avoid my opinions from getting warped by all of the key-mash memes and post call-out bitching (literally the extremes of the HH opinion spectrum), and overall.....

I thought it was good. 

Not ground breakingly amazing, not horrifically terrible, but charmingly good.

(Ok now it’s actual review time)

Animation Quality:

As a hand drawn animation that has the freedom to get creative with its shots, a lot of effort was clearly put into how everything moves (it definitely didn’t take any lazy flash puppet shortcuts for the main sections of the show) and I can appreciate that. However it tends to be... rather inconsistent, most likely due to the varying skill level of the animators on the project. It’ll be nice and smooth one minute, and then awkward and choppy the next which can make the viewing pretty confusing at times. I’ll be honest I found myself overlooking these inconsistencies due to the characters and backgrounds themselves being very visually engaging, especially considering how over designed some of them can be (which I applaud the team for handling cuz wow that must have been painful). However, the needle thin and exaggerated art style makes some things incredibly hard to look at. While it helps with adding fancy details, it hurts in catching peoples eyes in the right place.

It’s also chalk full of little details, visual gags, and references that are hilarious to look at if you have the luxury of pausing every two seconds (the news segment and Sir Pentious turf war w/ Angel and Cherri are good places to look). But I feel like these lil details were put in at the cost of some some continuity errors (Charlie not wearing her coat in one shot, and having it back on in the next, papers being blank, etc.) and lip-syncing issues which really shouldn’t be happening considering all of the detail they were able to put in. There are also some shots that have just SO MUCH detail put into them, only to be shown for less than a second. I get that’s the cost of animation sometimes, but save the detail for the shots that need it, because at that point you’re just causing the animators to waste their efforts.

However, I was surprised at how professional the soundtrack and editing was. Not one but THREE songs in this single episode was really surprising, and the variation and quality of each was great (as cringy as Charlie’s song is)

But overall, the production quality is surprisingly good for a project like this, the editing, sound effects, and sound track act like a cherry on top. Of course there are some noticeable drops in quality, but given time and a budget, it has enough chops to look like an actual show.

Writing: 

As far as overarching plot goes, it seems like it’s going to be one of those procedural shows that tries to be serialised, but it’s a creative twist on hell and has an interesting premise to begin with. You can get really creative with seeing how you’d dive into getting redemption out of all of these seemingly lost causes, and I’m sure there are many people willing to know the backstories our main cast. As a pilot, it did it’s job of launching the plot very well, setting up the premise of the hotel and introducing characters in a very engaging way. I was legit really interested in each segment with who in introduced, and it didn’t feel like I was being overloaded with names to remember (which can be a problem for many medias and introductions). The cohesion between each scene is VERY smooth, and I genuinely enjoyed some of the cliché cuts/gags. 

Unfortunately I can’t extend this interest to our main character. Charlie is one of the most generic tropes we’ve ever seen. She’s a boring Disney princess who has a “cute happy positive goal to change her world” and the only thing that would make her more generic is if she wore a dress and cried “I’m tired of being so privileged”. 

(Although it’s impossible to tell, I honestly think Viv is just projecting through her, especially considering how horrifically accurate the hotel’s opening mirrors the internet’s reaction to the pilot itself)

I would be more forgiving if she was a supporting character or someone less important, but she’s the freaking protagonist, arguably the character that has to be the most interesting. Angel’s personality seems to be “flirty porn star”, and while that’s just as bad as being a boring Disney princess, at least he gets a few jokes and has a profession more interesting than Charlie’s. Around the end of the pilot he just seems like he’s getting involved because Viv likes giving him attention. If he’s supposed to be leeching off of the hotel, wouldn’t not care if it survives or not?

(There’s that whole stereotype issue that everyone keeps bringing up, but I genuinely think that’s BS because people are blatantly ignoring the fact that Angel is a porn star, Vaggie is portrayed as helpful, and that the show takes place in H E double hokey sticks.)

The transitions may be smooth, but the dialogue pacing can get really awkward at times. This paired with the animation sometimes having awkward quality drops makes some movements incredibly jagged, and has some detailed shots show for incredibly unbalanced screen time as mentioned before. 

I don’t have enough to give voice acting it’s own section so I’m just popping it down here:

The voice acting is legitimately better than several big name projects I know. It’s consistent, great at expressing the character’s mood properly, and each voice fits each character perfectly. My only gripes are that Alastor and Sir Pentious tend to grain on you after awhile due to them keeping a single tone for too long. 

Character Design: AKA the only thing I have legitimate experience with.

First thing’s first. The characters are WAY too over designed. There are so many markings and accessories that are incredibly unnecessary. I think the mindset for these characters was “the more complicated and attractive the better”, which makes them look like they’re designed by an edgy tumblr artist (heck I fall for this too some times).

Especially if a character is going to be animated, you have to keep in mind the value of simplicity. You absolutely don’t have to fill in your character with markings and trinkets to make them look unique, I mean just look at the gen 1 pokemon starters. Thanks to the limitations of the game, the sprites were forced to be simple, and it was that simplicity that made them such unique and varied creatures. You can tell Blastoise is a bulky water blasting turtle just with a quick glance. 

Many of the characters suffer from over complication, but I’ll look at Husk for example. He has these stripes all over him that do not contribute to who he’s supposed to be at all, and only look like they’re added to make him more unique. The markings that DO help are the little card suite marks on his wings, because those at least infer he’s linked to a casino/gambling type of theme. I would say his outfit helps as well, but formal wear and bowties are worn way to often by the main characters, which brings me to another problem.

They may look different, but they feel way too similar. From the same skinny body type, to generic head shapes, to outfits, the focus characters just don’t stand out amongst each other. Even the ones with interesting features still suffer from feeling generic. I’d say Sir Pentious is a good example of this. He has a serpentine/naga body and clever hair style that make his concept really creative, but his skinny body type, complicated eyes all over his tail, and generic “young but supposed to be at least middle aged” face just push him back into obscurity. He’s even wearing the SAME outfit as Alastor (who's an even worse offender of that generic face problem), and unless Viv has some plan to link the two, I’d say the characters need to stop using a dress code.

A successful character design can to tell you who the character is just by looking at them. You should be able to tell if a character’s personality, function, age, the universe they belong in, and if they’re important or not, and that’s a big problem when it comes to the background characters. If you pause on one of the extras for a minute you can see all of the effort put into designing them, and that takes away so much attention from the main cast. Not only that, but they have actual variations in their body types and outfits, which makes them more intriguing than who we’re supposed to be interested in.

Regardless, this pilot has potential, and if they can get someone to comb out the flaws, you can end up with something good. No one can deny a legitimate animation was made here, and the team successfully executed the start of a story, and that’s something anyone can look up to.

TLDR: The pilot is good. It has some major flaws, but it has potential to be a good show.

If you actually read this far epstein didn’t kill himself.

[rotzaprachim]

марсианка (KOS The Martian AU)

This started with me thinking SPACE PIRATE NIKOLAI, and then not wanting to have to google a bunch of Star Wars shit to write that AU, and then remembering Mark Watney Space Pirate, and then writing that convo out, and then this whole mess grew from that one scene, and it’s almost 2000 words. So: Space Pirate Zoya. 

I know nothing about space or space agencies. I apologise so much.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17714387 - AO3 link

----

He talks to her in Russian, over the coms. English is the main language of communication with Earth; it’s what she leaves her logs in, it’s what she got her climatology doctorate in even if, for the most elemental things, she looks out at the night sky and thinks, כוכב, kochav, before she hears the English. نجم, звезда, those come easily, too. And তারকা, she reminds herself. Najim, zvezda, tārakā. You play such games with your mind to keep from losing your grasp on earth, all the way up here.

Russian, though, it’s what her aunt spoke to her in, after she saved her life, in a tiny flat in a smoggy bloc of Petah Tikvah. The current pulls her home.

“Nazyalenskaya,” he drawls over the fritzy connection system, “I want to kill Rietveld.”

She quirks a smile at that; everyone has wanted to kill Rietveld. She would give a lot to want to kill Rietveld right now.

“I think you can spare him another day. If only for all the Van Halen tapes he left behind. And the ridiculous quantity of Indonesian rap.”

“I’m never going to forget about that.”

“Hmmmm, I’d be careful about talking, considering the number of romance novels I’ve found on the system, downloaded by one N. Lantsov.”

- 

“In the face of oblivion,” she tells the crew of the Терешко́ва, “the only course of action left is to science the shit out of this.”

-

How does it feel to be the dying goddess of your own planet?

Sometimes, that’s what she feels like, when she pulls water from Rocket fuel. No one around to hear her swear.

It may be on Mars, but growing potatoes in a literal field of shit pulls her from that revery, into some kind of ancestral, rain-soaked Russian field.

She wonders, absentmindedly and only half-jokingly, if she’s gonna be here long enough that attempting to distil some vodka for the pain would be worth it.

No. She’ll pull herself out of this on pure spite alone, if she has to. It’s gotten her out of other tough places. She’ll pull herself out of this mess, and above a dust clogged atmosphere to the sky above, and all the way home. She’ll buy a cheap- no, an expensive one, it’s what Earth owes her- an expensive bottle of wine from a corner store and uncork it with her eyes out to the sea and she’ll drink life down to the dregs.

I am not going to die here.

-

Look at the stars she tells herself, and try not to feel the fear.

The first English poem she memorised through to the end. Sarah Williams, the full version, not the one chopped to a fridge-magnet length quote. Reach me down my Tycho Brahe, -- I would know him when we meet. Considering that in its entirety it’s about a scientist comprehending his own imminent mortality, it is perhaps not the best choice of reading material. You may tell the German college that their honour comes too./But they must not waste repentance on the grizzled savant’s fate; Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light; I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.”

She was a girl, once, and she wanted to get away and leave her old life in flames behind her, and she did. She ran and ran and ran, past national borders and past agencies with long acronyms and past the fiery bounds of earth herself. She ran until, quite literally, she could go no further, until she was a woman in a duct-taped house in a place no thing can live, like some kind of mid 21st century Slavic witch.

-

           “Not only am I the best meterologist on earth, I’m the best fucking botanist on this planet. Best surgeon, best cook, best-” she isn’t one to lighten the mood, usually, but what else is there- “best lover.”

-

She points up, through the palm branches of the sukkah’s roof and to the night sky above.

“You can see Mars, right there? See, you can see me. It’s not that far away.”

Lada doesn’t seem convinced.

“You might not come back-”

“You think a few million kilometers is gonna stop me from getting back to my best research partner? Huh. Thought you knew me better than that.”

“A few million?”

“Closer than the nearest bus stop.”

“It’s gonna be years.”

“And so? I’ll expect you to be a proper scientist, when I get back. Or a proper poet, or painter, or chicken farmer.”

“But you’ll come back?”

“There’s nothing that can stop me.”

-

“Nazyalenskaya,” he asks, and in her name is the universe. “How are you?” is not the question to ask a lone crew member stranded literally on Mars. “We got a letter from your family. Gonna patch it through to you.”

“What do you suppose the requirements for building a sukkah on Mars are?”

Not that there’s much of a rule book for this kind of thing, but it’s something she thinks about. Humans, they look at the void and the unlivable planet, and they make it theirs. Genya’s calculations for the direction to face Mecca. The whole crew’s World Cup fervor. The solid week she and Rietveld spent in a subtle face off with the rest of the crew about using the big screen to keep up with Eurovision. The constant, unending, awkwardness of Ghafa and Rietveld, though both were far too professional to act on it.

-

“Red wire to the green and-”

“Lotta fucking duct tape, I know.”

Repairing the rover- that’s a lot of fun. She never really learned how to fix cars, back home. But it gives her something to do, something active, besides staring at potato plants.

She opens another one of her precious rovers for the parts. A weather probe. Says a silent prayer for the death of science.

It’s a long way to Schiaparelli crater. Zoya’s hated road trips for as long as she can remember, both in the environmentalist, fume-hating way, and also in the traffic-hating kind of way. So, she tells herself. Channel that spite into doing what scares you.

-

“Nazyalenskaya,” he says, “I’ve been thinking about the international implications of what you’re trying to do.”

“Mhmm” she says

“First off, I’d like to thank you for being possibly the most diplomatically complicated climatologist alive. Got Roscosmos, ISRO, and the ISA all breathing down my necks.”

“Good. Use it. Play ‘em against each other. This is either the biggest propaganda win or worst failure of their fucking lives.”

“The other thing is law on Mars. There’s an international treaty saying no country can claim anything that’s not on earth. By another treaty, if you’re not in any country’s territory, maritime law applies. So, Mars is international waters.”

Treaties, red tape, diplomatic stuff- that was never her job. Her job was making sure that six other people could breathe in space. Maintaining, linking the systems of the Hab to be survivable.

The storms, though, that was why she was really there. Or at least, that’s what pulled her from earth. The kinds of weather this galaxy had, beyond the limits of earth.

(Once upon a time, Mars had a viable atmosphere. Once upon a time. She looks out at the orange hellscape and wonders: will this be us?)

And then a storm had been her death. She was just biding her time until it happened.

Pessimism. What else was left?

“So?”

“So, Nazyalenskaya, the Hab’s a tripartite effort. ESA, Roscosmos, CNSA. Non-military, but you know as well as I do there’s enough earth-based bitching about who owns it. The second you walk outside, though, you’re in international waters. Soon-”

“No-”

“Soon you’re gonna leave it for the Schiaparelli crater, and you’re gonna commandeer the Ares lV lander. No one on earth gave you explicit permission to do this, and they can’t until you’re back with us on Терешко́ва .”

She realises where this is going. “Fucking hell, Lantsov, not more with the-”

“So you’re going to be taking a craft into international waters without permission, which by definition makes you a pirate. “

Even she cracks a smile.

“DOCTOR ZOYA NAZYALENSKAYA, SPACE PIRATE!”

She can feel the excitement down the line.

“I better get an eye patch at the end of all this.”

“Nothing less for the best meteorologist on the planet.”

“A ship. Commandeered Spanish galleon.”

“Of course.”

“Crate full of gold bullion.”

“I promise you. I think the rest of the crew’s been planning their first meal back on earth for the last year.”

“Shut the fuck up. You’re not the ones living off potatoes and protein bars.” She’d found a few secreted-away bottles of kecap manis and a jar of sambal oelek in Rietveld’s luggage, which- completely against regulations for cargo by weight, but it’s inadvertently the best thing he’s ever done for her. At least when she eats her dwindling space rations, she can burn her fucking tongue off, due to Rietveld’s stubborn Dutch insistance to never listen to any rules, ever. 

“Yes, but. We’ve heard all the drafts of the epic-length poem Yul-Bataar’s written to herald you with on your return.”

“Almost makes me want to die alone on Mars.”

“Hush up. We’ve already had to watch your funeral once. I even wrote a speech.”

“I better get a recording of that when I get back,” she says. “You better have cried. You better have wept over the untimely demise of Earth’s best meteorologist.”

“You better believe it was a speech for the ages. Wait, i can find a draft and read it-”

“Save it. I want to savour my death, after I know I’m gonna live.”

“This is next level Slav gallows humour. How many people get to watch their own funerals?”

Zoya Nazyalenskaya does not giggle, but the thought of all those puffed-up world leaders saying things about her importance, her intelligence, her beauty. (Will men see anything else?)  Shedding a few tears about a brown, Jewish, Russo-Bengali meteorologist who’d they’d barely cared to listen to in her life, but here, dead, she’s the ultimate pawn in their games. . . .

It might make her laugh. Slightly.

           And then she thinks about Aunt Liliyana and Lada sitting shiva for her in that flat in Haifa. The first thing she’d bought with her earnings after the ESA had taken her on was a nicer flat for the two of them, in walking distance to the sea.

“Lantsov,” she says, although it feels like exposing some part of herself she doesn’t want to recognise. “Lantsov, keep talking. Please.”

“Of course. What about?” “The crew’s first meal. Back on earth. What is it?”

“Zenik said red-velvet waffles with, quote, “a fuckton of whipped cream. An entire can of whipped cream.” Andreyev like a good Moldovan says it’s gotta be sarmale, and I swore Rietveld lives off coffee and the destruction of his enemies but I know he’s got a thing for nasi goreng and. . ..”

-

This is a dumbass long-shot solution that will probably get them all killed.

It takes a certain kind of long-shot nihilistic self-destruction to enter the airless murder void in the first place, but this is. ..

“The only thing that might work.”

Bo nods and then glares at him to shut up.

The ship’s got a big whiteboard, and Bo’s hands move almost as fast as his mouth does as he sketches, scribbles, draws, talks. They’ve got a direct, illegal, verboten, unknown, lifesaving link through to the CNSA, and as Kuwei’s the only native Mandarin speaker aboard, he’s the main one doing the talking. He’s a chemist, though, - Ghafa’s the pilot, Zhabin’s the chief navigator, and it’s a controlled frenzy of different langauges and disciplines as the crew hashes out the most wild rescue plan in human history.

“How do we know-”

“He’s the best astrodynamacist alive. Also, my dad, but-”

He, Zhabin, Ghafa and Rietveld all independently run the calculations.

Да, Да, हाँ, Ja.

“Who’s ready to go against the explicit instructions of five space agencies to bring the best space pirate alive back home?”

It was never even a choice.

-

“Zoya,” he says, over the link. “We’ll get you home.”