#been thinking about how funny the shift in my character tastes is

[pikkish]

it is once again rangerposting hours

[laurashapiro-noreally]

Looking for something to read?

Oh look, it's another recs post! This time I'm featuring two stories per author. These are writers I always make time for, whose work stands out as unusually hot, clever, funny, or smart -- sometimes all of the above.

I'm gonna start you out strong with two by @werpiper: After Hours takes Aziraphale and Crowley to the baths after their oyster supper, and all sorts of interesting pleasures are there for our angel to sample. Piper's Crowley is one of my favorites: always evaluating the situation, not quite aware of what his own heart is doing but feeling it anyway.

Fitting In is a new story, still a WIP, but I am utterly tantalized by Muriel's first taste of love -- and tea. This is already rich in detail, soft and fragrant, and I can hardly wait for the action to get going in earnest. The pairing seems surprising but when you think about it for ten seconds of course it makes sense. Sex workers help the curious, the awkward, and the inexperienced every day, bless them.

If you enjoy these, check out @werpiper's back catalog -- they have done a ton of ineffables-through-the-ages, and their series Miracles and Heresy is worth many delightful hours of your time.

I love what @copperplatebeech has been doing lately:

He's Not My Friend is a T-rated story that explores Aziraphale's constant refusal to acknowledge his relationship with Crowley, and Crowley's mirror of that, and how things glacially shift over time. It is subtle and yet specific, it will make you ache and smile.

All Of The Above, also T-rated, is a warm and fuzzy alternative to that, a hilarious celebration of true friendship that made me laugh out loud and still got me right in the feels.

@copperplatebeech can do everything, from quiet, gentle, and romantic to devastating plotty AUs to extraordinarily horny established relationship to absolutely ridiculous humor. Do dive in if you haven't already.

Next up, @cumaeansibyl, master of kink:

better living through technology manages to shove everything I want in a dirty story into less than three thousand words: uptight Aziraphale reduced to sodden wreck, Crowley gleefully showing him what he's been missing, character-driven erotics, and exceptionally funny dialogue.

indulgentiam peccatorum nostrorum is somehow all that and more, turning the "I was wrong" dance into a kink (something I can't get enough of, recs welcome). This one is post-Bastille so it is extra-juicy. Mind the tags!

@cumaeansibyl has a gift for established relationship one-shots, which readers of mine will know are my entire jam. They also have a mind-meltingly hot inverse!omens AU that features different variations of angelic/demonic Crowleys and Aziraphales for our ineffables to play with.

A new-to-me author, Calico, has me hanging by a thread with their Ineffable Romans series. If you want to remember that your ineffables aren't human, that they are inordinately clever but very stupid, that the feelings they have for each other are truly beyond what anyone alive has ever felt, Calico may be the writer for you. This stuff is deep. Also hot af.

Sub Rosa reads like a nasty shag at Petronius', but there's so much more going on here. It is Extremely Queer, driven by power dynamics, and Crowley is fully demonic here and absolutely in control...or is he?

The Intemperance of Liber Pater continues on this theme, with dialogue-driven smut that reads less like a seduction than an inevitability. There's another story in this series, unfinished, and I can't wait to see what happens next.

Last but not least: two short pieces by @ineffabildaddy. I stumbled on their stories just this week and I absolutely love their approach, which I've not seen done quite this way before.

take me as your wife has a tight first-person perspective as Crowley meets Aziraphale for a meal and imagines (or is it his imagination?) that Aziraphale is suggesting Certain Things about how they might occupy themselves later. Indeed, is he suggesting even more? Something about their relationship? Or is it all in Crowley's head?

Only in Dreams is kind of a companion piece, from Aziraphale's point of view -- though hundreds of years later. This one's set after the events of S2 and although just as romantic as take me as your wife, it also offers an ineffable take on the ol' glory hole concept. Just in case you thought I was getting soft. 😏

@ineffabildaddy has a whole series of poems and ficlets like these and I can't wait to explore them all.

[kazucafe]

⌗ genshin boyfriend hcs.

characters: diluc, kazuha, xiao, thoma, zhongli, & venti x gn!reader

genre: fluff, very tiny hint of angst

author's note: allow me to indulge in my genshin men brainrot <3 if you enjoyed reading, likes and reblogs are highly appreciated :']

diluc ragnvindr.

a gentleman, is always polite with his gestures.

if you visit him while he's on his shift at the tavern, he'll walk to where you're seated and greet you with a kiss on the forehead.

"hi, love." yeah *swoons*

would drop everything in the blink of an eye if you asked him to.

there will be at least one day when you'll be spending your time with him horseback riding and he'll sit behind you and help you control the reins. <3

he comes home late at night after he's finished patrolling the premises undercover, and opens his room to you having fallen asleep awaiting his return.

plants a gentle kiss before proceeding to lay down and holding you in his arms. he likes to nuzzle into the crook of your nape.

kaedehara kazuha.

will write poems for you <3333 will also leave handwritten love letters for you to find.

probably has secret spots where he always loved to rest whenever he was alone, but nowadays, he shares these places with you bc he'd be the happiest man alive if he had two of his favorite things at once <3

camping and stargazing dates >>

he would introduce you to his family (if he had one)

you’d find that they’d already heard so much about you and have been waiting to meet you!

xiao.

a lot of the time, xiao's days will consist of fulfilling his duty to honor his god and protect the people of liyue.

but no matter how busy he can get, he will not hesitate to rush to your side if you so much as whisper his name.

if you ask for something simple like wanting a hug or giving him a kiss, he'll look away and grumble, "you shouldn't call me for such a mundane request."

it's funny he says that when he still complies and sends you a look, silently hoping you'll give him another kiss.

make him wear a flower crown !?

if you successfully persuade him to get some rest, he'll sleep on your lap or lean on your shoulder.

rest assured that the nightmares he dreads to face each time he closes his eyes will never make an uninvited entrance. not as long as you're by his side.

thoma.

HE !! WILL !! COOK !! FOR !! YOU !!

his schedule is packed, but he'll always make time for you. if he has only a five-minute break, he'll immediately look for you, even if neither of you have anything to do.

if you get sick, he's the best person to take care of you.

he worries a lot :( will probably nag your ears out, but that's fine because regardless of how heightened his emotions are at that moment, you can clearly hear the softness of his tone. that's how you know he loves you. <3

zhongli.

another gentleman, always walks you home

IS SO GENTLE and will greet you by kissing the back of your hand

enjoys sharing his thousands of years' worth of memories with you

he's not one for extravagant things; his ways of showing affection are subtle but consistent and never fail to tug at your heartstrings.

loves travelling and tasting different kinds of wine with you

isn’t it just so pretty to think maybe you could live forever by his side?

venti.

also very doting <3 always ready to shower you with hugs and kisses

he'll serenade you every night because he says he wants "to win your heart over and over again" and remind you that he belongs to no one else.

he'll take you with him everywhere he goes, letting you touch the clouds as you ride on dvalin's back.

he's right beside you as you fall asleep at night, looking at you with so much love, like you're the most wonderful thing that's ever happened to him.

and you are.

he thinks you’re the closest thing to freedom he’s ever been.

and he wonders what he's done to deserve all the happiness you've made him feel.

[froggibus]

Can you do a jealousy headcannon for the Shimada bros? (Genji and Hanzo)

Shimada's + Jealousy

Pairing: Hanzo Shimada x reader, Genji Shimada x reader

Genre: fluff/slight angst? headcanons lol

Summary: how jealous are the Shimada brothers + how they react to someone flirting with you

Word count: 1k

CW: slight harassment (Genji's), naïve reader (Hanzo's), drinking, slight possessiveness, protective! genji

so this is my first ever time trying to do headcanons...definitely felt a little awkward but it was fun to try! if i ever do more in the future it will definitely be the same as this format (a few hcs and then a written scenario). this is short oops

————

Hanzo Shimada:

Hanzo is definitely the jealous type IF there was something he genuinely had to be jealous of

He’s not really the kind to get jealous/possessive over you just talking to a guy

But if someone starts flirting with you?

Its over

He gets SO annoyed for no reason

Not that he would do anything about it (except pout)

He’s spent most of his life learning to be diplomatic so he knows how to keep things to himself

Still, doesn’t mean he likes seeing some guy flirting with you

If they get touchy?

He's there in an instant to give them a silent reminder to back off

—

Hanzo watches you silently, dark eyes narrowed. You’re talking to an old coworker, giggling about something he had said about your old manager. There’s a bitter taste in his mouth at the sight that he couldn’t explain.

He couldn’t quite remember when he had started to feel this way—maybe it was when he shifted closer to you during the conversation? He wasn’t sure. He was sure that this man had feelings for you, though. It was clear as day by his body language.

You didn’t seem to notice, though. He sighs. That was typical. You were so friendly and loving towards the people you cared about, you had tunnel vision when it came to these things. 

“That’s so funny!” You choke out between giggles, face turning pink from lack of air.

Hanzo suppresses an eye roll. The joke wasn’t even that funny. Just some stupid impression of a character he knew you liked. Not even a good impression, at that.

You shoot a look his way, giving him a big smile. Hanzo tries to return it, but even he knows it looks more like a scowl. His ears perk up when he hears what your friend says next, though.

“So, are you doing anything tomorrow?”

You tilt your head to the side, thinking for a second. “I don’t think so.”

“What if we went to dinner?”

You raise an eyebrow. That seems a little strange—just the two of you? You look over at Hanzo, who’s now scowling clear as day. Oh, you realize. Oh. He’s been flirting with you this whole time, hasn’t he? And Hanzo is clearly jealous.

“I have a boyfriend, actually,” you admit sheepishly.

Hanzo has to bite his lip to keep from smiling. Your friend apologizes, and feeling the awkward tension between the two of you now, decides it's time to leave. You wave him goodbye, waiting until he’s out of earshot to return to your beaming boyfriend.

“What are you so happy about?”

“Nothing, nothing,” but he can’t seem to hide his smile anymore. 

You jab him in the ribs. “Don’t act like you weren’t jealous.”

“Jealous? That man is an idiot.”

“So if I did want to go to dinner with him…?” You tease.

“Not a chance.”

—

Genji Shimada:

Also the jealous type (must run in the family oops)

Definitely gets more jealous than Hanzo

Less discreet about it too

As soon as someone starts flirting with you, he’s watching like a sparrow hawk

Tries to respect your space cause he knows you can handle yourself

But will literally pout the whole time like a child

Reads lips/body language to see what’s going on

Eventually just gives in and forces himself into the conversation

Will hug you from behind or wrap his arm around you 

—

You’re at the bar, ordering drinks for you and the boys. He was hesitant to go out tonight, but with some light convincing from you and Cassidy, he agreed. Of course, now the boys were in a heated battle of who was better at darts. No, not the game of darts. Just the theoretical topic of who would beat who.

That left you to get the next round, grateful to be away from their testosterone for a minute.

“Those all for you, honey?” 

You roll your eyes at the man who had just sidled up to you. “Yeah, I’m actually a binge drinker. Hoping it’ll make this interaction more enjoyable.”

“Damn,” mischief flashes in the man's eyes. “Too bad I like them sassy.”

You hate the way his eyes scan over you, like you’re some sort of prey. You silently wish that Genji was at your side just so this asshole would leave you alone. Hell, you would even settle for Cole at this point.

The bartender gives you your drinks and you hand her a twenty. While you wait for your change, the man tries to chat you up more. You stick to giving him one worded answers, and ignore the passes he’s making at you. It’s not worth it.

Meanwhile, Cassidy had wandered off to the bathroom, leaving Genji to wonder where you were. You had said you were getting drinks, but that was at least ten minutes ago. He scans the crowd, eyes falling on you at the bar next to a tall, burly looking man.

He’s chatting you up, and you just sit there and take it. Genji shoots silent daggers his way, even though you clearly look disinterested. He wants to step in and save you, but he knows you can defend yourself. His chest tightens at the sight.

It isn’t until you try to leave and the man grabs your shoulder tight enough that you wince that Genji decides to get involved. He’s at your side instantly, ripping the man’s hand off of you.

“Back off,” he glowers at him.

The man’s eyes widen in fear at the sight of your cyborg boyfriend, and he raises his hands in defeat. You wrap your arms around Genji’s waist tightly, mumbling your thanks into the fabric of his sweatshirt.

He takes you back to the table, Cassidy still not back from his washroom trip. You wonder if he got his poncho stuck in his fly again.

“Thanks again for the save,” you sip your drink.

Genji shrugs, “I’m here to protect you.”

“How did you even know to come help me?”

“Well,” he says sheepishly, cheeks burning, “I may have been watching him.”

“You were watching us?” You laugh, “were you jealous, Gen?”

He rolls his eyes. “Me? Jealous?” 

You raise an eyebrow.

“I was just looking out for you.”

You giggle, planting a quick kiss to his cheek. It’s clear that he was jealous, but you figured it wouldn’t hurt to let it slide this one time. After all, he did save you.

masterlist

[angelismmm]

☆ 𝐛𝐞 𝐚 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐤𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐲. ft. heizou & xiao | a sequel. ・ sypnosis. good boys get their rewards faster than naughty ones, but they just can't get enough of seeing how hot you were when you wanted them to behave, when you were angry, it just makes them want to- yeah i won't finish that sentence..

・notes. the really late sequel to my most popular post, except now featuring new characters; xiao and heizou! i'm slowly making a schedule of when to post now! so expect frequent posts from now on! ・warnings. nsfw utc, sub!character, brat tamer! reader, dom!reader, strap/dick mentioned, dacryphilia, orgasm denial, pet names like 'baby', 'whore', & 'slut' r used! come see my other works~!

⟢ 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐊𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐙𝐎𝐔, will you be a good kitty for me and take it? ・he's honestly a very friendly cat, a little too friendly. most of the time he likes to tease you. flirting with many people in front of you, obviously loves to break your rules, such a tease it isn't even funny anymore. he always wears revealing clothes around everyone else, when it's only supposed to be with you. but you know he enjoys being punished most of the time.

・him being laid over your lap, getting his ass slapped over and over again. precum even so leaking from his red, and swollen tip. slowly letting your fingers inside his ass, then steadily lifting him onto your strap/dick, moaning loudly, whimpering at every slow yet hard thrust you gave into him, hands grazed over his nipples, rolling, and pinching them, "haah! ngh so close master— p-pleasef just g-give this one to mmh— me!" heizou, trying so hard to get his release pleasing himself up and down your strap/cock. immediately you pulled out, right before he was gonna cum, trying to hold on to you, "p-please! just this one! i-i'll be-behave.. pleasepleaseplease—" he mewled out into your ear, trying to grind himself against your thigh to gain back his high, "you think you deserve this, slut? you've been doing me nothing good all week, you think you deserve my cock? my cum inside you? you think you deserve it whore?" making him look up to you as you got up from the bed, angling his face to look at you back. ・"fine, just tonight, how about you be a good kitty and take what i give you, ok?" you said, pinning him to the bedframe now, ass up, as you allign your strap/dick with his aching hole, already waiting to be drunk on your taste again. nodding hastily, agreeing to your statement. (yippee!)

⟢ 𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐔𝐒 𝐗𝐈𝐀𝐎, my my, good boy gone bad, be good for just one more time! ・xiao baby, he never would do anything wrong, but he would act bratty in public because he's stubborn lol. sometimes this cutie doesn't even mean to be bad, maybe doesn't realize it :(. but he always did what he was told, at least in private. he doesn't do a lot of pda, doesn't like it that much. ・but he really needs you now, why did your boss have to move your shift to nighttime now.. ugh, nothing he can do but wait, well he does remember the vibrator he got from you, for his birthday, my, he'll never forget that day, he wants to feel like that again; ethereal. he needs you so bad, maybe this one time that he goes past your rules because you're being unfair, that you won't punish him bad. he just misses you so much, misses your cock(or strap wtv) inside him so much, he misses how you just sink onto his cock so smoothly, you feel so good to him, and vice versa. ・his only reason to end up like a cat in heat (which he is) is that he really couldn't wait, his heat got to him, pinching and rolling his nipples and the vibrator worked up inside him at the max setting, but he needed more, he needed you. but for now all he could do was imagine it was you, you doing all these dirty things to him. all he could do was hallucinate it's you, being so much so confident, he moans out your name, so much so, it echoes through the hallway of the home you both lived in, and coincidently you just came home. obviously by now, you've heard your baby calling out your name, you're hearing him so needy. "xiao? baby? you okay?" wandering up the stairs, was he okay? why is he still up at this hour, is he? no, he isn't doing that— he wouldn't betray your rules like that.. would he? "mmf—! ngh d-dont come i-in!" he said, you heard a small vibration too coming from the room, oh my, he's using the birthday gift you gave him.. his eyes closed shut, his brows knit together, "haah— s' close [name].. i need y-your cock so bad!" he screamed out, not realizing you already came inside the room, pulling out the vibrator, he looks up to your hungry gaze, as your cock immediately substituting the toy, the brutal pace him come almost immediately. ・ "oh baby, calm down— i'm here now, how about you take your punishment tomorrow, and we'll do a few more rounds, work got me quite riled up today, and you just had to be the icing ontop of the cake, huh?"

[familyabolisher]

Elaborate on poor things? Haven’t seen it, just curious

i think caden does a great job at getting at the heart of a lot of its problems here. some of my own thoughts on top:

for a piece which clearly wants to work with the materials of frankenstein and dabbles in broader gothic tropes especially in its final plot beats, it really just -- it wasn't very fucked up at all! i think probably the worst thing we saw happen was bella killing a frog in the first half hour. the gore was unspectacular and the plot was profoundly low-stakes -- the film utterly fails in crafting any kind of a sense of tension, such that you're never really afraid for (or of!) bella, never seriously concerned that something bad is actually going to happen. it was all just a fun little romp through europe.

the humour was either just straight-up asking the audience to laugh at how a character telegraphed as disabled moves and communicates, or, like, marvel-type jokes that felt unnatural and forced. i don't think a single joke landed for me. it's not a black comedy because it's not black enough and it's not a straightforward comedy either because it is simply not funny. a better version of this film would've been a) more fucked up and b) funnier, with those two elements complementing one another very well, but -- well. Sad!

lanthimos thinks that making big, unwieldy gestures towards every discourse of the nineteenth century he can think of is the same as interfacing with them at the narrative level. we've got: science and religion! class struggle! sex work! humanism! enlightenment idealism giving way to socialist thought! misogyny! we've got class inequality and a very faint outline of imperialism, helpfully telegraphed by showing some starving brown people on-screen in a yellow filter for all of about five seconds. but none of these are actually engaged with -- they're thrown in as empty signifiers, as if to say, very vaguely, It's The Late Nineteenth Century, Big Ideas, We All Know About Those. nothing changes in bella's material conditions at the end of the film, save for like, the presence of her Black lesbian socialist lover. that's not engaging with what Blackness, lesbianism, socialism ought to problematise about bella's life and worldview; it's tacking the fact of those things on as a footnote and calling it development.

speaking of enlightenment-style idealism, the film makes very little effort to problematise bella's desire for self-improvement, and how that self-improvement comes about specifically through becoming articulate and acquiring greater motoric skills. as i said, the film takes a turn towards (very shallow depictions of) socialist thought once the action shifts to paris, but the underlying suggestion that bella's 'self-improvement' to the ends of making herself, essentially, less disabled was to her benefit is never challenged. this combined with the extent to which the film's aforementioned shit humour rested heavily on expecting the audience to laugh at bella speaking and moving oddly or saying something out of place &c. left a v nasty taste in my mouth.

the premise is stupid sorry. like it's just utterly inane. frankenstein for the most unimaginative people alive. for that matter, most of the plot beats are ridiculous and lazy -- the final arc, with the arrival of her old husband and the return to her old house, was very much giving "the deadline is at midnight and we still need to fill this last half hour and we've got nothing to put here so let's just whack out the first plot we can think of." like, it was incredibly rushed, ridiculously heavyhanded and patronising, and unable to add anything of substance to the piece (which, to be fair, nothing in that film was at all substantial, So Like).

it's misogynistic slop with a lazy plot and no real interest in engaging with the ideas it vaguely raises for five seconds. it's aesthetically decent, i guess, but like ... anything can be aesthetically decent. it's v easy for a film to look pretty and apparently v difficult for it to actually do anything substantial.

[whiskydisky]

alright buddy you asked for those headcanons....

a lot of them are for rachel for some reason, or just me projecting, or really out of character, I thought of them in the shower, blah blah blah you don't wanna hear me yap.

some of them are also just "____ reminds me of _____", and they shift past and present tense cause I'm STUPIDD so sorry

ANYWAY

Andre

Andre doesn't really have a definite music taste, he just listens to whatever Cal likes and whatever's on the radio (OR SO HE SAYS)

He was pretty much a straight A student, he probably would've even gotten a scholarship.

His family has had Mel since she was a kitten.

His favorite arcade games are those hunting simulators with the guns.

REPRESSED HOMOSEXUAL (obviously), but he probably would've never figured it out anyways.

If he was alive today he would've been one of those shitty misogynistic fortnite players that watch andrew tate and you can't change my mind.

His bed is the best thing you will ever lay on, it's so ridiculously comfortable.

out of character, but it's funny, so who cares. andre secretly LOVES pop music, but he never really gets a chance to listen to it.

cannot draw anything to save his life.

HATES musicals. absolutely despises them.

still sleeps with this one stuffed animal he's had since he was a kid. its a lamb.

THE HEAVIEST SLEEPER YOU WILL EVER MEET. it is almost impossible to wake him up unless he does it on his own.

he's red to me.

autistic. how many more characters will I project onto? only god knows.

necklace guy.

one of those white guys that punch holes in walls when they get mad.

pops his fingers a lot.

paranoid about balding. (AND FOR GOOD REASON.)

Cal

knew absolutely nothing about guns before andre started talking to him about them.

him and rachel were childhood friends.

had a MASSIVE cd collection. just shelves and shelves of cds in his room that him and andre would listen to when they hung out.

doesn't really like going out.

sonic fan. im not explaining he just seems like one.

his entire wardrobe is just black band shirts and jeans because black shirts "go with anything" (he isn't wrong).

bracelet guy.

a little spoiled, ends up spending money like an idiot because of it. (example, his massive cd collection)

the way he was bullied was either physically or those kinds of "my friend has a crush on you" type deals

huge music geek, and gets angry when andre doesn't keep up with all of the stuff he tells him about bands.

REPRESSED BISEXUAL. he probably would've figured it out.

middle school was the absolute worst for him.

says the absolute meanest shit about people and then says "but who am I to judge?" and thinks that covers it

absolutely loved chuck e cheese animatronics as a kid.

he's blue to me.

draws on himself a lot, just draws in general, it's a way for him to fidget.

definitely neurodivergent.

chews off the paint on his nails, and his nails.

Rachel

hums a lot.

not exactly a "popular kid" but people do hang out with her.

air hockey god, nobody can challenge her, they will lose.

earing girl.

people sometimes look at her weird for hanging out with cal, but she defends him.

had a little crush on cal, but nothing would've really come out of it anyway.

her house is super nice, like those grandma homes with the glass figures and useless decor with lace everywhere and uncomfortable couches to sit on. I'll send a picture if u don't know what I mean.

really nice to hang out with.

fidgets with her hoodie strings a lot.

one of those people that can adjust their personality depending on who they're hanging out with.

doesn't like andre because of his reputation and how cal acts around him (like how he actually is), but she doesn't actively bully or talk about him. she isn't that kind of person.

absolutely loved prom but the ride home was so incredibly awkward that it almost ruined the night for her.

has naturally curly hair, but doesn't really treat it right so it's pretty frizzy.

HATES it when car windows are down, her hair gets in her face a bunch.

also doesn't like putting her hair up unless it's really hot out.

paints cals nails. she knows he's a little 💅💅💅 but doesn't say anything.

really liked cal.

i do think she moved on, but it definitely took her a long time.

I'm very sick and tired of the "lesbian best friend" trope in caldre fics, she just doesn't seem like it to me.

falls asleep unnaturally quick.

absolutely loves going out, especially to malls or the park where she can walk and talk with people.

really good in school.

freshman year was horrible for her.

really likes reading and writing, she has a journal that she keeps to herself, it's one of those that have keys to them and stuff.

absolutely obsessed with unicorns as a kid. wanted them to be real so badly.

worried about how she'd look on her college application.

hung out with cal AND andre one time. did NOT like it and absolutely still talks to cal about how bad it was.

AND THAT'S IT... SO... YEAH!

THABK YOU SO MUCH FOR FUELING MY BRAIN AHHH I LOVE THESE SO MUCH!!!!!!

[kybercrystals94]

Then & Now

Read here on Ao3!

ANGST-PRIL 2024 | DAY 3 | PROMPT 3: BROKEN HEARTED 

RATED: T | WORDS: 1109 | SUMMARY: Crosshair tells Omega about Mayday. | CHARACTER FOCUS: Crosshair, Omega

“What happened?” Omega asks. 

Crosshair doesn’t move, doesn’t shift his gaze to the child sitting behind the grate of his cell door. He keeps his focus on the ceiling above him, where the light has a barely discernible flicker. “What do you mean, what happened?” he asks, hoping that the venom in his tone will make her recant the question. 

But he isn’t surprised when she only clarifies, “Why did you turn against the Empire?” 

Omega has been nothing if not persistent these past few weeks, regularly sneaking her way down to talk to him. She does most of the talking, while he pretends he’s not listening, and wonders if she will take the hint and stay away.

To his frustration, Omega takes the hint and blatantly ignores it. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Crosshair growls.

Omega shifts so that she is kneeling in front of the door, facing him full on. “It must’ve been something terrible. You seemed so sure on Kamino.” 

They let him die. The unspoken words taste bitter, so he verbalizes something less distasteful. “It pains me to say that Hunter was right. We are nothing but a number to them. Disposable. You’ve seen the labs here.”

The kid frowns. “Realizing Hunter was right doesn’t put you in a cell,” she observes. 

“I already told you, it doesn’t matter,” Crosshair tells her. 

“It matters to me.” 

“Why?” 

“Because you’re my brother,” Omega states. “What happens to you – what happened to you – matters.”

An infinite number of retorts line up Crosshair’s throat. Awful, horrid things that he is sure will finally drive Omega away, make her hate him the way he deserves. Keep her safe the way she deserves. Safe from him. Safe from attachment and familial duty. 

But not a single one of them comes out. 

“His name was Mayday.” 

Omega is quiet for a moment. “What happened to him?” 

“He died.” 

Another meaningful pause. “The Empire killed him?” 

“They couldn’t waste precious medical supplies on a disposable meat droid,” Crosshair snaps. Blistering rage burns glacial in his veins. “So I killed the officer who stood by and watched him die.” Crosshair turns his head to look at Omega, who stares back with wide eyes. “That’s what happened. That’s why I’m here.” 

He hates the sympathy that washes over Omega’s transparent expression. He does not want her pity or her love. He wants her to leave him alone. 

Funny, isn’t it? How these clones around you keep disappearing?

“Go,” Crosshair says, turning away. “I don’t want you to come back.” 

He can feel Omega watching him, hear that she hasn’t moved away. Finally, she sighs, a long-suffering exhale that sounds too much like Hunter. “I know you think you’re protecting me, but I will come back, Crosshair. I won’t let you be alone again.” 

Crosshair waits until he knows she’s gone before he releases a shaky breath. He rubs harshly at his eyes. He hasn’t cried for Mayday. He won’t cry now. 

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

They’ve been in hyperspace for a couple hours now. 

Crosshair sits on the floor of the main hold, Batcher’s head in his lap while he strokes the hound’s smooth, leathery skin. He listens to the rumble of his brothers’ voices in the cockpit, Omega’s melodic voice occasionally chiming in. He imagines this is what it was like before, when the Batch first got Omega. In all the time he has known her, even before he liked or cared or… loved her, Omega has always had something to say, something to contribute. He remembers it annoyed him, but the emotion attached to the memory feels foreign and ugly. He hates that it used to be that way, but he cannot deny that it was. 

It was the chip, he reminds himself. After that, his own stubbornness butting up against Omega’s persistence. Regret constricts around the muscle in his chest, memories of the cruel and harsh words he’d used on Tantiss to push Omega away. He can’t remember exactly when he’d given up the effort, resigning to be talked at relentlessly until it became something he ached for. When she’d go days without coming to his cell, he began to worry for her, straining to hear the light tread of her footsteps. 

Those familiar light steps approach him now, but Crosshair doesn’t look up at his sister when she stops in front of him. 

“You look comfy,” Omega says. 

“Yeah, the floor of a ship is luxurious,” Crosshair retorts. 

“I was talking to Batcher,” Omega responds, deadpan. 

Crosshair rolls his eyes, but smirks in spite of himself. 

Omega moves to slide down next to him. “You’ve been quiet since we left the base.” 

“Unlike some people, I don’t feel the need to talk constantly.”

“Fine. You’ve been quieter than usual. Happy?” 

“Ecstatic.” 

Omega turns so that she’s leaning her back against his arm, head tipped against his shoulder. “Is that where you met Mayday?” 

Crosshair stiffens, his hand freezing in place on Batcher’s head. He swallows. He could try to lie, or at the very least, brush the question off. Seconds of indecision tick by, Omega patiently waiting Crosshair out. She’ll know if he lies. 

“Yes,” Crosshair mutters at last. 

Omega hums. “I saw the helmets. Hunter said he saw you picking them up.” 

When did he tell you that? Crosshair wants to demand, but the question catches in his throat, giving Omega time to continue uninterrupted. 

“I’m sorry for what happened there,” she says, softly. “It must have been hard to go back.” 

Crosshair shrugs, purposely jostling Omega’s head resting against him, making her huff. “It is what it is,” he tells her. 

“Tell me about him?” The question is gently put, a small voice guarded for rejection. 

Crosshair sighs. “There’s not much to tell. I didn’t know him for long.” 

“Long enough to care about him,” Omega says. 

“Hmmm,” Crosshair concedes. He hesitates a moment before saying, “I guess he reminded me of our brothers...”

Omega nods, head bumping against his arm. 

“There was an avalanche,” Crosshair continues, voice low, throat tight. “We were both injured, but Mayday had the worst of it. He…” Crosshair swallows. “He wanted me to leave him behind, said he wouldn’t make it. He was right, in the end, but I tried anyway. We got to the base, but they wouldn’t help him.”  

Omega reaches back, her fingers finding his hand and wrapping around it. Her grip tightens. He squeezes back. 

“I wish I could have met him,” Omega whispers, and Crosshair knows she means it. 

Blinking back the burning sensation that suddenly impairs his vision, Crosshair mutters, “Me too.”

He hasn’t cried for Mayday. 

He won’t cry now. 

END

Wow! Already to day 3 of Angst-pril, and my time has come to join the collaboration alongside @the-little-moment & @just-here-with-my-thoughts!

(If you haven't already, you NEED to go read their stories for the prompts Homesick and Frozen!!!)

My next prompt is: "This isn't going to work."

✨Let me know if you'd like to be added to my tag list!✨

Tag List: @followthepurrgil @isthereanechoinhere96 @amorfista @mooncommlink @arctrooper69 @nagyanna424 @groguandthebadbatch @proteatook @ezras-left-thumb

[edensbuttercups]

I love you - Rhett Abbott x reader

A/N: This started as a fairly straightforward idea, spiralling into more words than I had planned and the nagging feeling that I didn't do the best of jobs at writing Rhett's character. However, I do love this mess of a cowboy with my whole heart, so I hope it somehow ended up not being too bad ♡

Words: 3.5k

As always, requests are open and comments are very much appreciated! Thank you for reading and hope you're all having a good day ♡

The first time you told Rhett you loved him you were drunk, and he, despite what most people would say about him, was too much of a gentleman to mention it ever again, keeping those words to himself.

You had sipped on your drink, pouting when he leaned over to steal some, sipping from your straw as he looked at you, listening to you intently as the words died on your lips, the sweet fruitiness on his lips nowhere near the taste of his own drink.

He had won, coming first at tonight’s rodeo, and you had offered to buy him a beer to celebrate, promising to set him free before the night’s end, even if you secretly hoped he wouldn’t leave your side, and that ended up being exactly what happened. You couldn’t help looking at him, with the light hitting him just right, making his blue eyes shining so brightly as he smiled back at you, feeling your lips turn upwards to match his and those three little words slip out effortlessly.

Time seemed to stop, but he didn’t say anything, his cheeks growing darker, maybe, the detail hard to notice with how he shifted back, the faint blue neon light hiding any evidence. You took a deep breath, thinking that he hadn’t heard you, a million questions whirling in your head. You had thought about it before, with each word exchanged, not all soft and kind, but teasing and mocking at times, when you’d blush at a remark, or when he’d come by just to check on you, having you insisting that you weren’t a child and needed no checking up on, even if you highly appreciated the gesture, especially when you were lonely.

But you were drunk, and he was quick to make conversation, so you forgot all about it as you sipped on your drink, soon finishing it and leaving you with reddened cheeks from the sweetness and alcohol cursing through your veins, along with some of his words.

He sat back in his seat, those words still ringing in his ears. Had it been anyone else, he could’ve joked about it, or gotten a good fuck out of it, had it been a buckle bunny, but not with you. Whenever he thought of you, his mind wandered into a future someplace new, where he could start over, not chained down by a family name or by a career that did nothing but hurt him, save for the moments of glory that left him full of adrenaline, even if they were nothing compared to the emptiness he felt when he didn’t make it.

He thought of you as someone that deserved better than what he could offer. Someone that deserved someone that would make you smile each day, that would hold your hand while you walked through the town, or that took you on travels through the state, living the life you deserved together, maybe starting a family, owning your own place.

But his wrist was bandaged up more often than not, and while he could hold your hand with his good one, he also thought that that wasn’t his best side, and if you were to stare up at him with your pretty eyes, it should be only to stare at whatever best version of him it was.

Moral of the story, he didn’t deserve you, and even if you said that you loved him, him, he knew it was a mistake. A cruel joke that whoever controlled his life thought would be funny to throw his way, surely laughing at how even if his jaw tensed and his cheeks darkened, he still ignored your comment, changing the subject until he could close the tab and leave, driving you home safe and wishing you a goodnight, never to mention those three words again.

But then it happened again, and this time he really thought someone was fucking with him.

You had been driving together, a spontaneous road trip for the day, leaving early in the morning, set to return just after dinner, a generous amount of food packed for every meal you’d intend on taking on the road.

There were no other cars for miles ahead, so when he spotted some wildflowers growing on the side of the road, he stopped the truck without a care, climbing out of it to pick you some. He could feel you staring at him from the car, but that didn’t stop him from taking his sweet time, picking the best ones and holding them all together, wishing he had a proper ribbon to tie them together but settling on using a stem instead.

He made his way back to the car and came over to your rolled-down window, handing you the flowers and blushing at the way you exclaimed, brushing it off with a shrug and a smile as he made his way back to the driver’s side. “You’re a big softie, Rhett.” You teased, calling out of the window as you looked down at each flower. He smiled at your words, closing his eyes when he slipped out of view, taking his time to walk back to the other side of the truck. It’s just flowers, he thought, it doesn’t mean anything. He tried to ignore his feelings. It wasn’t something new, he had started harbouring a small crush on you a few months after meeting you, the banter you two shared, the teasing, the jokes, as well as the care you showed him and that he learned to show you, that all paid it’s part in making his heart long to be in his future. And then you went and told him you loved him.

But once more, he didn’t deserve you.

Perry’s words rang in his head again, the she’s a real pretty thing. Deserves to move out of here, leave Wabang and be happy. He agreed, but that ‘deserves more’ easily turned into ‘deserves more than me’ in Rhett’s mind, leaving him stranded on an island of his own creation. He climbed back into the truck, catching a glimpse of how you still held your flowers, cradling them softly as if they were the most delicate thing you had seen. And, to be fair, they easily could’ve been. You knew Rhett wasn’t one for big gestures, usually going for small gestures that spoke volumes, like this. He stopped just to pick flowers for you. And that was enough.

You spent the rest of the day by a small lake, chatting and sitting by each other's side, the sound of laugher and lingering touches making both of your hearts beat faster, an illusion of what could've been painting an image that you could both think of tonight.

Soon enough, it was time to go home, packing everything up, the chatter never stopping, only merging into loudly sang songs on the drive back, the radio too loud for anyone's sake, but it was easy to enjoy it with how happy Rhett looked, the wind messing up his hair as he sang as loud as he could, changing the pitch of his voice to occasionally make you laugh, smiling like a fool when he succeeded.

He walked you to your door, a cheesy grin on his face as you twirled around for him, holding up the flowers once more, now droopy from the lack of water and nourishment, but still as colorful. “Thanks again.” You muttered, wanting nothing more than to invite him in, but knowing that his family was waiting for him, Cecilia’s meal already planned and portioned. “It was a pleasure. Thank you for bearing with me.” He chuckled, tilting his hat back slightly to see you better. Pulling your arms up, you took a step forward, wrapping them around his neck and pulling him in, resting your head on his chest as his arms hesitantly wrapped around you, “I never bear with you. I love spending time with you and I love you.” You whispered, knowing what you were doing.

You knew that you had already told him once, remembered it painfully well, remembered how he hadn’t had any reaction, but you were sick and tired of hiding your feelings for him, so you decided that now was as good a time to tell him. You felt him tense up beneath you, his sigh audible as he pulled back, offering you a tight lipped smile and a curt nod before turning away, leaving you standing on your front porch with a questioning look on your face. He didn’t turn around, didn’t look back, not when he knew that all he’d do was pull you under with him.

That’s what he did, chaining himself to the ranch a while ago, finding his own freedom in a career that damaged him and, eventually, those around him.

You had gone to see him compete a few times, and he still remembered the pain look on your face that first time, raising his eyes after a fall, still coming first out of all the others, to find you with a hand over your eyes, not wanting to see him hurt. It took him a good speech about how he was used to it, and how some painkillers would surely take all the pain away, to make those tears go away from your eyes, but you were still hesitant to hug him, complimenting him for his victory by holding his hand instead, slipping away when his family came to talk to him to try to steady your breath, the scene forever embedded in your mind. Two attempts later, after a total of three rodeos where you had witnessed Rhett fall and hurt himself fairly badly all times, despite him telling you that it was fully normal, you decided to stop, waiting for him once it was all finished, knowing that you’d find him in search of a drink to quench both his pain and his sadness, on some days. And so, just like all those times, he walked to his truck and didn’t face you, aware that the pained look on his face would only match your own, and he couldn’t bear to see that, couldn’t bring that home with him.

So he thought of how you smiled at the flowers, or chattered as you ate, or sang on the way home.

He thought of that and drove home, smiling as though he truly believed he could be the one to bring a smile to your face each day, to hold you when you needed him, to love you. He thought of that and drove home, pretending that he wasn’t the one that had and would bring you pain if you let him in too close, having heard the words that the town, that his family, spoke about him.

And so, after that day, he became more distant, focusing on his place in his family, not leaving the ranch unless it was to go drinking or riding.

Which is why, one evening, when you had enough of the silent treatment, the few texts he answered making you only miss him more, you drove to the bar, parking outside and taking a deep breath before walking in, easily spotting him slumped over at the bar, whiskey in one hand and face cradled in the other. “Rhett.” you spoke when you got near him, your hand brushing over his shoulder, feeling him tensing under your touch again, like he had a week ago when you told him you loved him, but not turning. “Rhett.” You said again, sitting by his side and waiting for him to look at you, but he didn’t, eyes focused on the bar, not looking at anything but his half-empty glass. You looked to the bartender and mouthed a the usual, sitting by Rhett’s side as you waited for your own drink. “What’cha doin’ ‘ere?” he slurred, still not looking at you even as his expression relaxed, feeling some comfort in your presence. He came second, that night, getting bucked off the bull and harshly falling to the floor, his shoulder taking mos “Came to find you.” You said with a shrug, nodding to the bartender when he placed your drink before you, the first sip of the drink giving you some extra strength, whether that was an illusion or not. “Missed you.” You added, turning to look at him again. He was easy to look at, his profile being a part of him you got to see less, his eyes often trained on you when you were around, that having been one of the first things that had spurred you on to confess your feelings. “Missed you too.” He replied, voice barely above a whisper, so faint you wondered if you had indeed heard him utter those words, but the way his eyes had closed gave you the confirmation you needed. “I’m sorry if I made things awkward.” You mumbled after another sip, sighing and hating yourself for backing down, but needing him to know. Even if he didn’t feel the way you felt, or didn’t want to acknowledge the way he felt, or whatever, you still wanted to keep him in your life, even if as a friend. “You didn’t.” He mumbled, shaking his head. “Then why have you been distant?” You asked, turning to look at him, watching him as he took another sip of his whiskey, cursing under his breath when he was met with nothing but a drop of it.

You stopped his hand from lifting again, holding it down. “I think that’s enough, Rhett.” you spoke, glancing at your own drink and deciding to leave it, wanting to be sober enough to drive him home safely, pushing it to the side. “C’mon, we’re going home.” you muttered, standing and helping him off the stool, draping his arm around you. You placed some cash by your drink, the bartender waving your way and wishing you a goodnight as you walk past him, Rhett’s body slumped over yours. He wasn’t doing much to hold his weight off of you, his head draped over yours and the ghost of a smile on his lips at the contact. His feet followed yours almost effortlessly, standing straighter and easing some of his weight off you as you approached your car, tapping your shoulder to signal you to let him go, standing and walking to the door without any issues. “Were you pretending to be drunker than you are?” You muttered, walking to the driver’s seat, a teasing smirk on your lips. “Maybe. Wanted a hug.” He chuckled, hissing as his head hit the headrest, eyes closed as your hand reached for his, squeezing it once. “Could’ve asked.” You muttered, rolling your eyes at his antics but smiling at him. You and Rhett weren’t overly touchy, not unless either of you was drunk, so this felt like the perfect opportunity, thumb rubbing over his skin, taking a deep breath. “You shouldn’t tell people that you love them.” Rhett said, finally breaking the silence, his eyes focused on the car’s dash, his eyebrows knitted together in stress and worry, the whiskey still making his words sound slurred.

He didn’t want to lose you, and he needed to make things right, but god, words were not his forte, especially not after drowning his sorrows with alcohol. “I don’t just tell anyone I love them, Rhett.” You said with a chuckle, squeezing his hand gently, afraid that your words or movements could scare him, too used to being seen as a wild animal to allow himself to feel safe. “Well, then you shouldn’t tell me. You can’t love me.” he huffed, pulling his hand away, pushing it close enough for your pinkies to still touch, but far enough for you not to hold it anymore. “And why is that?”

This was, probably, the first time you had seen Rhett so… distant. He was always there for his family, always willing to go above and beyond for those he love, rarely getting a full thanks because that’s just what he was expected to do, but when it came to him, he was distant. “Everyone agrees. You deserve better.” “And who’s everyone?” You ask curiously, tilting your head to the side.

As much as Rhett appeared to be fully in control, there was a lot of his life that he didn’t feel was up to him, and this was one of those moments. He had wondered if you were too good for him for a split second, and with the thought easily confirmed by Perry, the nagging feeling never left him. “Y’know. Perry-” He started, meeting your eyes when you interrupted him. “I’ll stop you right there. I don’t care what Perry thinks, or anyone else. There is one person’s opinion I care about, and they’re sitting by my side right now.”

A soft pitter patter echoed around you, the first droplets of rain making the streets shine a little brighter around you. “Why do you love me?” It didn’t sound like a question, more like a curse, a poisoned words on his lips that had made him believe for too many nights. "How long do you have? 'Cause the list is long." You joked, even if it was true. You could speak for hours about him, seeing his defects and loving him in spite of. He chuckled, shaking his head, not believing you, but listened nonetheless when you started talking again. “The first time I realized I loved you, was that time I was over for dinner. Cecilia had made something, forgotten about it when Amy fell, and ended up burning it. You ignored it, still taking a bite of it and complimenting her on the dish, even if we all knew you were lying.” You chuckled, turning your body to face him, reaching for his hand once again, holding onto it with both hands, thumb smoothing over his skin. “You’re kind, Rhett. And I love that.” His cheeks were growing warmer, a light tint coloring them, the only way to notice it being the soft glow of the light from the bar shining on him. “Is there a second time?” He asked, a little more confident from your words, surely aided by the whiskey just as much, but this time he relaxed into your touch, turning to look at you, eyes taking in your figure.

You chuckled, resting your head back and looking up, few stars visible with the light pollution. “You mean other than the thousands of times, like when you got me flowers from the road during the roadtrip, or covered me in your jacket when it rained, or opened the door to me when I came knocking at 2am?” All of those moments had stayed with you, making you fall deeper in love with him, time after time, his soft ways contrasting with the image everyone had of him. “I don’t think I can give you what you deserve.” He mumbled, looking away again, focusing on each droplet of rain as it hit the glass. “I believe you do.” You hummed, your hand finding his cheek, tilting his face so that he’d look at you. “One date? Then you can decide?” He wanted to laugh at your words. Then you can decide.

He had decided the first time you hugged him and his heart beat a little faster, and had confirmed his decision over and over each time you were around him, always getting the best of him out. “Tomorrow? 6pm?” he asked, his heart hammering in his chest at the question, nerves hidden behind a soft smile. “Tomorrow, 6pm.” You confirmed, leaning over to place the softest kiss to his cheek before turning the key and starting the car, wanting to keep your promise to get him home safe.

It took him one date, one kiss at your doorstep, one text message goodnight, for him to be completely smitten. Everytime he took your hand, or said a joke, or kissed you, he saw the way you smiled and laughed and beamed, your expression surely matching his, a look of pure love and adoration, and it felt good. It felt good to know that maybe he could be enough. He shifted slightly beneath you, pressing his lips to your head in a silent kiss, smiling as you sighed in your sleep. He looked at you, safely curled up on his chest, his bandaged wrist resting on your waist, holding you close, he realized that maybe he could make you smile each day, and he could hold your hand and show you off around town, his smile bright ‘cause he got to have you by his side, and he could pack his truck to explore the world. And even if he still doubted it, somehow, he promised you and himself that he’d do everything in his power to be what you deserved, each single day.

[thecrxwclub]

assigning taylor swift songs to grishaverse characters + ships because i don’t want to do my actual work!! this is about to be long as hell!!

notes: i feel like some of these will be unpopular opinions but here we are + there are two instances where ppl have the same song (long story short and you’re on your own kid) but i just think it applies to both characters really well. and idk why basically all the crows are from midnights, it’s just a soc album i guess.

ALINA STARKOV

– long story short : evermore

"Past me, I wanna tell you not to get lost in these petty things. Your nemeses will defeat themselves before you get the chance to swing…and I fell from the pedestal, right down the rabbit hole. Long story short, it was a bad time. Pushed from the precipice, climbed right back up the cliff. Long story short, I survived. Now I’m all about you, I’m all about you. Long story short, it was a bad time. Long story short, I survived.”

MAL ORETSEV

– this is me trying : folklore

“They told me all of my cages were mental. So I got wasted like all my potential. And my words shoot to kill when I’m mad. I have a lot of regrets about that…I just wanted you to know that this is me trying. At least I’m trying.”

NIKOLAI LANTSOV

– Mastermind : Midnights

"No one wanted to play with me as a little kid. So I’ve been scheming like a criminal ever since. To make them love me and make it seem effortless. This is the first time I’ve felt the need to confess. And I swear I’m only cryptic and Machiavellian ‘cause I care.”

ZOYA NAZYALENSKY

– You’re On Your Own Kid : Midnights

“You’re on your own, kid. You always have been. From sprinkler splashes to fireplace ashes, I gave my blood, sweat, and tears for this. I hosted parties and starved my body. Like I’d be saved by a perfect kiss. The jokes weren’t funny, I took the money, my friends from home don’t know what to say. I looked around in a blood-soaked gown, and I saw something they can’t take away.”

KAZ BREKKER

– Dear Reader : Midnights

"Dear Reader, if it feels like a trap you’re already in one. Dear Reader, get out your map. Pick somewhere and just run. Dear Reader, burn all the files, desert all your past lives. And if you don’t recognize yourself that means you did it right. Never take advice from someone who’s falling apart…Dear Reader, the greatest of luxuries is your secrets. Dear Reader, when you aim at the devil make sure you don’t miss.”

INEJ GHAFA

– Karma : Midnights

“Karma is my boyfriend. Karma is a god, karma is the breeze in my hair on the weekend. Karma’s a relaxing thought, aren’t you envious that for you it’s not? Sweet like honey, karma is a cat, purring in my lap ‘cause it loves me. Flexing like a goddamn acrobat. Me and karma vibe like that.”

NINA ZENIK

– Bejeweled : Midnights

“Sapphire tears on my face, sadness became my whole sky…And you can try to change my mind. But you might have to wait in line. What’s a girl gonna do? A diamond’s gotta shine. Best believe I’m still bejeweled. When I walk in a room, I can still make the whole place shimmer…Diamonds in my eyes. I polish up real, I polish up real nice.”

JESPER FAHEY

– Anti-Hero : Midnights

"I have this thing where I get older but just never wiser. Midnights become my afternoons. When my depression works the graveyard shift all of the people I’ve ghosted stand there in the room…It’s me, hi, I’m the problem, it’s me. At tea time, everybody agrees. I’ll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror. It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero.”

WYLAN VAN ECK

– You’re On Your Own Kid : Midnights

“Cause there were pages turned with the bridges burned. Everything you lose is a step you take. So make the friendship bracelets, take a moment and taste it, you’ve got no reason to be afraid. You’re on your own, kid. Yeah, you can face this. You’re on your own kid, you always have been.”

MATTHIAS HELVAR

– ivy : evermore

"How’s one to know? I’d live and die for moments that we stole. On begged and borrowed time…oh, goddamn. My pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand taking mine, but it’s been promised to another. Oh, I can’t stop you putting roots in my dreamland. My house of stone, your ivy grows, and now I’m covered in you.”

GENYA SAFIN

– Clean : 1989

“Hung my head as I lost the war, and the sky turned black like a perfect storm. Rain came pouring down. When I was drowning, that’s when I could finally breathe. And by morning, gone was any trace of you, I think I am finally clean.”

DAVID KOSTYK

– Sweet Nothing : Midnights

"On the way home I wrote a poem. You say ‘what a mind’, this happens all the time. ‘Cause they said the end is coming. Everyone’s up to something. I find myself running home to your sweet nothings. Outside, they’re push and shoving. You’re in the kitchen humming. All that you ever wanted from me was nothing.”

THE DARKLING

I Did Something Bad : Reputation

"They’re burning all the witches, even if you aren’t one. They got their pitchforks and proof, their receipts and reasons. They’re burning all the witches, even if you aren’t one. So light me, go ahead and light me up. They say I did something bad. Then why’s it feel so good? They say I did something bad. But why’s it feel so good? Most fun I ever had, and I’d do it over and over and over again if I could. It just felt so good.”

TOLYA YUL-BATAAR

– epiphany : folklore

"Keep your helmet, keep your life, son. Just a flesh wound, here’s your rifle…With you I serve. With you, I fall down. Watch you breathe in, watch you breathing out. Only 20 minutes to sleep, but you dream of some epiphany. Just one single glimpse of relief, to make some sense of what you’ve seen.”

TAMAR KIR-BATAAR

– Only the Young : Featured in “Miss Americana”

“They aren’t gonna help us, too busy helping themselves. They aren’t gonna change this, we gotta do it ourselves. They think that it’s over, but it’s just begun. Only one thing can save us…Don’t say you’re too tired to fight, it’s just a matter of time. Up there’s the finish line. Only the young can run.”

HANNE BRUM

– long story short : evermore

“Fatefully, I tried to pick my battles ‘til the battle picked me. Misery. Like the war of words I shouted in my sleep. And you passed right by, I was in the alley, surrounded on all sides. The knife cuts both ways. If the shoe fits, walk in it ‘til your high heels break.”

–––––––––––––––––––––

KANEJ

– Renegade : How Long Do You Think It’s Gonna Last?

“Are you really gonna talk about timing in times like these? And let all your damage damage me? And carry your baggage up my street and make me your future history? It’s time, you’ve come a long way. Open the blinds, let me see your face. You wouldn’t be the first renegade to need somebody. Is it insensitive for me to say ‘get your shit together so I can love you’?"

HELNIK

– Long Live : Speak Now

“Long, long live the walls we crashed through. All the kingdom lights shine, just for me and you. I was screaming, long live all the magic we made, and being on all the pretenders, I’m not afraid. Singing long live all the mountains we moved, I had the time of my life fighting dragons with you. And long, long live that look on your face. And bring on all the pretenders. One day, we will be remembered.”

WESPER

– Paper Rings : Lover

“Kiss me once ‘cause you know I had a long night. Kiss me twice ‘cause it’s gonna be alright. Three times ‘cause I’ve waited my whole life. I like shiny things, but I’d marry you with paper rings. Darling, you’re the one I want, and I hate accidents, except when we went from friends to this.”

ZOYALAI

– The Great War : Midnights

"And we will never go back to that bloodshed, crimson clover. The worst was over. My hand was the one you reached for all throughout the Great War. Always remember we’re burned for better, I vowed I would always be yours. ‘Cause we survived the Great War.”

MALINA

– invisible string : folklore

“Time, curious time. Gave me no compasses, gave me no signs. Were there clues I didn’t see? And isn’t it just so pretty to think all along there was some invisible string tying you to me?”

DARKLINA

– Dear John : Speak Now

“You are an expert at sorry and keeping lines blurry. Never impressed by me acing your tests. All the girls that you’ve run dry have tired, lifeless eyes ‘cause you burned them out. But I took your matches before fire could catch me, so don’t look now.”

DANYA

— Last Kiss : Speak Now

“But now I'll go sit on the floor wearing your clothes. All that I know is I don’t know how to be something you miss. I never thought we’d have a last kiss. Never imagined we’d end like this. Your name, forever the name on my lips.”

TAMADIA

— Lover : Lover

“My heart’s been borrowed, and yours has been blue. All’s well that ends well to end up with you…Can I go where you go? Can we always be this close, forever and ever? And I, take me out, and take me home. You’re my, my, my, my lover.”

HANNINA

— Daylight : Lover

“I’ll tell you the truth, but never goodbye. I don’t want to look at anything else now that I saw you. And I don’t want to think of anything else now that I thought of you. I’ve been sleeping so long in a 20-year dark night, but now I see daylight. I only see daylight.”

[dannystheone]

SINCE REQUESTS ARE STILL OPENN MAY I REQUEST A SWITCH!STAN AND SWITCH!KYLE FICCC? MAYBE THEY LIKE DO A DONT LAUGH CHALLANGE OR STUFF PLEASE AND THANK YOUUUU!<33

Alright guys here it is! The moment we've all been waiting for >:) for some reason this fic reminds me of something... (the long-anticipated ruggie fic I never finished lol)

But it's here! I hope you enjoy!

WARNINGS: Kids swearing and foot tickles! (Socks stay on if that helps)

Two Different Types Of Comedy (Lee/Ler Stan and Kyle)

Stan is developing a different taste in comedy while Kyle is still entertained by childish jokes. The two butt heads over which form of comedy is best.

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Lazy Saturdays were always appreciated in South Park. No work, no school, no chores, just doing whatever you wanted. For Stan and Kyle, the best lazy Saturday was sharing a couch, a blanket, and exchanging TikToks with each other.

Stan's parents were gone for the day, so naturally the boys crashed at his place. Snacks littered the floor around the couch as Stan lay on the right side of the couch and Kyle relaxed on the left side. A Terrance and Phillip blanket covered the two boys' legs that were thrown on top of each other's. For some people, this would have been uncomfortable, but the boys have been in this position with each other so many times it's the only way they liked it when it was just the two of them.

Kyle let out a yawn and scratched the back of his head as he scrolled through TikTok. Stan laid on his arm with his arm against the headrest as he scrolled as well.

"Pffmmt- heheheh. Stan- Stan dude, look at this." Kyle shifted on the couch and reached over the blanket to hold his phone up to Stan's face. Stan looked away from his phone to see. "Terrance and Phillip have their own official TikTok now, so they're posting all the best bits they had on the show! Look, it's the one where they fart on the President!" As the living room was filled with fart noises and the TV characters laughing, Stan didn't react.

"Oh...killer." Stan looked back to his phone with Kyle's hand hanging limp in the air. Kyle’s eyebrows furrowed.

"Dude, what the hell? You love Terrance and Phillip. You didn't think it was funny?" Kyle asked. Stan shrugged as he scrolled through his social media.

"I dunno dude, maybe I've seen the bit one too many times. It's not that big of a deal." Kyle laid back on his side of the couch with a quirked lip. Without another word, he kept scrolling through the Terrance and Phillip TikTok page, quietly giggling at the jokes.

"Pfft- hahaha! Oh man, Kyle, you gotta see this!" Stan reached over the blanket to show Kyle his phone. Kyle looked away from his to see. "It's Bo Burnham's newest show on Netflix! Everyone says it's his best one yet! We have to watch it together." Kyle looked at the phone in confusion. It was just a guy doing stand-up.

"Dude Bo Burnham isn't funny? And besides, since when did you start liking him?" Stan's face fell as he took his phone back and shrugged.

"I dunno dude, Terrance and Phillip just aren't that funny anymore. I mean, how many times can you fart on a dude's head and still think it's funny?" Stan questioned. Kyle put his phone in his lap as he splayed his hands.

"Well, what's so funny about Bo Burnham? The only thing I can remember of him is that Jeff Bezos song and that was just it- a song. You're laughing at songs now?" Stan put down his phone as well, getting increasingly agitated.

"It's better than laughing at childish shit like fart jokes and diarrhea all the time! I thought you were the mature one, Kyle. How can you still find that hilarious?" Kyle's mouth went agape as he threw up his hands.

"I don't know dude it's my childhood! It's both our childhood, and you still think it's funny, you just don't want to admit it cause you think you're more superior than the rest of us." Kyle accused.

"I don't think I'm superior! I just wanted to find different stuff to laugh at. Stuff that isn't immature." Stan crossed his arms as Kyle grunted. Kyle hated arguments, he wished there was a way to put a swift end to this.

Stan's leg was wedged between the couch and Kyle's own leg. It was starting to go numb, so Stan shifted on the couch to try and relieve it. A crazy idea shot into Kyle's mind.

Kyle grabbed hold of Stan's ankle and set it on his lap. Stan had his jeans and his black socks on despite the blanket thrown on top of them. Stan tried pulling his leg back, but Kyle had a surprisingly strong grip.

"Dude what the hell are you doing? Get off." Stan warned. Kyle shook his head as he prepped one of his hands while keeping a hold on Stan's ankle.

"You think you're grown up, huh? Not laughing at immature shit anymore? Well let's see how long you last trying not to laugh at the most childish shit on the planet!" Stan's face was a mask of confusion.

"What are you gonna do?" Stan tried pulling his leg back once more, so Kyle trapped his ankle between his own jeaned legs.

"I'm gonna tickle you until you admit that 'childish' stuff is still funny! Because it is!" Kyle growled. Stan's throat jumped in agitation as he angrily brought Kyle's foot into his own lap. Kyle had white socks on for today.

"Fine! Then I'll do the exact same thing! I'll tickle you until you can admit that mature comedy is better than a show four-year-olds can laugh at!" The sudden twist caught Kyle by surprise; his body tingling with anticipation now. But that wouldn't phase him. The boys locked eyes with each other, burning in their resolve.

"I'm. Not. Laughing." Kyle's hand gripped Stan's ankle with determination.

"Neither. Am. I." Stan replied with certainty.

"First one to laugh wins the argument."

"So be it."

After a moment's breath, Stan and Kyle dove into their respective feet; Kyle scribbling up and down Stan's foot while Stan scratched into Kyle's toes. The two boys snorted and held their breath as well as they could. They grit their teeth to bar the laughter from coming out, all of the would-be noises pent up in their chest.

Kyle could feel the scribbles shoot up his leg like electricity. His lips quirked into a forced smile as he slammed his teeth down to prevent any laughter from coming out. Stan tried not to think about Kyle's fingers rippling into his arch, because the more he thought about it the more it tickled. Stan huffed and kept his mouth shut.

"I'm- pffmmt- I'm not gonna- lose!" Kyle forced out, having to take a break between each word to not let a laugh loose. Stan was having a more difficult time speaking. His leg was jolting with every touch Kyle delivered to it, and he would admit that Kyle had method. Kyle's fingers swirled from his heel up to his toes and down into his ball and arch in careful movements despite being tickled himself. Stan just tickled anywhere he could reach.

"I-hehee- I'm not- lohosing eheither!" Stan's eyes winced as he dug his nails into Kyle's arch. Kyle's leg jumped as he snorted and set his jaw against his laughter. The two boys were starting to sweat with this exertion. It felt like the seconds that passed that they didn't laugh, all the more it tickled.

"Juhust- Just gihive up duhude! I'm- urgh- I'm gohonna win!" Kyle forced out between grit teeth. Stan shook his head defiantly and kept up his haphazard method of tickling. Kyle gained a sense of resolve and started scribbling his fingers up and down Stan's foot from toes to heel. Stan jumped on the couch and tried pulling his leg back, but Kyle's grip was strong.

"N-Nehehever!" Stan started laughing in his throat, it sounded like he was choking, but he tried swallowing the sounds as well as he could. He was becoming weak; Kyle's grip was stronger and his method was better. Stan decided to replicate Kyle's method and set Kyle's ankle in his left hand and scraped his nails top to bottom on Kyle's foot. Despite this being Kyle's method, it was very effective against him. Kyle's fingers stilled as he shifted on the couch.

"Mmph! Hmhmhmhm! Stahan quit!" Kyle's back slid forward on the couch, giving Stan more of Kyle's ankle in his grip. Stan quickly used this reprieve as Kyle stopped tickling him to tickle all over Kyle's foot, from his ankle to the top of his foot as well. Kyle's toes curled up as he snorted and tried to breathe his laughter away.

"Face it dude, I won! Now admit that mature comedy is better!" Stan dug his fingers into Kyle's toe spaces, which made Kyle laugh through his nose in a big sputtering noise. Kyle hid his face with his arms as his face turned red from exertion.

"You should see your face, dude-"

"Boys? I'm home." Stan's mom Sharon walked in through the front door with her hands full of groceries; Stan's fingers stilling against Kyle's foot. Kyle held a hand to his beating heart as he breathed in deep and laid limp on the couch.

"Oh uh- hi Mom. We're just hanging out." Stan said awkwardly.

"Oh? And what are you up to?" Sharon listened to the boys as she carried the groceries into the kitchen. Kyle shot up on the couch, catching Stan by surprise.

"Getting Stan to admit that Bo Burnham sucks!" Kyle declared and grabbed hold of Stan's foot to scribble his fingers into the arch. Stan stared bewildered at Kyle before his face lit up in his laughter. Stan held his belly with both arms in his laughs while Kyle scratched his socked foot with his nails.

"Pfft- ahahahaha! Duhuhuhude you cheheheheated!" Stan kicked his leg while it still lay in Kyle's hand. Kyle let go immediately as Stan laughed.

"HA! I got you, you bastard! Now admit it! Admit that Terrance and Phillip are funny!" Kyle crossed his arms in his victory. Stan breathed out as he sat up slowly on the couch.

"Duhude, I never said they weren't funny. I was just saying that I wanted to find different stuff to laugh at. I don't want to rely on just Terrance and Phillip for a laugh, you know? And I think if you have different things to laugh at, it kind of preserves the comedy of the show because you're not watching that comedy all the time, you know?" Stan explained. Kyle had a thoughtful face on.

"Yeah, I see what you're saying. Terrance and Phillip do get a little stale now and then. I mean, how many times can you go around farting on people and each other? Wouldn't you get sick of farts after a while?" Stan's face lit up as Kyle understood him.

"Yes, exactly! And we don't even have to watch Bo Burnham, he's just the first guy that got recommended to me on Netflix. There's a ton of stuff to watch!" Kyle grabbed the TV remote and clicked the TV.

"Come on, let's find something to-"

"Oh no, boys. I'm gonna need you to clean up all this mess." Sharon walked back into the living room and pointed out all the snacks and food that littered the floor. "Your father is coming home soon and I don't want him walking into a messy house."

"Aw man- this sucks." The boys slowly got off the couch and started picking up trash.

"This is what I get for wasting time listening to you say that Terrance and Phillip are better than Bo Burnham." Stan said under his breath.

Kyle shot him a look. "What did you say?"

[charlieslowartsies]

RAHH it’s so cool to see that other people are rereading kgau too, cuz it’s done nothing but lurk in my mind ever since I first found it a few years back, AND that’s what IVE been doing too and I’m having a blast!!

Any commentary on Danny or his character? Or how you came up with him as Jeremy’s kid? Idc I just love that little dude he’s so cool

I often wonder how many times people have reread. If we go by hit count on ao3, I THINK GS or DS has been hit the most? What's funny is they're older and they've been completed for a hit minute, and they're around 10k hits. LW is ongoing, incomplete, and arguably one of my faster completed fics and it's at 10k too lol. I have Danny Fitzgerald comments I suppose! I am VERY tired so I hope these make some semblance of sense xc

Danny was created because I kind of felt Mike had grown used to his surroundings very well. I liked that about Mike! One of the blanket themes of KGA is of course, Found Family. But...I also wanted to explore a more 'holy shit! living robots' reaction. I also needed someone Mike wouldn't LET the gang bully/be cold to.

While Mike worked on ridding them of that learned fear, in the meantime he focused on hiring people that were chill and wouldn't give him more headaches.

So I needed a teenager I decided. I was very hesitant to make him at all. I'm not a huge fan of OCs when it comes to my own writing. It complicates things, and if I wanted a story of OCs I would make that. (Reading them is more fun ^^)

However, the kga series proved I could make something I liked well enough from scratch. Like I've said before, the content we had for Mike Schmidt's character was, yanno, zilch. He might as well have been an oc for a while, until more games and lore appeared over the years. (Obviously KGA does not follow the 'correct' lore. I'm 100% okay with that.)

I hemed and hawed a lot with just keeping Jeremy alive and making Ghost Strings star him, but a fic I loved reading at the time also had an amazing Jeremy and I didn't feel I could write my 'own' version and do it justice. Jeremy as well, if anything, would have a much darker history with the restaurant. Danny was essentially a blank canvas, while still having a reason for being there. He was a fraidy cat--rightly so--but he was determined and he forced himself constantly out of his comfort zone. (I'm sure GS would have been a much different story if Mangle had been active/in the restaurant.)

So, Jeremy had to go. And then I realized I wanted to work on death and loss and that kind of pain.

Danny obviously joins the restaurant for deeply painful and close to selfish reasons, but he's still someone we root for. He's just a dumb teenager looking for something of his father's, not realizing he's the reason he has so little to remember the man by.

All we are made up of is memories. Ours and others, things we take from important people in our lives.

Danny's theme/lesson in GS was 'Even bad memories have a place in a Good life' after all.

Danny's presence in the story helped me explore that mystery, and grief, and what happens when we try to heal ourselves, or when we rely on others to help us, like Bonnie helped Danny. It became a great parallel for Michael/Max Afton, since we learn in Last Shift, YEARS later in the story, this wasn't the first time Bonnie kept something safe for someone out of sheer love and devotion, like Max's beloved cassettes and music-tastes. This was despite Bonnie and the gang being so deeply hurt by Max's attack on them, but he still held on to the Good alongside the Bad.

And of course, giving Bonnet to Danny seemed...so fucken cute and fun and easy. She needed someone, he needed someone, and they just clicked.

My favorite thing about Danny is that everyone liked him so much more than I expected, even just in his first fic. I pursued Finding Freddy with the best intentions, and as hard as that fic was for me, I do not regret making it a Danny!centric fic. It also helps that when he shows up in Lies Within he's clearly done lots of growing, but he's still very mortal and he's very able to die. He still tries to help the restaurant, choosing to embrace the mantle of Day Guard that his father held in the Toys' era. That continued loyalty to Mike ends up being a pretty powerful weapon against the Virus.

Also something I need to explore more is Max is such a puffy little trash cat over Mike when Danny comes onto the scene, although he does lower his hackles within a few months, (and by the time of Lies Within) he's guarded and cautious around Danny. However once Max decides Danny belongs with them, that's it and Max considers him family as much as he's attached to Mike.

One thing I hadn't expected was liking the broship between Ness and Danny that's cropping up in LW. I absolutely want to mull that over more! Vanessa obviously has different...ties and hangups... to Bonnie models, but they really are interesting foils for each other. Esp considering Danny's choices in his older stories and her choices now, including the ones she might still have to make ;)

[taxevasiontactics]

The Godmother's Godchild [1] - Hello, World

Synopsis: After you receive news that Aunt Marian has passed away following the worst shift in your life, you decide that you are too overworked, too stressed, and too tired to deal with grief while handling your job. You escape to the cottage that she left for you to try and recuperate. The town it's in is so small you nearly miss it on the map - the perfect place, so long as you don't get into any trouble.

Warning: Minor Character Death (mention)

You have to admit. Even from the vantage point of her kitschy kitchen tile floor, Aunt Marian had impeccable taste in décor.

You remember walking into a fancy lawyer’s office in a haze; barely awake, fresh out of a double shift at the hospital, still reeling from the fact that even the kindest and most magical people (godmother, both ways) can pass away from old age. Aunt Marian wasn’t stingy about her secrets in life. Told you who she was, what she did with the funny bottles and sparkles, and proudly mentored you into university. Medical Alchemy Practitioner. A doctor.

It feels like just yesterday she was checking in on you after an absolute knockout rush. Ragging on at your work, like always, because she just can’t leave well enough alone when there’s room for improvement – and there is always room for improvement.

You call that “maroon”? Come on, now. I have another trick for you, roll up your sleeves and start the boiler again.

Don’t even start, she knows that’s as red as these ingredients will let you get.  You don’t have the luxury she gets with her garden.

And that’s where the trick comes in. Someday, you’ll have to figure this out on your own without good ingredients or good odds. Quit being a donkey and let’s get to work.

It was sudden – poof, into thin air, and she was gone. She’d left an old house perched on some coastal cliff in the middle of nowhere and all its contents to you in her will. “Do with it what you want”, the lawyer rattled off from the magically and legally binding paper. “Sell it, live in it, use it how you please. It’s yours, little branch. Do what makes you happy.”

Even as you grieved, the rest of your life kept weighing on your back. The house was on your mind every time you came home exhausted. You wanted out. You wanted a break. Most of all, you wanted to make sure that the place was something Aunt Marian would’ve been proud of before you started looking for buyers. You went away, leaving an uncertain “return to work” date on HR’s desk.

“Eugh…”

So, here you are, sifting through the contents of Aunt Marian’s unemptied fridge and cursing to yourself that you didn’t think to put a fume mask on. You again wish you talked with her more often, maybe then you wouldn’t have to dig so much weird stuff out from the dark recesses. Like goblin cheese, wedged between an old pack of pepperoni slices and a perfectly organized shelf of reagents. Who the hell buys goblin cheese these days? ---

It takes a while to haul all the spoiled food out, but you’ve got it done and stuffed into a nearly overfilled bin. The town has a garbage collection service; thank goodness for that, you don’t think you could’ve fit all of that in your truck bed without something noxious bursting. You still feel bad for the stretched, plastic bin.

“Thank you for carrying my Aunt’s incredibly stinky and overdue burden,” you tell it with a pat on its lid. “You’re a very good trash bin.”

“Miao,” says the trash bin in return.

“Yes, miao to you too.”

You pause only when you realize that you can’t talk to inanimate objects. Even if you did suddenly develop the ability – which is very difficult, Aunt Marian told you once, so apologizing to things you knock over is like speaking in reverse Spanish to someone from the Arctic - you’re fairly certain that a trash bin would not meow.

You investigate the bin further to find a scrappy tabby rubbing its face against the angular sides. No collar. Small chip out of the ear. Funny bend in its tail.

“Poor thing, you must be a stray…”

“Miao.”

You kneel, reach out, and tuck a knuckle under its chin. It seems to appreciate the act, leaning into your finger as you rub its rough jaw from below. You know you should probably be getting back to work on cleaning out the kitchen, considering the sun is starting to get low and you have yet to cook dinner for yourself, but a small break with a cute thing like this is no foul. You came out here to try and get on with your grief (as far as you can anyways) with a break from constant work. This is de-stressing. Yes, you are feeling so very relaxed right now.

The cat takes this moment to jump onto your back from the perfect vantage point, rip open a trash bag from the overflowing bin, and make off with some unknown prize of infinite spoilage. You watch it go, slack jawed, in disbelief that you were suckered by a cat of all things.

“Wha- hey!”

Still, you really can’t let the cat eat an unknown, probably spoiled object in good conscience. You run after it with a graceful takeoff, like a flipper-less duck off of a maple syrup lake that bounces twice off its surface before achieving lift, in quickly fleeting hopes of wrenching the expired substance away.

The chase makes you thankful for every marathon day you ever worked. Your quarry drags you through bushes, runs circles off the road, and leads you so far away that you don’t even know where the cottage is at this point; but you keep chasing. You are a human. You are an endurance predator. You will outlast this cat. You will get this cat! You will get the smelly thing out of its mouth! You will watch it run right back onto the road in front of a speeding vespa, stopping stock still in front of its tires!

You are a human with (what you like to think is) a healthy amount of self-preservation, but you also have an entire degree in the art of ‘saving things’. Your eyes bulge out of your head as you run into the road too, desperately waving at the driver to try and get him to stop. You can see his entire body jerk back, face as white as a sheet, and heels digging into the ground when you throw yourself towards the animal.

“Wait- WAIT! HOLD ON! CAT! CAT ON THE ROAD! STOP!”

“YEAOUGH-!”

Brakes squeal. Dust flies. Your stomach hits and grinds against dirt when you land and snatch the cat by its scruff. You feel the front tire bump against your side. When it doesn’t roll over you and squash ribs four through six from lateral to lateral, you risk taking a sigh of relief as you get up. The driver sees what you dove for as you stand. In an instant, the color returns to his face with a tint of red. His foot jerkily flicks his bike rest into place as he yanks his helmet off.

“Hey, hey! What’s the big idea, eh?! You crazy?!” His voice is strained, shouting, and rolling his R’s the more worked up he gets. He rounds the two-wheeled motor to get right in your face – and, boy, what a presence he is. “You tryna get the both of us killed?!”

His volume is intimidating enough by virtue of volume alone, but that isn’t what catches you. What really catches you is that he’s big. Not big in the sense that he looms over you, you mostly see eye to eye. No, the man is wide, two tree trunks for legs solidly supporting a rounded stomach, leading up to a broad chest and arms to match. The guy looks like he could huck the idling vehicle without breaking a sweat – and with modest accuracy, too. He’s radiating heat while his hands flicker back and forth, chewing you out for your ill-advised attempt at meeting God. His round face is scrunched up and getting more frustrated by the minute. The combover’s doing a poor job of hiding his temper, vein starting to pop on his forehead. You note that his nose is slightly crooked above a slightly bushy mustache when he leans in, like it healed incorrectly.

“Are you listening?!”

You snap back into focus, analysis cut short. Shouting is one thing, him waving his hand in your face is another. You used to hate it when people did that. It got you riled up once upon a time, ready to yell back. Instead, you hold up the creature that started it all as an explanation, dripping plastic bag full of goop still hanging from its mouth.

“I was cleaning, found this cat by the bin, and it tried to run off with” -you pull the packaging from its mouth to emphasize the grossness. It rips slightly, treating you both to the sight and smell of expired pickled egg- “something that it probably shouldn’t eat. It might have made it sick.”

His face twists from anger to disgust and disappointment. Wait, is that a white tank top over a black shirt? What? That’s a terrible choice. “That doesn’t mean you have to jump in front of a bike for it.”

“Well, I wasn’t expecting it to run into the road. I was focused on chasing it, not minding someone speeding.”

“There isn’t even any signage posted, fast is the only speed limit-”

“Wait, better one for you, actually. Why didn’t you look out for people crossing the long, straight road?”

“Why didn’t you look out for someone coming down the- look, I don’t have time for this!” He throws his hands into the air, yanking the helmet onto his head again. “I’m gonna be late. Have fun with your cat, or whatever it is you were doing. Don’t jump in front of things for stupid reasons!”

With that, he jumps back on his vespa with a murmured line or two in a language you don’t understand (but have a fairly good idea on the meaning) before speeding off again. You scowl after him. The only thing you can think to do is stick your tongue out after his retreating figure.

“What a shame. I don’t even have his name to insult,” you tell the cat. It says nothing in return. You set it back on the ground and make a very disapproving shake of the head at it. “Very clever, cat. Don’t dig in the trash anymore, alright? I’m not going to chase after you next time. It’s your own fault if you eat something gross and get sick.”

“Miao.” It is entirely unflummoxed to be manhandled and divested of its dinner.

“…Alright. Good talk.”

“Miao.”

It trots off up the road, tail curled up high above itself. You assume it’s going home and follow suit, turning the other way with a running list on how to protect your trash from future would-be thieves.

---

You realize that you never had time to get anything to cook by the time you finish cleaning the kitchen. The sun is low, meaning the town’s grocer is probably closed by now. You are out of luck, out of time, and left with a growling stomach empty from a day of physical labor. It’s left you with a craving for a box of cheap pizza and cheaper beer to wash it down from years of helping friends move in college. You get up, suddenly, the thought sticking in your head hopefully.

Even somewhere like this nowheresville has to have a pizza delivery place somewhere. Capitalism can’t fail you on this front.

Your efforts are rewarded after a quick location search. No Pizza Hut, no Dominos, but a place called Peppino’s Pizza (standard American-Italian branding name and slogan “The best-a pizza in-a  town-a!”, at least the mascot character is cute) blessedly delivers this late into the night. No online ordering form, but one measly phone call is a concession you can make for hot n’ ready, carb-and-fat goodness.

The call is pleasant enough, too. A kind voice by the name of “Gustavo” (they’re really putting emphasis on Italian here) takes your order, promising a delivery time of thirty minutes or less – or it’s free! You gather up the paper payment, making sure to include the tip. You’ve done your time in graveyard jobs, it’s only right to pay it forward to the next generation.

As promised, within thirty minutes, you get a knock at the front door.

“Hi, thanks for-“

“Delivery from Peppino’s-“

You come face to face with the exact same guy from earlier, still wearing the stupid t-shirt-tank-top getup. In a moment of brilliant association, you realize you probably should have put two and two together earlier. Vespa, accent, “I’m late”, the faint smell of pizza as he took off.

He suddenly looks very uncomfortable on the other side of the doorway with one shoe digging into the ground. You can only assume he’s doing a very strenuous mental routine remembering your earlier interaction.

“So that means you’re, ah…” He clears his throat, finding the doorframe very inviting to stare at. “You’re the one who took over Mama Marian’s place. Are you also a uh… miracle worker?”

You tilt your head. “I wouldn’t call it working miracles. I don’t think I’m even allowed to practice medicine here. I’m not taking over either, I’m just here for a little while.”

“A-ha, so it is, so it is…”

You both continue to stand there awkwardly for a good few seconds. A cricket chirps somewhere in the distance. The man clears his throat again, stiffly holding out your order.

“Thanks.” You take it, exchanging the goods for a wad of bills. “Plus tip. Look, about earlier-“

“It’s fine! It’s very fine,” he says, clearly not fine and itching to get off of your doorstep thanks to the mortification of trying to pretend it never happened at all. “We get off on the wrong foot, we leave it at that. I’m very sorry for yelling at you. Very sorry.”

You feel whiplash comparing the current situation with the last. What happened between then and now? He was spitting mad earlier, now he’s acting like you’ll bite his head off! Aunt Marian can’t have built that bad of a reputation here. You inwardly groan, set the pizza aside, and follow the step he takes in retreat.

“Agreed.” You hold out your hand. He flinches back. “We can make it up by starting from the top.”

“The top?”

“Introductions.”

You start. Your name and title, even if he’d already figured out the latter. He takes you up on the fresh start, shaking hands with a sweaty palm.

“Peppino.”

Oh, so he’s the owner of the pizza place.

“Peppino Spaghetti.”

“Spaghetti.” Your constrained laugh must be showing if he’s already frowning. “Your last name is Spaghetti.”

“Yes, my last name is Spaghetti, ha ha ha. Laugh it up.”

“Wait.” You turn back towards the box, pointing to the cutesy, cherubic mascot printed in red. You don’t know if it’s the delirium that comes with hunger, but the hilarity is multiplied tenfold knowing that this isn’t some half-assed attempt at ‘authenticity’. “That means that’s you on the pizza box? Peppino Spaghetti, that’s you!”

He turns away, olive branch deftly dropped onto the ground. “Ok, I’m wasting my time here. Good night!”

“Wait! I’m sorry!” You try to control the sniggering, to little avail. It’s already loose. “Really!”

Peppino doesn’t listen, muttering to himself again (something something, culo?) as he jams his helmet back on and speeds back into the night. By the time you muster something better to say than ‘sorry’, he’s already a small, halogen-yellow dot on the road.

You sigh. Oh well. You head back inside, intent on enjoying your dinner while it’s still hot. If you wanted to piss him off, then you did a fine job of it. You could always try apologizing later. You have a feeling it won’t be the last time you see him, anyways.

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

so uh. hey. first time actually writing and posting fanfic anywhere. fair warning, i do intend for this to be kind of a slow burn. it's fun to write for a character that has little to no canonical personality because i get to do mostly anything i want, dohoho. also a challenge to see how long i can go without explicitly needing to describe the reader in any capacity. enjoy, either way.

[blamemma]

oops forgot to do my monthly book post, anyway here's everything i read in september!!

a week of sunny weather spent in parks reading and having fun meant i got through a few more pages than i usually would on an average month!! a mixed bag, two new 5*'s and two disappointments ://

tokyo express by seichō matsumoto - 3* a weird little murder mystery centred on a lovers suicide!! nothing remarkable in the prose or the characters, but the descriptions of the scenery were really captivating...predicted the twist when a certain character was introduced but still a fun quick read!

young mungo by douglas stuart - 5* the open-ending really left me thinking for quite a few days, and i ultimately settled on the ending that sparked me joy and contentedness, but either way you interpret, the book is heartbreaking, achey and horrid portrayal of growing up as a young gay boy in scotland. many scenes in this caused me to grimace, a few tears were spilled, but stuart just has this natural gift of displaying humanity and emotion that you simply can't turn away from. the small nod to shuggie in this book as well was really touching.

the poisonwood bible by barbara kingsolver - 3* almost a reluctant 3*'s if this had caught me on a really bad week, it could have been 2*'s. i just feel it a) could have been about 250 pages shorter and b) some of the paths that the girls followed really didn't suit their characterisation or their past actions. something between me and this book really didn't click, but there were some beautiful passages and i think it's discussion on how far your love can go for family was very interesting.

those who leave and those who stay by elena ferrante - 5* ferrante's strongest novel in the neapolitan quartet so far. spell-binding, visceral, fast-paced, stunningly explored. "She answered: 'Each of us narrates our life as it suits us'" ooooooooft. many moments in this book that i simply wanted to scream at either Elena or Lila. You really begin to see the quartet take shape in this book, as the most nonsensical parts of Book One and Two seemingly reappear to become areas that shift the story along and make waves and impacts in the girls lives. You really begin to see the planning Ferrante has taken to mould these books here

yellowface by r.f. kuang - 2* a big disappointment for me. it all felt a bit meta and like kuang was taking out a personal vendetta and addressing everyone who had ever critiqued her and her work, not creating a clever novel. something just didn't hit here and it left a funny taste in my mouth after finishing it. also the twist was so obvious and the ending so dumb and cringy to read imo....

[commsroom]

i think this is both a question and an excuse to talk about the live show. things that you love about the live show? or also the AMAs?

(i've been putting the amas on whilst spring cleaning and it just makes me kick my feet like a schoolgirl)

wolf 359 live show, my most dearly beloved... what don't i love about it? (... aside from how beige it is and how tricky that makes it to color, maybe.) ... like. ough. the way eiffel is the only one who looks over / crosses the stage over to hera. the music cues!! scotty sitting in the audience the whole time, and how completely the tone shifts when cutter shows up. how much everyone's expressions and mannerisms embody the characters, and how that physicality carries over to how i see them in the rest of the show. it's impossible for me not to see most of them as versions of their voice actors. it's funny, it's tense, it has so many really good character moments. it's such a perfect encapsulation of all the best things about wolf 359, now with different layers of nuance and physical comedy. it understands the medium it's in and the tools it has available as well as it does in audio format, and the fact the show in general is written and performed with so much thought towards physicality certainly doesn't hurt.

and also i love eiffel. i love zach's exaggerated body language and expressions as eiffel. never fails to cheer me up.

^ just look at this guy.

as for the AMAs, i love hearing them talk about the characters so much. like, with the understanding that it can't be taken as direct, literal canon when it's outside of the show, i still think it helps you understand a lot about how they see the characters, and so. how the characters were written. knowing they had detailed character bibles full of stuff that never directly made it into the show is like... maybe it's not 'canon', but it's in the performance, it's in the writing, it informs who they are. it's a similar thing.

and also, again, i love eiffel. and i love to hear them say completely useless things about eiffel that couldn't possibly be interesting to 90% of people. like zach saying his favorite ice cream would be cotton candy dippin dots (disgusting sweet tooth on that man.) or gabriel listing pink floyd, led zeppelin, and the rolling stones as examples of eiffel's music taste (bargain rack band tee music taste; he is soo normal. i want him carnally.) eiffel really likes bowling. "what brand of cigarettes does eiffel smoke?" / "cheap." eiffel's ideal valentine's day is netflix and chill. "what's eiffel's favorite book?" / "... eiffel reads?" (gabriel's actual suggestions were 'something unpretentious, like a pulpy 80s action movie of a book. or splinter of the mind's eye.') ... etc. etc. you understand.

also the AMAs are great for that one time gabriel said "eiffel's doing hera" and immediately regretted his choice of phrasing so so much.

[strangecloud]

Having a lot of fun revisiting Fallout recently. I had fallen out of love with the series thinking I had outgrown it or something to that effect. You can't really outgrow Fallout, though. It's a tasteful and mature series through and through.

A funny thing about it is how it has evolved along with my taste in games to begin with. The Black Isle/Obsidian trilogy is a masterpiece in the way it asks you to be someone else, somewhere else, and then holding up your virtual persona and decisions to you in a deeply bleak mirror of sarcasm and satire, and asking "So, like what you see?"

I think that's the intellectual core of classic Fallout. The unrepentant satire of the setting eventually satirizes the player themselves by, ironically, taking what you choose to do seriously. The existence of the NCR is probably the best example, as it would canonically not exist were it not for the involvement of the player, or "players" in the abstract at the very least.

Bethesda is less appreciated in the discourse, but I enjoy the direction they've taken the games, in a sense.

Fallout 4 is easiest to talk about. I have many, many complaints about the main quest but the overall design of the game is deeply enjoyable to me. Specifically in how it encourages a sort of mechanical role-playing experience over a narrative one, for better or worse.

The possibility space for character archetypes in 4 is staggering. Your character can be a town leader, or a merchant, or a scavenger, or a mercenary, or a scientist or bandit, all determined by how and when you decide to engage with the open-ended systems and the membrane of progression that is the junk economy. This is weighted, of course, by what activities and avenues of progression you personally find most fun in the game, but even then there's something to be said about being able to pick what you like to do and building a character around that.

You can play 4 without ever bothering to pick up trash. All you have to do is quest around to make money and then buy all the garbage you need from the nearest vendor. You can choose not to touch the town system, or just make a personal clubhouse for your companions, and the game is perfectly playable. Maybe all you want to do is steal everything that's not nailed down, or hunt animals and sell their loot or whatever. It's a kind of performative role-playing that is very refreshing when engaging the game on its own terms, divorced from the expectations of the old GURPS-inspired character sheets.

It's much less literary and cerebral than the classic formula, and Fallout 76 at the very least has me worried about the direction the series is headed, but for now I don't think much character building and roleplaying has been lost in the transition to 4, despite what the fanbase would have me believe. The roleplaying is shifted around to the gameplay rather than a simple narrative role and character archetype.

All that to say, I can enjoy all aspects of Fallout as a series as my enjoyment of games has evolved. Even Fallout 3, which I haven't really talked about, has a place in my library as a very nostalgic and lonely, atmospheric experience. These games have always been great.

They've always been, and always will be, Special.