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thetriumphantpanda · 6 months

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i saw mommy kissing santa claus | joel miller

Summary | Your daughter catches you kissing santa... or does she?

Word Count | 1.3K

Warnings | Mentions of traditional Christmas (A tree, gift giving ect), Joel dressed as Santa, Joel being a daddy again, Joel AS A HUSBAND, smut but not super explicit - oral sex (f) and unprotected PiV, just general fluff really.

Authors note | Firstly, I have to give a huge shoutout to @wildemaven - the Dave York piece she posted recently definitely inspired this little Drabble, along with being stuck in a car with my bestie for three hours with the Christmas radio blaring. This is just some sweet Christmas fluff for us all!

Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi.

amazing divider by @saradika

The way the snow flurries fall outside are still a wonder to you, even after seven years of winters in Jackson. The warmth you remember from Christmas before the end of the world is a distant memory now, the open windows and the light breeze of December now replaced with the biting cold and the four layers you must wear inside your home to keep as warm as possible. It’s magical though, the way it looks picture perfect, just like the movies you would watch back then. If you could, you’d take a photo of it, use it as the family Christmas card.

Turning around from the window, the room is bathed in the orange glow from the fire you set a few hours earlier. The lamp, on Joel’s side of the couch is also helping, as are the frosty lights wrapped haphazardly around the tree, in making it feel normal. Because really it is. This has been your life for the past five years, putting up a tree, setting small gifts under it like you always had before all of this. The three stockings set above the fireplace, ready to be filled in the next few hours – the precursor of joy the following morning.

Sofia had thankfully gone to bed with little fuss tonight. Finally old enough to understand that the earlier she went to sleep, the earlier she could wake up to find out if Santa had paid her a visit. She hadn’t been planned, but then when were children ever a plan in this new world? You’d been scared, Joel had been terrified, but in the end, she had been the most wonderful thing to happen to the both of you.

You settle on the couch, letting the warmth from the fire soothe the aches that the cold now settles across your bones. You’re almost able to fall asleep, when, with clockwork timing, Joel tears open the front door, a flurry of snow and cold following him in as he closes it behind him. You struggled to stifle a giggle as you turn to look at him.

Dressed head to toe in a Santa costume that is far too big for him, not enough time for the town seamstress to do anything other than pin the sides of the trousers in. The hat on his head is almost covering his eyes, his hand pushing it back to sit properly, as he deposits the sack, once full of tiny gifts but now empty, on the ground. He’s got a fake beard on to cover most of his face so that none of the children that did see him would know it was Joel.

“Wow,” You muse lightly, standing from the couch, “I thought it was customary to wait for everyone to go to sleep before you turned up?”

There’s a slight grumble from under his beard as you step closer to him, watching as he pulls the fake beard down to sit around his neck, his beautiful face finally revealed. You set your back against the closed door, leaning against it, fluttering your eyelashes slightly.

“Did you bring us presents, Santa?” You ask, voice sultry and low.

“Depends,” Joel says, voice just as low, “Have you been a good girl this year?”

That low, southern drawl shoots straight between your legs, thighs rubbing together as you shrug at him, wrinkle your nose a little, “You’d have to ask my husband.”

You watch as he smirks, steps a little closer to you, his gloved hand wrapping around your waist, “What would he say?”

“That I can be a handful,” You bite at your bottom lip, “But ultimately, I always do as I’m told.”

Joel leans down, as slowly as possible, mouth so close you can feel his breath across your lips, your body tugged closely to his own now, “Well then,” He muses, “If you’ve been a good girl, it’s only right you get your gift.”

His mouth is on yours in no time, softly pressed against yours, his hand clutching your body close to his as you wrap your arms around his neck, pressing up on your tiptoes so your mouth is finally flush with his own. You open your mouths at the same time, tongues meeting as Joel groans into your mouth, hands pulled from your body just long enough to tear the gloves off his hands, shoving them straight under the hem of your shirt, resting at your waist to move you gently from the door to the couch.

He sets you down on your back, fumbling his big body to cover yours as those hands of his work to undo your jeans - tearing them down your legs enough so he can put his mouth on you. You feel weirdly like a teenager, fumbling with someone on the couch like this, biting down on your fist in order to keep quiet as Joel’s tongue works across your soaked cunt, drinking you down, tipping you over the edge twice with his mouth - the second, with his fingers buried deep inside you - trying to keep yourself as quiet as you can, you know the other option is waking your daughter and having to spend the rest of the night trying to get her to go back to sleep.

It gets harder to hold that noise in when Joel pulls you onto his lap, trousers pushed down just enough for you to sink down onto his cock, that stupid Santa jacket unbuttoned, pushed off his shoulders, your mouth biting down on his skin as he fucks up into you, his hands gripping the meat of your ass to keep you still.

It’s messy, it lasts probably less than five minutes, Joel spilling himself inside of you, your mouth pulled from his shoulder, bite mark evident as he moves you gently, puts himself right so he can carry you up the stairs, tuck you both into bed, his warm body next to yours as you both drift off to sleep, sated and happy.

Then, the next morning, with Sofia on her knees in front of the tree, you sat on the couch, curled into Joel’s side with a smile on your face at the elation your daughter finds in tearing the paper off her gifts, she says something no-one expects.

“Daddy?” She says, big brown eyes looking up at the two of you.

“Yes, Darlin’?”

“Mommy was kissing Santa last night.”

You almost choke on your coffee, spluttering to try and keep your composure, praying to the Almighty that it was just the kissing she saw. Joel though, is cool as a cucumber.

“Is that right?” He asks, looking down at you with a wink.

“Yeah!” Sofia exclaims, “I saw her last night.”

“You were supposed to be in bed.” You chastise her lightly, “What were you doing up?”

“I heard the door open,” She says, so matter-of-factly that it’s like having a conversation with an adult, “I wanted to meet him.”

“Well, you see,” Joel speaks, “Sometimes, to get your presents from Santa, he’s gotta ask for somethin’ in return, all that travellin’ in one night and he sees your pretty mama?” He shakes his head, “I’d ask her for a kiss too.”

She mulls it over a little, small hands holding onto an unopened gift, then clearly accepts the explanation as she tears into the paper.

“Nicely saved,” You whisper into his ear, lips pressing a kiss to the delicate skin behind it, “Christmas is saved.”

“Oh baby,” He whispers back, taking the lull in Sofia’s attention on the two of you to look down at you, “You can’t think you can kiss Santa and get away with it?” His low voice sends a silver down your spine, “You’re gonna have to make up for that later."

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artbyblastweave · 9 months

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One of the light-touch worldbuilding/storytelling/dramatic irony moments I really enjoy in Fallout: New Vegas is everything to do with Aurelius of Phoenix, the Legion Slavemaster operating Cottonwood Cove. Nested bit here, right? On first glance it seems like psuedo-Latin gibberish, something grandiose but divorced from meaning, like a lot of the Legion guys- but then you do the double take and realize it's a cognomen, a nickname Romans would receive based on great achievements or conquests-e.g. Scipio Africanus- and that implicitly this is the guy who helped sack the actual former city of Phoenix in Arizona. Stealth Future-imperfect trope, disguised at first glance because "Phoenix" is already a kind of grandiose mythologic-sounding word. And when you realize that, right, it's suddenly very funny, for the same basic reason The Republic of Dave is funny- grandiose terminology juxtaposed with a mundane name from the world we recognize. If it were Aurelius of Boise, Aurelius of Cincinnati, right, there are cities you could use in the pairing that would cause it to parse as much more of an explicit gag. So now it's silly in the way everything about the Legion is silly. But then it wraps back around to actually kind of unnerving, because first off, basically it's an offhand implication of something very nasty having gone down in Phoenix, A City From Real Life That We Recognize, in order for him to have gotten a whole Cognomen out of it. And second, it's obviously not a coincidence that his name doesn't sound dumb. Caesar isn't gonna let a subordinate quote-unquote "earn" a cognomen unless it's useful to him, unless it enhances the brand somehow, and having a guy named "Aurelius of Phoenix" walking around, well, it does do that! It feels calculated. It's not the kind of name that's downstream of cultural decay and half-remembered information. It's another example of how Caesar micromanages his slave army down to their very names, and how he lifts random superficial elements of Roman culture on an ad-hoc basis without integrating any of it on a deeper level. A lot going on, with this one guy's goofy name!

#fallout new vegas #caesar's legion #late night posting so not fully endorsed #but yeah there's a lot going on here #fallout #fnv #fonv #thoughts #meta

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dixons-sunshine · 5 days

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Yielding Isn't My Middle Name—Chapter Two | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Chapter Summary: You and Daryl get a little bit more insight on your ambushers. The leader, Liam, is extremely suspicious, but you just can't figure out why. And to top it off, a certain secret of yours gets revealed that changes everything.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of injuries.

Word count: 3.6k.

A/n: It's finally done. I powered through and got it done. Yay me! However, this chapter is pretty boring with limited action, but I hope y'all like this nonetheless!

Taglist: @dixons-girl89, @jupiter1700, @enlightndone, @shadowcitrine, @ddamm (comment/DM/inbox to be added!)

“I know, it's a lot to take in at first.” With a grand gesture and a big, inviting smile, Liam proudly showed off the beautiful landscape behind him, putting all of the luxuries they had on display for you and Daryl to see—well, as far as luxuries could go in a world ran by the undead. “But I promise you, as soon as you get settled into your new...” There was a slight pause before he continued. “...chambers, a wonderful life most certainly awaits you.”

The leader's voice barely reached your ears. The whole scenario baffled you; if they wanted you to join their community, why feel the need to ambush and kidnap you? Why tie you up and throw you in the back of a van, with a sack over your head to obscure your vision, most likely as a way to ensure you didn't know what turns they took? And why wouldn't they just ask you whether or not you wanted to join the community in the first place?

A million thoughts ran with the speed of light through your mind, but there was one thing you knew for sure; you didn't trust this Liam guy, and you certainly didn't trust this community. You could immediately tell that something was off. You couldn't figure out just yet what about it unnerved you so much.

“Dave, Marco.” At the sound of their names being called, the two guys who stood beside you and Daryl perked up, their backs straightening as they regarded their leader. “Make sure that the cooks make enough food for our newest additions. And,” he began, looking at you with a sympathetic look in his eyes. Whether it was real or not, you didn't know yet. “Call up doctor Miller and tell him to expect two patients.”

“Why two?” one of the goons questioned. He looked at Daryl in disgust, something that irked you beyond belief. “Only the sexy lady here seems like she needs it.”

From the corner of your eye, you could clearly see Daryl tense up. To the untrained eye, they wouldn't even have noticed the way the archer's body language shifted, but you caught it. Of course you caught it. You knew Daryl better than anyone, and you knew that he was getting more pissed off by the second. One wrong move, and that man was more dead than the monster's that roamed the earth.

“Jesus, Dave,” Liam reprimanded him, clicking his tongue and shaking his head in disappointment. “You knocked the guy out with some hardcore stuff. We don't know how much of the fumes he inhaled. I don't want to take any chances. Our guests need to be properly checked out.”

Dave grumbled something under his breath, but ultimately agreed. However, right before he and the other man, who you assumed to be Marco, walked off in the direction of a small building, he stopped next to Liam and whispered something in his ear. The leader nodded before waving him off. They left and soon disappeared, and your attention quickly got drawn to the leader again.

Liam turned back to regard you and your husband. His lips formed into a tight smile, his eyes squinting with the pull of the muscles. For some reason, the action sent a shiver up your spine, and definitely not the good kind you'd experience when Daryl softly traced his fingers over your back. You had a lot to be wary of, and this Liam guy certainly didn't make a very good first impression on you or Daryl. You were sure that your husband wanted to lunge at the man and pound his face into the ground with his bare hands, and you definitely didn't blame him. You wanted to do the exact same thing.

Liam motioned to someone over your shoulder. In moments, somebody was grabbing at your shoulders and hoisting you up onto your feet. You stumbled a bit, not tumbling back to the ground only because Liam stepped forward to steady you. You instantly jerked back, moving away from his touch. You would've punched him for even thinking of touching you when he was the reason you were probably light-years away from your friends and family, but the rope tightly binding your hands stopped you from doing so.

You heard grunting coming from behind you. You spun around and saw the same goon practically manhandling your husband, forcing him up to his feet. When Daryl struggled against his hold, the man decided that punching him would be a good decision. The sight of Daryl being knocked back down to the gravel unleashed a certain protectiveness in you, and you took a warning step forward.

“You stay the fuck away from him, and keep your goddamn hands to yourself!” you yelled in anger, moving over to your husband and sinking down to your knees beside him. You thanked your lucky stars that your hands were bound in front of you and not behind your back, because it allowed you to trace your fingers over his face, searching for any bleeding. “Baby—”

“M'alrigh',” Daryl mumbled, glaring up at his attacker, his eyes alight with the fire of a thousand suns. “Asshole punches like a girl. No offense, Peach.”

You gave him a small smile. “None taken.” You helped him sit back up with a lot of effort, your hands straining against the rope and getting rope burn in the process. You clambered up onto your knees and carefully stood up, struggling to maintain your balance. Daryl followed your lead, and soon the two of you were stood in front of the leader.

Liam gazed at the two of you thoughtfully, his face unreadable. His green eyes flickered between you and Daryl for a moment too long for your liking before he readapted his smile. “Sorry about that, mate,” he began, his gaze landing on Daryl before moving over to the goon that had just attacked Daryl a few moments prior. “Peter just doesn't know how to behave himself.” The aforementioned man cowered under his leader's gaze, something you instantly picked up on and locked in the back of your mind. “Don't worry, he'll be punished appropriately.”

“Sir, please, I'm so—”

“Save it,” Liam snapped, glaring at the man harshly. “You know the rules, Peter. All actions have consequences. Those are the rules. If I ease up on you, the next person will expect me to do so and order will be disrupted.” He stopped for a few moments, simply staring at Peter with an unreadable look in his eyes. “You are dismissed. I expect you to be in my office in two hours. If you're not, well, you know what will happen.”

Whether that last part was a warning or a threat, you didn't know. However, what you did know was that for whatever reason, this Peter guy was deathly terrified of his leader. He visibly slumped and averted his eyes from everyone as he hurried away, practically bolting as if being chased by something.

Now being left alone with Liam, your eyes locked with the man's green ones. You couldn't quite place your finger on it, but there was something wrong with the man in front of you. He reminded you a lot of the Governor, the more you thought about it, but at the same time, he was different. It annoyed you to no end that you couldn't quite figure out exactly what about the green-eyed man made you feel cautious.

Well, his men ambushed and kidnapped you and your husband, so that was a pretty good place to start.

“Once again, I am so incredibly sorry about that,” Liam started, his face adapting a look of sympathy. “Peter is a rather new addition to my ‘police force’, so to speak. He hasn't quite learned that we don't resort to violence unless it's an absolute necessity.” He stopped for a second, looking at you before sighing. “Miss, I truly am sorry about what Peter did to you as well. Please excuse me for saying this again, but you do look like shit.”

You couldn't understand what this man's deal was. Merely a few minutes ago, while he was surrounded by multiple of his men, he had seemingly mocked you about the injuries you had sustained. However, now he was apologizing and being sympathetic? What was this man's motive?

“Now, Daryl and Y/N, I believe?” Liam began, successfully gaining confused and guarded looks from both you and your husband.

“How the hell do ya know tha'?” Daryl barked defensively, straightening his back to appear larger—almost as if he was facing a bear.

Liam's lips twitched up into a small wicked smirk at the archer, but he very quickly disguised it with a welcoming smile. “I know a lot of things, mate.” He shrugged his shoulders and motioned to the farmland surrounding you. “I need to know things to keep my people safe. They depend on me, you know?”

“Still doesn't answer my goddamn question,” Daryl practically growled, taking a threatening step towards the man. “How the fuck do ya know our names?”

Liam didn't falter under the Dixon man's harsh glare. If anything, he straightened his posture and met Daryl head-on, his height adding an advantage over the archer. However, having known your husband for a long time, you knew it was time to intervene before he started a fight he wouldn't be able to finish. His hands were tied and Liam had who knows how many people to back him up. The two of you were heavily outnumbered and outgunned.

“Daryl,” you called to him softly, raising your tied hands to gently grip his shoulder. “I really don't think that's the thing we should be concerned about right now. It doesn't matter if he knows our names. What matters is that we have to get the fuck out of here. We do that by playing along for now,” you mumbled into his ear, quiet enough to not alert Liam of your plan.

Daryl glared at the leader of the community for a few moments longer before stepping back, sharing a determined look with you. You gave him a small smile before turning back to Liam, regarding the green-eyed man with a strained, fake smile.

“I'm sorry about him,” you began, your voice sickeningly sweet. You were taking a page out of Carol's book—you were playing the wolf in sheep's clothing, biding your time until you and Daryl could strike back. You could only hope that your earlier outburst towards Peter wouldn't be used to call your bluff. “It's just that we weren't brought here under the friendliest circumstances. And now you know our names and it's a bit creepy. He's being wary.”

“For good reason,” Liam replied with a nod, motioning for you and Daryl to follow him. You shared a look with Daryl before following behind the man, Daryl following close behind. “You can't be sure about the dangerous pricks that are out there.”

“Ironic, ain't it?” Daryl grumbled lowly, glaring at Liam through his hair as the two of you followed behind the leader. He received a slight jab to his stomach from your elbow, and he let out a soft grunt.

“You see, that's why we built this place.” Liam walked on and motioned to the fields on his left. There were multiple people working on the crops; some watering, some picking, and some planting. You couldn't be completely sure, but you swore you saw a faint glint of metal wrapped around most of the workers' legs. Were you just out of it from the pain in your head, or were those shackles?

“Well, built is the wrong word. We found this farm back when everything first went to shit. The crops and the farmhouse were luckily still standing. We... expanded, so to speak. We built the walls to keep the flesh eaters out and built more homes on the property to house our growing population.” He stopped and turned back to you and Daryl. “I hope you don't mind, but you'll have to stay in the farm house with me for the time being. We're busy building new homes but it won't be ready for another couple of weeks, maybe months.”

“Jus' one question 'fore we decide,” Daryl began, stepping forward. “Why'd ya have to bring us here by force? Why didn't ya jus' ask us to come here instead of kidnappin' us?”

Liam stared at Daryl with a blank expression on his face. His face didn't give anything away, and it unnerved you beyond belief. However, he soon gave the two of you yet another smile. You were genuinely starting to wonder if his face was starting to hurt from the excessive amount of smiling.

“There's a reason for everything, champ. However, not everyone is allowed to know my reasonings to the things I do. That's reserved for the people I trust. But do know that I did it for your own goods. Between you and me, that entire building was surrounded by flesh eaters. You most certainly would've died without my men.”

“Wha' the hell do ya know 'bout—”

“Sir? I'm so sorry to interrupt you, but Dr Miller is ready for the new arrivals,” a small, timid woman spoke up, gaining the attention of you, Daryl and Liam.

“Ah, Mariah,” Liam spoke, nodding at her in greeting. He turned back to you and Daryl, using his hand to motion towards the woman. “Please follow her to Dr Miller. He'll make sure to patch you up and ensure you're fit and ready for tomorrow.” He walked a few steps backwards and clapped his hands twice. “Welcome to Sunny Meadows! Come meet me in the farm house once you're done.”

With that, he turned around and stalked off, leaving you and Daryl alone with the woman, Mariah. The aforementioned woman turned to look at the two of you. She was nervously fidgeting with her hands, her posture slouched and her eyes couldn't decide whether to focus on you, your husband, your wounds, the ropes tying your hands together, or the ground. You were confused by her obvious fear towards you. What people was she used to dealing with? Did she really think that you were going to hurt her?

“Please follow me,” she stammered out with a nervous squeak, turning around and speeding off into the direction of the very same building those other men, Dave and Marco, had disappeared into earlier.

You hesitantly started following her. Daryl grumbled and followed your lead, glaring at any person who dared to lock eyes with him. You had to withhold your chuckles at your husband, knowing that it was neither the time nor place for that. Under normal circumstances, you'd laugh at your husband's antics. But not now. Not when your main priority was getting the hell out of that place.

You soon arrived at the makeshift medical building. You followed her in, taking in the pure doctor-like feel of the building. If you didn't know any better and somebody had blindfolded you and brought you here, you would've believed that this was a legitimate doctor's office. But you did know better.

A man, who you presumed to be this doctor Miller character everyone was talking about, placed a syringe down on the table and gave you all inviting smiles. “Welcome!” he greeted you enthusiastically—and rather loudly, too. You winced at the sound, being painfully reminded of the incessant throbbing in your skull. “You both look rather terrible. Who should I focus on first?”

“Owen,” Mariah began in a soft voice. “If I may, maybe the woman? She took quite the beating.”

“Peter?” the doctor inquired, shaking his head and sighing when Mariah nodded. “That man has sent more patients my way than any scavenging trip accident has. I don't even know why your husband still keeps him around.”

Wait, husband? Liam was Mariah's husband? Then why was he treating her like that? Why was she so scared of him? A million different possibilities ran through your mind for the obvious fear the woman held towards her husband, and none of them were good. Daryl's ocean coloured eyes locked with your eyes. He visibly shared the same confusion as you. However, the doctor's orders caught your attention.

“Mariah, is it really necessary to have their hands tied? I can see the irritation from here. Please remove their binds.” Doctor Miller stopped for a moment, regarding you and Daryl with a thoughtful look. “Sir, ma'am, speaking from experience, please don't try to run or attack once those binds are removed. Whenever there's a new addition, the walls are very guarded. You'll be shot instantly.”

Mariah gingerly removed the ropes from your arms and tried to remove Daryl's. However, your husband flinched back at the foreign touch, making the woman confused. You simply gently pushed her aside and moved over to him, starting to untie his binds. This time, Daryl stood still, and in no time at all, his hands were freed. He rubbed his wrists, the rope burns visible.

“Alright,” the doctor started. “Ma'am, please lay down on the bed. I'll tend to you shortly. Sir, you may take a seat on that chair next to the bed while you wait.”

You looked out of the window and weighed your options. However, the doctor wasn't lying; there were multiple guards patrolling the walls in the distance. There also were guards walking up to the makeshift medical building, most likely being sent to ensure you and Daryl didn't try anything.

You had no other option. You had to continue playing along.

You slowly walked over to the bed and laid down. Daryl hesitantly plopped himself down on the chair next to the bed, his eyes darting around the room. He was clearly trying to think of an escape plan, but he wasn't succeeding.

“Alright,” Doctor Miller began, walking out of the side room and rolling a machine out with him.

You instantly knew what that machine was. “No, doctor, you can't. No, don't—”

“Woah, woah, woah.” Daryl stood up from the chair and glared at the doctor, his mind instantly assuming the worst at your reaction. “The hell is tha'?”

“Sir, please relax.” Mariah walked up to the side of the bed, grabbing a tube of some sort of gel from the drawer. “We have some new equipment we've been wanting to test out. We found this ultrasound machine yesterday. We just want to test it out and make sure it works.”

Your heart stopped beating. All at once, thoughts of your unborn baby flooded your mind. You couldn't believe that you had forgotten about the fact that you were pregnant. With everything that happened, your mind neglected to remind you of that pivotal fact. And now everyone was going to know, including your husband who you had yet to tell.

“Doc, I don't think that's a good idea,” you warned him, pleaded with him, but the man didn't listen.

“Nonsense. This'll be over before you know it. It won't hurt, I promise you.”

“Ma'am, can I lift your shirt?” Too frozen to answer her, you simply stared. Deciding for you, Mariah lifted your shirt a bit and opened the tube with the gel. “This might be a bit cold.”

The cold was the least of your worries. You had taken quite the beating. What if your baby was hurt? What if your baby was dead? What if the doctor couldn't find a heartbeat? All of those thoughts flooded your mind, so much so that you barely heard Daryl talking to the doctor.

“Why does she need'a do tha'? Can't some other chick do this?”

“I was going to ask someone to come in today to test it, but she's here now. Might as well get it out of the way.” Doctor Miller started with the exam, placing the object on your stomach and moving it around. At first, the screen didn't pick up a thing, and that made you want to cry. However, the steady thumping of a heartbeat could soon be heard, and a small figure appeared on the screen.

“Oh, wow. That's a strong heartbeat,” Doctor Owen Miller told you with a smile, the ultrasound depicting a growing baby. “Congratulations, you two.”

Your heart was attempting to jump out of your chest. It was amazing to you that the little blob on the screen would soon develop into a baby, your baby. You would pick out their name and scavenge for things for your little one, and you're sure Daryl would—

Oh, god. Daryl.

Slowly looking over to your left, you locked eyes with your husband. Instead of finding the love, affection and adoration that usually swam in his ocean coloured eyes, you found something else. You found anger, shock, worry, but above all else? You could see a renewed sense of determination in his eyes.

The archer was pissed at you for hiding your pregnancy and convincing him to let you wander beyond the walls, but he couldn't think about that. He had to get you to safety, away from these monsters. He had to keep you and your unborn baby safe.

The doctor should've heeded your warning. The doctor never should've insisted to take an ultrasound. Because of doctor Owen Miller, Daryl Dixon was determined. Daryl Dixon was going to tear that whole place apart, and anyone who dared to lay a finger on you would meet an agonizing end.

The people of Sunny Meadows were going to pay.

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th3basementdweller · 6 months

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what are your opinions on the biblically accurate jack and dave.

Does this answer your question?

(I think they look like wrinkly sacks of dyed flesh but I love them anyways)

#dayshift at freddy's #dsaf jack #dsaf fanart #dsaf #dsaf dave #dsaf 3

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r4bidcherry · 2 months

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sugar slings dave over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes

#total drama

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 9 months

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Blood Money Chapter One: The Capo - A Reader x Dave York x Max Phillips fic - Vampire Mafia AU

General Warnings: 18+, as is the whole of my blog, I will mark anything specific but be aware this is predominantly a smutty blog that writes porn with plot. DNI if you are a minor. By reading further you have taken the responsibility to do so with the warnings I have given. Specific warnings: Reader is in captivity, chained up, a servant of a malicious vampire mob outfit, blood, gore, horror elements, existensial dread, thoughts of death and ending reader's life. Max Phillips is a warning in himself. Canon/horror trope-typical violence. I'm going back to tag lists so please let me know if you want to be added! Big thanks to @wannab-urs and @pascalispretty for beta-ing and proofing this one! And special thanks to @pastelnap and @patti7dc for being my muses on this one, even if I am so mad you made me start a new work with my WIP backlog as it is (I love you really thank you so much!!) Without further ado:

Summary: Stuck in a basement for over a year, fixing the books of one of the most ruthless Mafia outfits in New York City has no perks, only pain, misery and servitude. But when your masters are murdered by a rival clan, you wish for a swift death, but Max Phillips has other plans for you. [Ao3 Link] Masterlist Next Chapter->

Chapter One: The Capo

The clink of chains, the dripping of a leaking pipe. The combined smell of your own body odour, blood, and mould. The flicker of the too-bright fluorescent tube lighting burning your eyes. The cool air of the basement hits your bare skin, a pleasant distraction from a fever burning through you.

These were the only sensations you have known for over a year, but getting kidnapped by the vampire clan that runs this part of New York City renders such discomforts mundane. The fact you are still drawing breath is a blessing and a curse.

“Come on meat-sack, work time.” The vampire guarding the door snaps you out of your sleep-deprived haze. You look up to see Ren, a sadistic underling with a habit of trying to scare you enough to make you piss yourself. Although, that hasn’t happened in months. His jet-black hair is slicked back in a ponytail and his dark eyes devour you, his tongue snaking over his lips as he lingers on your exposed chest.

You sit at your desk, atop a faded leather office chair that creaks and wobbles from age. But it’s not like you could tell the Vampire Mafia that they needed better facilities for their staff. You flick through the disorganised mess of papers, receipts, shipment manifests and try your best to ignore him. But he saunters over to you, coming to hover over your shoulder.

“Shame Hiro’s going to fuck you up later, you’ve become so obedient.” Ren chuckles as he rattles your restraints. He snaps his fanged teeth against your neck, you’re almost sure the blunt ridges of his incisors brush your skin but you’re so desensitised now that you just nod. He wouldn’t risk puncturing your skin, even today. But you doubt you’d care even if he did.

“You’ve gotten boring anyway.” He grumbles at your lack of response and leaves, locking the secure door behind him as you sit in your concrete box. Your calloused, raw hands sift through the documents once more, but your mind is foggy and sluggish. You actually think you might be dying. You sip at the canteen of water chained to your desk – the metallic tang of contaminated water burns your throat – but it’s better than dying of thirst.

Your head pounds. You try to balance the manifest against the ledger in front of you but your vision blurs. Your body aches with cold numbness that spreads to your extremities like a spill of oil, slow, sluggish, suffocating. You’re falling asleep, face pressed against the desk when you hear it, the unmistakable rattle of semi-automatic weapons above you.

Your head perks up, something about the break in monotony appeals to that dim, flickering ember in your chest that wants to live. You know there’s no point trying to break free, you’ve spent the best part of a year trying to free yourself. So, you wait, skin buzzing with tension as you wait for whatever is coming your way.

Footsteps in the corridor beyond your prison door make your heart race. You can hear the blood rushing in your ears as the locking mechanism clicks and you hold your breath. The door swings open and the realisation hits you; who would even come and rescue you? The FBI? The Police? Fucking Columbo?

“Let’s see what Hiro’s got hidden away in here.”

A low rumbling voice floats through the door as you feel your stomach lurch. You try and cover your naked body with your free hand, palm splayed over your right breast, forearm draped over the other.

“Help, please!” You call out, desperation getting the better of you for fear that they would miss you and you’d end up stranded, starving to death in your concrete prison. The door swings wide and you feel the blood leave your cheeks as another, unfamiliar vampire darkens the doorway.

He’s tall and clean shaven with perfectly styled hair that sweeps over his brows. His dark eyes glimmer in the harsh tube lighting, they rake over your naked form with a deep, primal hunger.

His three-piece suit is tailored to perfection. Grey suit jacket and slacks snug enough to show off his lean body but loose enough to not hinder his movement. The red and black baroque waistcoat and pocket square ooze opulence. If there wasn’t a semi-automatic rifle in his one hand, and a bloodied knife in the other, you would probably think him dashing.

But the fangs that jut over his plush lips extinguish all hope of escape. They glimmer, almost luminous, in the harsh lighting and you sit down slowly, crumpling into the decrepit office chair.

“Just get it over with.”

The vampire cocks an eyebrow at you, baring his perfectly white teeth at you in amusement. He saunters over, weapons still clutched in his large hands. You lean your neck to the side, eyes closed, you can’t even bring yourself to cry. You just want it all to end.

You feel him hover over you, the smell of his floral cologne invading your senses as you try not to react. The less you seem meek the quicker it’ll all be. The chains clink and you feel the restraints on your right ankle and wrist pull taut.

“Poor little thing, naked, dirty…” The vampire mutters in your ear, he inhales pointedly against your hairline, “But not afraid? Why is that little lamb?”

You go rigid as you feel the chains jostle once more, then an audible crack as your restrains fall away from your limbs. You whimper involuntarily at the blissful relief that radiates from the abused flesh; you’ve not had your restraints off in so long. You hear the vampire hiss, a curse in Spanish leaving his lips before he barks orders to someone else in the room.

“Just kill me!” You wail as you open your eyes, you turn to your captor and try to push against him, goad him on, rile him up to just rip your throat out and get it over with. You pound meekly against his chest with little effect.

A warm, heavy jacket weighs your shoulders down and you look up to see a strange look on the vampire’s face. A mixture of curiosity and pity, which only serves to makes you angry. But the world lurches around you before you can form another thought. You fall forward, nose pressed against the vampire’s silk waistcoat, and you welcome the sweet release of death.

----

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Dave finally snaps as he paces behind his desk. Not for the first time, he’s glad for the hardwood flooring. He knows there would be a worn patch beneath his feet if his office was carpeted. Max is splayed out on the chaise lounge in the middle of the office, a smug smile causing his cheeks to dimple. His buttons popped open to display the gold chain around his neck.

“She’s useful. She’s been running those books for well over a year, judging by the sores on her, we could use her.” Max says with a shrug, eyeing his superior with such challenge that would spell death for any of the other Capos.

Dave falters at the comment, searching Max’s features for a hint of a joke, or even deception. But for once, he reads Max like a book; something about this human is special. And Dave intends to find out what it is.

“We’ve been a team for a very long time Max, don’t make me regret this.”

----

You cough violently as you jolt awake, your mouth is dry and your tongue like sandpaper. Your head swims as you try and take in the dark surroundings.

Gone is the smell of rot and decay. Instead, you find your face pressed into clean, soft sheets that smell so fresh it’s almost surreal. You blink sleep from your eyes and roll up into a sitting position, you gaze around the darkness with tired eyes. You spot two doors; the one is firmly shut to your left. The other is ajar but the lack of light prevents you from seeing where it leads.

You turn back to look at the nightstand: there’s a pitcher of water and a glass waiting for you with a small note tucked under the base, and a lamp with a pull cord. You close your eyes and turn it on, opening your eyes slowly to the newly illuminated room. The colour scheme is deep brown and white, minimalist, yet dripping with wealth.

There’s a closet with mirrored doors at the far end of the room, next to what you can now safely assume is an ensuite. The mirrors let you look at yourself for the first time in so long and it makes your stomach roll. You’re too far away to make out the details but the sight is horrifying. You’re forced to look away from the gaunt, emaciated image of yourself, instead looking anywhere else.

The light from the modest lamp spills out over deep brown wooden floor, you let your eyes roam away from the mirrors, up to high-vaulted ceilings and down to the thick blackout curtains which effectively block any and all light from the outside world.

Not underground.

You think absently to yourself as another cough erupts from your throat. You pull the note out and place it on your lap as you pick the pitcher up with both hands, not bothering to decant the untainted liquid. It tastes like nectar on your abused tongue.

You groan aloud as the water washes over your dry tongue, rehydrating your mouth like an old sponge. You feel better with every gulp, but you force yourself to stop. You know if you drink too quickly you’ll just make yourself sick. You instead pour a glass of water, putting the pitcher down on the nightstand before unfolding the note.

The door is unlocked, the vampire guarding your room will arrange a car to take you wherever you need, if you so wish to leave. Her name is Amalia, and she is tasked with looking after you.

I hope you stay. We could use someone like you on our side.

Max (The handsome vampire that saved your life)

Your brow furrows as you try to make sense of the whirlwind of events that led to this point. You’re not dead, nor are you chained up, yet the sense of imminent danger remains. It clings to you like wet clothing, dragging you down, chilling you to the bone.

You look down at your body, lifting the sheets to check for restraints, you notice you are wearing someone else’s clothes. A white dress shirt that smells of orange peel and cinnamon, and a pair of loose, grey, cotton sweatpants. Both articles of clothing are too big for you but there’s a strange sense of comfort wearing something not your own. Not that you’ve owned anything substantial for some time.

You force yourself out of bed and make for the closed door. You knock gently on it before speaking through it to your vampire guardian.

“Amalia?”

“Ah, you’re awake, excellent. Have you made a decision yet?” Her voice is gruff and coarse but there’s a warmth to the way she speaks, setting you a little more at ease.

“No, but I am starving and I need to wash. Can you get me something to eat?”

“Of course, what kind of thing do you want?”

“I don’t know.” You say softly, realising you haven’t eaten a hot meal in as long as you can remember.

“I’ll figure it out. Try not to get your bandages wet, Max will kill me if he has to redress them so soon.” The sound of Amalia’s footsteps heading away from the door sets something off in your brain, the instinct to flee hits you like a punch to the gut.

No matter what the note says, you know that trusting vampires was foolish and often deadly. You have the chance to flee, but to where? You don’t even know where you are; are you still in New York? Did they move you across state lines?

And what would you even do? You’re weak, malnourished, they’d catch you before you even leave the building.

You scold yourself internally as you feel the desire to run ebb away, leaving hopelessness in its wake. You trudge into the bathroom and strip out of the shirt and sweatpants. The ensuite is large, with a walk-in shower taking up much of the right wall. The floor is tiled, large blue squares with streaks of silver and white arcing through the tile like the veins in marble.

The walls are bright white, and all the light fixtures and faucets are sparkling gold. You wonder for a moment if it’s all real gold. You spot the sink and mirrored medicine cabinet which you immediately cover with a towel from the heated rack fixed to the wall next to it. You’re not ready to see yourself, not yet.

You open the medicine cabinet to find it stocked with expensive shampoo, conditioner, and soap, as well as generic deodorant sticks, toothbrushes, toothpaste, even mouthwash. You feel a strange twinge of gratitude as you note the effort put in to accommodate a non-vampire like this. But you can’t trust it, your brain automatically lurching to thoughts of being buttered up, coaxed into a false sense of security. You grab the things you need and close the cabinet.

You turn the shower on and angle your body so that your right arm and leg stay out of the spray. You wash as best you can, taking twice the normal time due to only having one functioning arm and leg. You work through the products you had selected, making sure to wash your hair thoroughly. You can’t even remember the last shower you took, let alone the last time you washed yourself so thoroughly.

You towel off before using some of the fancy moisturisers on your face and skin without thinking, a strange appeal to your life before as you fall so easily into a muscle memory routine. Tears spring from your eyes, tracking down your cheeks as you feel something you can’t put into words. Like a burst of anguish and elation all at the same time. Like a burning blade being quenched in oil, it hisses and spits, but something about it all feels right.

You pull on the sweatpants and button up the dress shirt, subconsciously nuzzling into the collar as you head back to the bed. You still don’t know what time it is, but you really don’t care; you’re hungry and tired, and once you’ve eaten your fill you plan to sleep for as long as your captors allow.

You sit on top of the sheets, knees pulled up to your chest as you try to occupy your thoughts with something other than the looming inevitability of the servitude to your new vampiric overlords.

Same shit, different choice of designer suit.

----

“Food’s ready. Do you want it in there or in the dining room?” Amalia’s gruff voice calls through the door and your head perks up from its position atop your knees as you wake from a daydream.

“I can come out?”

“Of course. Max told me he left you a letter, didn’t you read it?”

“Well, yeah,” You call back, your voice stronger than before, a little self-confidence bleeding through, “But I just assumed that was some sort of trick.”

“Smart, I’ll give you that, but Max and Mr York are men of their word.”

“I’ll have it out there.” You say, crawling off the bed with weak legs. Your bandages were bleeding through a little and you wince at the deep crimson spreading across the off-white mesh.

“Alright I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be just outside the far door, the one with the peephole, if you need me.” Amalia says and you wait until you hear the closing of a second door before you twist the doorknob, mustering up the courage to leave the modest sanctuary of your room.

The next room is dimly lit, enough light to see by but with an ambience to it that felt almost romantic. There are no windows in this room, in their stead are lavish paintings in gilded frames. The long dining table sits at the centre of the room and you want to spend some time exploring this new space, but the smell of food draws you deeper into the room.

Three paper bags and three cup drinks sit on placemats and coasters, protecting the rich mahogany of the tabletop from grease and condensation. Each bag has the contents scribbled in Sharpie somewhere on the exterior, the drinks the same.

Cheeseburger and Fries

Chicken shawarma (Dairy Free)

Vegan jackfruit loaded nachos (Gluten Free)

Once again, the care and attention to your wants and needs strikes you like a physical blow. None of this was necessary or even reasonable. You’re a meat-sack waiting for the inevitable chaining to a desk and eventual draining when your value diminishes. Yet here you were, with a choice of three meals, and three sodas, as if they want you to be comfortable.

You rip all the bags open, sampling from each as you go. You can’t remember a time when you had variety in your diet, let alone a warm meal. You barely touch the soda, the fizz harsh on your tongue after so long without it; but there’s almost nothing left of the take-out bags by the time you’re done.

You settle back against the dining chair and let out a soft noise, somewhere between a whine and a burp. You sit for a while, letting the post-food coma take over as you feel giddy. You’ve been feeding on pouches of brown or grey mush for too long – you know you’ve overeaten, but you don’t care.

Freedom tastes sweet.

You ignore the little voice in the back of your mind that tries to remind you that this isn’t freedom. You want to acknowledge the small win, savour the brief reprieve from crippling despair.

The sound of the apartment door opening has you jumping to your feet, backing away slowly from the table, subconsciously making for the bedroom. Your heart hammers in your chest, your limbs feel heavy and unresponsive as you try to fight the Pavlovian instinct to submit and drop to your knees and bow your head.

“Max, come on, she’s still fragile, I don’t think she wants to see anyone yet.” Amalia’s voice has lost all the warmth she had used with you, and you hear Max hiss at her denial.

“Amalia, get out of my way or I will move you, and I can’t promise you’ll still have all your limbs when I’m done.”

You’re frozen, glued to the spot as you wait for Max to force his way inside, your skin slick with sweat as you wring your hands in front of you. You hear Amalia make a huffing noise of dissent, not quite a sigh, but something similar in tone.

The door opens slowly and Max slips inside, closing it with a soft click, as if after his explosive conversation with Amalia he could pass inside undetected. You let out a shaky breath and watch as he turns to see you standing there, arms crossed over your chest.

“Ah, shit, you heard that then?” He says with a dazzling flash of his perfectly white teeth. It’s disarming, leaving you feeling more confident than you know you have any right to be.

“It’s hard to ignore the threat of dismemberment when it’s practically roared through the hall.” You say softly, immediately clamping your hands over your mouth, eyes wide and pleading as you watch Max stalk over to you.

He’s wearing the same pressed slacks as before, but gone is the suit jacket and waistcoat. The sleeves of his white dress shirt are rolled up, the material accentuates his firm biceps; and gold shirt garters sit just above his elbows, holding them in place. His shirt is open, revealing a gold chain resting against his tan skin and small tufts of chest hair. You shamefully feel a spark of attraction for the monster before you, but you can’t deny he’s attractive, vampire or not.

“Glad you’ve got some fire in you, was worried you’d be deathly boring.” Max says with a dramatic roll of his eyes before opening a door to your left, gesturing for you to follow.

You hesitate, unsure if you should follow, but ultimately you decide to do as you’re told. You follow Max through into a large study, the walls are lined with bookshelves – mostly non-fiction but you spot a few unmarked ledgers bound in leather with gilded lettering interspersed amongst them.

Max flops down on one of the cream sofas that surround a small black coffee table. Beyond you spy an expensive looking desk with an equally extravagant looking green leather chair. You take a seat opposite Max, tucking your bare feet underneath you as you try to stop fidgeting with the hem of your shirt.

“So, you’re probably expecting some grand monologue about how you belong to our Clan now, how you are to serve us as a diligent little worker bee until you serve no further use and we dispose of you. About right?”

You nod curtly, your eyes roaming over the vampire so casually sprawled out like a cat before you. His rich brown eyes are almost kind, but there’s a stony edge to them that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

“Did you read my note?”

You give another nod and Max rolls his eyes and sighs, a deliberate action, seeing as vampires don’t breathe.

“I’m not in the business of being the only one talking, as much as I like the sound of my own voice. It gets tedious,” He pauses and sits up straight, resting his elbows on his knees before cradling his chin on top of his interlaced fingers, “Please, I meant it when I said we would let you go; for vampires, we’re actually pretty reasonable.”

“Sorry, I’m just not used to being allowed to speak.” You bow your head, averting his piercing gaze. He makes a small tsk sound and you feel the warmth of his fingers brush your jaw. You try not to shudder but it’s like fire is being breathed into your skin, vitality returning to you like sunshine after unending rain. His large hand cradles your face, and he coaxes you to look up at him. He’s leaning over the coffee table, his eyes soft and vulnerable as he tries to reassure you without words.

“If you choose to stay, you will never have to worry about being kept mute, nor caged. You will be part of our family, you have my word.” His voice is serious, fringed with emotion and a fragility you don’t understand.

“And if I choose to leave?”

“We will let you go, but you will be on your own. Hiro is in the wind, and he won’t stop until you’re back under his heel, or dead.” He says with a sympathetic twitch of his lips, not quite a smile, not quite a grimace.

“So I don’t really have a choice?”

“No, I guess not, but I know which option I would pick.” Max goes to move his hand from your face but you snatch his wrist without thinking, holding it against you. The tender touch of a monster is too sweet on your touch starved skin.

“But I mean it, we don’t intend to keep you prisoner, we’d like you to work for us, bookkeeping just like for Hiro, but without the chains and nudity.” Max doesn’t try to pull away and you drop your hand back into your lap. You lean into his touch, your mind softened by the promises of his silver tongue, your body mending at the tenderness of his fingers.

“Fine, I‘ll do it.”

“Excellent. Well we don’t expect you to start straight away, you’re, frankly,” He pauses as he pulls away to look you up and down, “A hot mess, and we want you healthy and fit before putting you to work.”

Max stands and holds his hand out to you and you wobble to your feet and take it as firmly as your weakened body can manage.

“Thank you.” You feel tears well up as you feel the rush of emotion coursing through you.

“No crying now, I don’t know how to deal with that shit,” Max scrunches his face up at you, like you’ve just dropped a dead rat at his feet.

“Noted.”

You feel a small laugh escape your lips as you shake your head in disbelief. Max takes you back to your room, hovering behind you but never touching you. Even if you secretly wish he would, he bids you a good morning, informing you that it’s just after four.

“Oh, and I’ll be by later to redress your bandages. Sleep well.”

The door clicks shut behind you and you take a shaky breath before climbing into bed, nestling amongst the soft sheets before closing your eyes.

Here goes nothing.

Thanks for reading! I'm going back to tag lists so please let me know if you want to be added! Let me know what you think!

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artemisia-black · 2 months

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I could use some humor in my life today - do you mind recommending some of your funnier fics? And/or any fics you find funny? Thank you!

Of course anon- I hope these cheer you up.

My fics

Harry Potter and the Hogwarts Health and Safety Inspection

Snippet:Although touted as the “safest place in Great Britain��, the school has been subject to several break-ins. Unwanted guests have included a knife-wielding mass murderer and a mountain Troll.

Sirius Black and the Goblet of Freud

Snippet: Nobody could afford Hermès on a PA salary unless it was the type of Hermès sold out the back of someone’s van.

Sirius Black's guide to using an extraordinarily intelligent cat to order a broom.

Snippet:I have just noticed quite how much this is sounding like your novels and would like it known that I am no cat shagger and that this tale will not have an unexpected turn.

Other fics

@leogichidaa's Psychoanalysis Sunday's series

So now Regulus is sat on a cream chaise lounge, staring at the ceiling, across from Dr. Boring, with the PhD in Stupid Questions. “Do you often find yourself in competition for your mother’s affection?”

@lanaturnergetup stolen glances, stolen cauldrons

“What’s in the sack?” Rosmerta said. She recognised the differences in her own tone: cutting, on edge, as opposed to flirtatious or anything close to banter.

“Well – there were these cauldrons, see,” Mundungus said. “I nicked them off Warty Harris – but really, he stole them from old Sid first, so I–”

@ghost-of-bambi Calling Dr Prongs

"This is nurse Padfoot speaking. What's your problem, Desperate in Divination?"

@saintsenara Inhuman Resources

MM: Well, let me tell you, she’s a total bitch. But, actually, I reckon they won't go for her. I dunno, she's just... a bit too prissy to be Death Eater material. If you ask me, at least.

@celestemagnoliathewriter Dave the unwanted Gryfindor

It started with his name, three days into the term. James and Sirius thought it would be funny to call him Dave, instead of Dionysius. No matter how many times he told them his name, the boys never called him anything but Dave.

#harry potter fanfiction #funny fic recs #Sirius Black

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the1920sinpictures · 8 months

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1924 Sack's Department Store on the corner of Franklin and Vine Streets, Johnstown, Pennsylvania. From Dave Etchie, FB.

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knickynoo · 1 month

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Back to the Future Part II, The Novel by Craig Shaw Gardner: Thoughts, commentary, and general ramblings

Part 4: Someone buy Doc a gym membership

Previous posts here

• The McFlys are drinking KELP TEA with their pizza dinner. That is some Keaton family behavior. Elyse and Steven would 100% drink kelp tea.

• Ok, I’ve gotta talk about this scene where Doc is struggling to carry unconscious Jennifer to the car: “Doc stopped to catch his breath. Jennifer weighed down Doc’s arms until they were almost numb, and he had barely managed to drag her twenty feet!”

Doc. Are you for real right now, my friend? In part III, Marty slings you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carries you from the car and into the mansion ALL BY HIMSELF in the rain. Up several steps, even! Five foot, four inch Marty. Carrying a six foot one, probably close to two hundred pound man.

And you, sir, just having had a natural overhaul that made you look and feel younger, and being as tall as you are, cannot carry a 5’3” teenage girl across the street??

Perhaps you should set aside some time to start lifting weights, Doc. Not super heavy ones, little ones. Just enough that you eventually reach the point where your tiny little buddy Marty no longer has to be The Muscle in your relationship.

• I must bring attention to the fact that Marty has said, “You’re the doc,” three times, and it bothers me that it’s different from the movie. Where’s that extra “Doc” that’s supposed to be tacked onto the end?? You’re the doc, Doc. Sounds silly without it.

• When Marty climbs in through what he believes to be his bedroom window in 1985A, and the young girl starts screaming, Marty takes a quick moment to stare at the room in confusion. Among the changes in the room, one of the main things he notices is that his model airplanes are gone, which is a detail that I am currently holding tightly to my chest in a hug.

Marty builds model airplanes! I love that for him. Does he build them alone? With Doc maybe? Dave?? Are they from when he was younger, or is it a hobby our 17-year-old Marty engages in? You know, Marty has to deal with so much and be so mature about things, (and also MJF was in his late twenties by part II) that it’s easy to forget he’s a kid. But then he looks around his bedroom and goes, “Hey, where are my planes??!” and you remember that he’s just a little guy who has been tasked with dealing with a lot of Horrors.

I have to find a way to work the model airplanes into a fic now thanks.

• The sad, drunk Dave scene that was cut from the movie (but is in the deleted scenes) is in the book. Marty spots Dave stumbling his way through the town, and it’s really a bummer of an interaction. Marty’s pretty horrified at the state his brother is in and tries to get some answers as to what’s happened, but Dave isn’t really coherent enough to help at all.

At one point, Dave tries to convince Marty to go have a few drinks with him, which horrifies Marty further. After pointing out that he’s underage and can’t drink (good boy, Marty), Dave says this

•When Marty tells Dave that he has to find their parents, Dave is disgusted. “Dad? You gotta find Dad? That’s sick, Marty. That’s really sick. What’s the matter with you, anyway?”

He also says, “And since when are you and Mom on speaking terms again?” which is a pretty wild revelation. ‘85A Marty and Lorraine aren’t talking to each other?? This does not fit in with my headcanons of alternate Marty at all. I shall disregard it immediately. :)

• Book Lorraine’s demeanor is noticeably different than Movie Lorraine. She’s speaking to Marty “cheerily”, and as she shows him the newly decorated penthouse, it’s said that she “waved happily at their surroundings.”

What a different introduction from the Lorraine in the movie, who is broken and defeated from the start. I wonder if she’ll continue to be like this as the scenes with her go on.

Still thinking about Marty building model airplanes.

#back to the future #bttf #marty mcfly #bttf ii: the novel

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apollosdrunkenmixup · 3 months

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Please drop more Old Man lore I gotta know what else he's been up to

lol. Ok I’ll go over the stuff I’ve mentioned before as well.

This man is 83 years old (I got it wrong last time) and gives me a lift to bookbinding every other week or so. It’s an hour both ways and so lots of time for chatting. He is called Dave. 30% of old men are called Dave. I have zero fear of him ever seeing this bc I don’t think he even owns a mobile phone.

1) the first time he drove me he informed me he doesn’t like ‘this woke brigade nonsense’. He is completely unaware that I am trans and thinks I am just a cis boy who failed at puberty. I am looking forward to seeing his face when I drop that I have a boyfriend.

2) He has several hobbies including ballroom dancing, gliding, and writing poetry. He regularly tries to persuade me to take up gliding. I do not have the money to take up gliding.

3) He met his wife when they were teens and they’re still together.

4) He drives like he’s gliding. It really strange and apparently his wife hates it. As he’s approaching a roundabout he will take his foot of the accelerator several hundred meters in advance so the friction of the car on the road will do most of the deceleration for him. He has so far explained this to me 3 times.

5) He’s lived in our county (in England) his entire life.

6) We have an army firing range where he lived as a child. When the soldiers had finished shooting him and his mates would go down and collect the cases and spent bullets. They then melted them down in an old saucepan. The indents in the tops of bricks were used to pour the molten lead into to make solid blocks. These blocks were then sold to the greengrocer for a few pence. This they used to buy sweets. He described doing this at age 6.

7) He used 6 as an example of what kids should be doing instead of playing on their phones all day.

8) ‘Before phones, we were kicked out onto the street in the morning and played with whoever was about until supper’. Sir you were unsupervised children playing with lead and ammunition.

9) In the same conversation as 6 he talked about how there ‘too much health and safety nowadays’. He did not seem to see the irony.

10) Last time I saw he I mentioned I had to do some research about Americans in my county during WWII. He then proceeded to talk about his few memories of WWII (he was a toddler during it). He told me about ‘siren suits’. After much questioned he basically said it was a onesie that mothers found easily dress their toddlers in if there was an air raid. Bc you do not have time to put socks on a child during an air raid so they get dumped in the human shaped sack.

11) He also talked about how he got stuck in a blizzard one time for two days. In England. I can’t remember what year. I don’t know why he was trying to walk anywhere in the middle of a blizzard. But the first night he slept inside a snow covered haystack. The second night it was so cold that he would have probably died of frostbite/hypothermia if he did that so he walked all night instead. He dropped this casually in conversation like it was nbd.

I may update this if I remember other stuff or find out more.

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davekat-sucks · 24 days

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DAVE STRIDER YOU SAD SACK OF SHIT FUCK YOU Someone made an AI model for Karkat, had to do this. AI Model by Mon Key

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wario-speedwagon · 7 months

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Dave and Old Sport Adopt a Kid: Chapter 8

Hello, me again here with chapter 8! And with the longest chapter yet no less! Hope you enjoy, and thanks for the support as always! <3

And this time I want to shout out @p13rr0t for their cute little drawing of Pruny that honestly made me laugh! Thank you so much!

Chapter 1 Chapter 7

And without further ado, full chapter beneath the cut!

Chapter 8

Suddenly the momentum slowed to a halt, and Dave awakened. Ah, when did he fall asleep? After some seconds of waking himself up, Dave glanced up out of the front window. Jack was already at the front door of his house, bags and blankets in arm, fishing his pockets for a house key.

He looked beside him and Pruny was also still fast asleep, head leaning against the car door. His heart melted at the sight–that is, the cavity where his heart should have been did. He climbed out of the car to catch up with Jack.

“I see that you’re unfortunately awake now. Welcome back.”

“What, getting sick of me already?”

“Evening naps are always dangerous for kids. Once you wake up from an evening nap, you'll be awake for hours before you go to bed; it’s always a real headache to deal with.”

“C’mon, Prune’s a good kid.”

“Oh, it’s not her I’m worried about.”

“Ha ha. What would you have done if I didn’t wake up, carry me to bed bridal style?” Dave said perhaps a little too hopefully.

“Good point. I probably woulda just let you sleep there in the car for the night.”

“Mm. Well lucky for ya, I’m ready to collapse right back into the sack as soon as possible.”

Dave was tired, but even then he still took note of how Old Sport clearly seemed to speak earlier as if referring to personal experience, which left Dave wondering again about his background. …No, now wasn’t the time or energy to bring up something like that again.

“...Hey, what's all that extra stuff you got in that bag? I see a toothbrush.”

“Yeah, I bought her some other essentials we'd missed, y'know, in case she would have to stay longer…”

“Weren’t you strapped for cash or something? Did ya ‘lift ‘em after all?”

“Well yeah, I sneak stuff out all the time too, how could I not? It's been hard to get by ever since Walmart stopped accepting Faztokens. But I'm–”

“Woah woah, Walmart used to take Faztokens!?” Dave suddenly shouted very alertly to Jack’s regret.

“A couple years back, yeah.”

“Damn…”

Jack resumed unlocking the door open, so Dave went back to the car to carry Pruny inside.

It made Dave think. The way her light body felt in his hands. Just like all the other ones he disposed of. But this time he had to actually be careful not to wake the sleeping kid…

Boy, it’s a real good thing Dave was an expert on cutting off haunting thoughts like that before they can get to him! Besides, Pruny was different!

Dave carefully closed the busted up car door and, Pruny still cradled in his arms, re-approached the front door step to enter the briefly dark living room that Jack promptly lit up with a switch. The two were consciously trying to stay quiet in her presence.

“Shit, I completely forgot about a pillow,” Jack harshly whispered to himself as Dave went over to gently set her down onto the living room couch. Luckily they seemed successful at not stirring her awake as she seamlessly snuggled into its cushions.

The two then shut off the living room lights and left the girl to her peace as they then took the shopping bags to the kitchen table.

“So what else'd you get her then?”

“Oh– just a toothbrush, toothpaste, some hair ties, and a brush (since I don't exactly use one myself). …Oh, and I nicked this as well for her.” He held it up. “Think she'll like it?”

Dave stretched his neck closer and judged the strange little bottle carefully with a discerning eye.

“Hmm…

…

…What is it?”

“...Huh?”

“What is it?”

“You… don’t know?”

“Is it… edible? It’s not much to drink if so…”

“...”

“...Oh. ...Oh, this is a delightful twist! If you don’t know what this is, then that just means you’re gonna find out directly once we give it to Pruny!”

“I don’t know that I like the vague threatening tone in your voice…” Dave eyed the red bottle with confused intimidation.

“Nah, don’t worry about it, it’s not a very painful process.”

“Not a 'very–’?”

“Anyway, what are your sleeping plans, Aubergine? I don’t exactly have any spare bedding for you.”

“Oh, uhh, maybe just with you–?”

“Vetoed.”

“That was… the only idea I had to be honest…”

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…

When she came to, the first thing Violet relished in noticing was that she had been the most comfortable she had been in months. Every desire told her to just keep her eyes closed and her mind foggy with sleep, but she had to be sure– sure that yesterday did happen, so she opened her eyes a slit to the mild morning light to confirm this was indeed the orange man’s living room, and that she had been laying flat on his couch–oh, and covered with an incredibly warm, soft navy blue blanket!

And so she faced an internal battle: wanting to get up and satiate her new curiosities while wanting to stay warm and sleepy in her blanket’s heavenly embrace. She continued to sit with this dilemma under closed, tired eyes...

But she finally decided that her curiosity wins out.

Lightly opening her eyes, she saw that grandfather clock that she rather liked. It read 7:47. Violet enjoyed the pendulum’s dedicated repetition back and forth as her gaze meditated on it for a good minute or two.

...Until she noticed something purple on the floor nearby her.

That purple guy–Dave–was sprawled on the floor asleep in a position no more natural than if a Raggedy Andy had been unceremoniously dropped onto the floor. He didn’t even have a blanket or anything… Well, at least the floor was carpeted.

Getting up from her comfort felt like a crime; but Violet was being exposed to a lot of that lately, so emulating her new—

–Her train of thought halted. ...How should she finish that sentence? Calling them her captors might be the most accurate, but she only ever felt “captured” in the first couple hours of meeting them before she started to realize that maybe she had just wildly misinterpreted their intentions at first... that maybe sticking with them might be a better bet than what she’d been doing for the past several months…

But the word she wanted to use for them… it felt too presumptuous.

Well! Enough daydreaming, time to wake up and explore this house while they’re still asleep! So tiptoe-ing around the mangled pile of purple limbs on the floor, she headed first for the kitchen!

...

The dishes from last night were still awaiting washing in the sink and the table was not cleared of crumbs from their grilled cheese last night, but otherwise it was a perfectly fine kitchen. Naturally the first place Violet checked was the fridge to see what kind of snacks Jack usually had, but she didn't expect such disappointment upon opening it.

The full-sized fridge was mostly empty if not populated by some yogurts, cheese slices, a half used stick of foreign butter and a loaf of bread (that had some specks of something green in it...?). And in the door were just some bland looking soda cans…

Well enough of that, where else could she raid? But her attention was immediately redirected to a cute doggo! Or rather, a framed picture of one hung on the wall. She didn't know her dog breeds very well, but she was enamored with its pointy little ears and dark purple fur– er, huh… She could have sworn she saw that it was a dark purple color at first, but it was just a regular blonde color. Weird.

Opening drawer after drawer for interesting things, she only got mildly interesting junk at best like Freddy's trinkets or a popped balloon dog or a taser, but otherwise it was mostly random cigarette packs, loose change, pens, Faztokens… Violet very quickly decided to head to a new, hopefully more interesting room instead.

But this small house didn't have many other places to explore. There was a second bedroom, but that didn't have much of note upon entering as it was half-empty: a desk with minimal desk stuff on it… most interesting were some unopened cardboard boxes she found in the closet that were still taped shut. Strange. They were simply labeled ‘Kennedy Stuff’ in marker, whatever that really meant. She'd love to rifle through all their contents and find out if it weren't for the tape stopping her. For now…

Well, given she'd already spent time in the bathroom last night, that left Jack's room. She debated if she wanted to sneak in quietly and risk waking him and getting caught. She slowly opened the door just a crack to peek inside…

And she saw the messy bed was empty. No one was in that room.

Now she wasn’t sure if she wanted to take the opportunity to explore Jack’s room or to first ascertain where he even was.

She decided to go search the bathroom next instead.

So she opened the bathroom door and–

*gasp*

“Bejesus, you scared me!” Jack blurted startled with a hand over his chest. But then self-awareness quickly kicked in since he quickly turned away from Pruny in a way that failed to be casual.

And Violet knew why because the man she accidentally interrupted looked ghastly and frankly terrified her at first glance. But she understood quickly what he was in the middle of doing and why from the open orange jars at the sink he’d just been using.

Jack, recovering from being caught off guard, turned back to at least somewhat face her, one hand at his cheek as if it would help hide it. He said something to her, but she didn't know what, with his hand blocking his mouth–

And only growing more awkwardly flustered, he abruptly jerked his hand down away from his face as if reading her mind.

“Sorry, you, uh… You're up early aren't you? Caught me in the middle of my makeup–”

But that filled Violet with some excitement as she rushed toward the sink to see it.

“O-Okay then–” Jack stepped back mildly bewildered to give her space to indulge in her sudden fascination.

And oh boy was there a lot of it!! Just whole jars of orange stuff, though it seemed cheap. And looking back up at Jack again, he seemed to have gotten to his forehead, under-eyes and part of his left cheek so far with how it's bright orange contrasted with the rotten, grey-ish maroon rest of his face and neck as well as the hands and– Violet then noticed that along his arms–both of them–were deeply indented, discolored gash lines running down them. She had so many questions, and she didn't know what the appropriate way to feel should be– and then suddenly she realized she'd been just staring at his rotten skin for seconds too long, and it was her turn to look away sheepishly.

Jack's arm then reached for another dab of makeup to slather onto his face, his attention returned back to the mirror again. She quickly saw that this guy was not very good at this, at least not compared to how her street friend showed her how they did it. Unfortunately, she’d never done it for herself, so she couldn’t show Jack how to do it better if she wanted to.

At the rate he was going… How long would this take? Did he do this every morning? Would it be weird if she just watched him put on makeup for a while? It’s not like there was anything better to do right now, now that she was well awake, and his face admittedly made her morbidly curious–

“By the way, just for future reference, it’s good manners to knock before entering a bathroom if the door’s closed,” he said while continuing to smear orange streaks across his cheek. She nodded in acknowledgement. The thought didn’t even occur to her since she wouldn’t hear an answer if there was one anyway.

Violet picked up an orange jar to look at it closer to give her a more polite thing to stare at instead. Orange, huh? It seemed to be from some company that specialized in costume makeup and such. She turned immediately as Jack started talking–

“--’re wondering why orange, huh? It was the only color they were practically begging to get rid of. Well, the best of a couple colors; the other options were even worse if you can imagine.”

Violet opened the jar to observe the texture of its contents–

“--free to try some on. If you’re bold enough, that is.”

She swiped some of it onto her fingers and smeared it across the back of her other hand. The orange comically contrasted very gaudily against her purple skin.

“Oh, sorry, you probably came in here for a reason. Did you need to use the bathroom?”

She shook her head. She was just being nosy.

“Well, either way, if you wanna freshen up, I got some stuff for you last night!”

He stopped mid-application of makeup to head out of the bathroom to get something–

–when he opened the door, a purple figure was standing right there, quickly realizing he was caught eavesdropping.

The half-orange man groaned a deep, exasperated sigh, loud enough that even she could hear it well.

“Dave, are you unacquainted with the concept of privacy?”

“Why hello there old sports! You’re looking, uh, dashing this morning…?”

“Dave, I thought you were the kind of person to sleep in late? What are you doing up at 8 in the morning?”

“Well, I DO sleep in late, given I have a half-decent bed to sleep in!” he retorted pointedly. “‘Sides, I heard you talkin’ in there, so I wanted to know what I was missin’ out on!”

“This kind of thing is exactly what I was afraid would start happening…”

“You’re pretty good with kids by the way!”

Jack just blankly stared back.

The statement hung in the air unanswered for a few too many seconds until Jack pushed past Dave for the kitchen.

Jack picked up the grocery bag. “Anyway: here Pruny, we got you some extra things. Look, toothbrush and toothpaste, some hair ties–” Jack handed her the bag and with elation, she ruffled through it to see the contents for herself.

“So how’d you get to be so good with kiddins anyway?” Dave added with no subtlety.

"...I'm really not, Dave, believe me."

"Nonsense! You got her warmed up to ya like-"

“Now Pruny, why don’t you ask Dave to tie your hair up while I go finish up in the bathroom?”

“I dunno, I think you’d probably be much better at that than I would, old sport!”

“Well, there’s no better way to improve than to practice then, is there? I can’t do everything for her, y’know.”

“But I’d need someone more experienced to show me how first!”

“Figure it out yourself! It’s really not that complicated to learn, Pruny could probably even teach you I bet!”

“Out of curiosity, where’d you first learn how to do it? You didn’t have long hair to tie yourself in your younger days, did you?”

This drawn out back and forth was getting more and more passive aggressive. Violet was starting to not like it.

“Dave, remember when I asked you to drop the issue last night?”

“And what issue was that again? You’ll have to remind me.”

“No, I’m not a parent!" Jack snapped. "I just had a little sister, now will that shut you up?”

“A sister!” Dave’s insufferable cheekiness suddenly gave way to genuine, delighted interest as he pestered a retreating Jack who was ignoring him again. “Now I’m even more curious! What was she like!? Were you guys close!? What’s her name!? Why don't you talk about her-”

The bathroom door closed in front of Dave, halting his onslaught of questions.

“Fine then, keep your secrets!” Dave retorted nonchalantly.

Violet could tell Jack regretted saying anything at all. But she also couldn’t deny having her curiosity piqued as well. A guilty part of her was hoping Dave would eventually drag an answer out of him too, though she felt equally bad about Jack being put in a bad mood again. Dave seemed to have a talent for that, didn't he?

“Well then! Pruny!” He turned back to Pruny with a smile that changed the topic. “Let’s have a go at this hair business, eh? You think that hair’s long enough for a braid?”

Pruny didn’t even know how to do a braid herself, and she seriously doubted Dave did either, despite his newfound confidence.

(Chapter 9) ->

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FANART! :D

Thanks again to @p13rr0t for the awesome drawing, it has lived rent free in my head for a while since I first received it from them <3

#thanks for the support and patience as always!#hope you enjoyed! :)#dayshift at freddy's #dayshift at freddys #dsaf #dsaf fanfic #jack kennedy #dave miller #jack dsaf #dave dsaf #dsaf jack #dsaf dave

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