#fizzing ensued

[bleachdeadbunny]

Guess who was drawing and coloring a picture of Sock from Welcome to Hell and accidentally spilled soda all over my notebook and had to trash the entire thing

:)

[upsidedownwithsteve]

hello! hope ur doing well! love ur writing and excited for the blurb weekend!! was wondering if i could request number 2 and 8 from the pining list with steve harrington? love the way you write him always!! thank you!!!

“doing something nice for the other impulsively,” and “getting flustered when the other is nice to them.”

Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Everyone knew about your crush on Steve. Everyone— well, apart from the boy himself. You weren’t sure how you could possibly hide it, your eyes wide and cheeks hot everytime he was near, words caught in your throat when he spoke to you and god, it took too long for you to be able to settle in his presence.

Which is why you’d taken to sticking to Robin’s side when he invited everyone around to his pool, the summer too hot and too sticky for doing much else. The Indiana heat was borderline cruel that year, endless blue skies pretty and relentless, no clouds for the sun to hide behind.

So everyone piled in to the Harrington’s backyard, swimsuits already on under shorts and baggy shirts, sliders and jelly shoes kicked to the side as everyone stripped at the sight of cool, blue water. Eddie had a radio playing, a somewhat playful argument between him and Nancy ensuing as music choices were discussed and Jonathan took to the shade, pulling a book out of his bag, a vibrant yellow bucket hat that El had gifted him pulled low on his brow.

Then Steve had made his way around you all, shirtless and with a baseball cap shoved on his messy hair, backwards and sporting a hockey team you didn’t know much about. He was already so tanned, prettier than normal with more freckles and flushed cheeks. The sight of him made your breath hitch, shoulder squaring off as you watched him hand a beer to Eddie, another to Jonathan.

Beside you, Robin snorted, shaking her head and watching you from behind cherry coloured sunglasses. You’d set up camp with her on the other side of the pool, heads burning from the sun but your feet dipped in the water, both of you smelling like chlorine and sunscreen.

You frowned, already waiting on the teasing that naturally came. You played dumb regardless, staring at your feet in the water, your skin a shade of blue, the lines of your toes rippling. “What?” You already sounded so defensive.

“Nothing,” Robin snorted. But she pushed her shoulder into yours, sticky with heat and lotion. “Just wondering when you’ll be able to look at Steve without absolutely falling apart.”

Your scowl deepened along with your embarrassment. But you feigned ignorance and watched Nancy fish out her lemon water from her bag. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you sniffed.

Robin just hummed, grinning she stared across the yard. “Interesting.”

“Seriously, I do not fall—“

A shadow fell over both of you briefly before a broad shoulder brushed your own. Steve sat down next to you despite there being more room next to Robin, the heat from all his bare skin making you so, so aware of his proximity. You blinked, lips still parted from talking but the words had died off on your tongue. You felt the familiar creep of warmth along your chest, up your neck.

“Hey,” Steve greeted, his smile too kind, too pretty. “I brought you a drink.”

Instead of a cold can of beer, like he’d handed the boys, Steve offered you a glass. One of his mom’s fancy ones with the patterns along the side, a rosy pink tint to the liquid inside. It was filled with ice, fizzing and bubbling and it smelled like lemons and cherries. It even had a circle of the yellow citrus floating on top, summer in a cup.

It felt hard to talk when you took it from him, fingers brushing and you felt like a kid, like a teenager, a crush that was achingly awful, all consuming and gut wrenching.

He was so pretty and so close and—

“What’s that?” Robin peered over your shoulder, still grinning, looking particularly pleased with the situation she got to witness. “Where’s mine, dingus?”

The boy glared at his friend before he shrugged, all nonchalance and he gestured to you with cheeks more pink than your juice. “It’s just something I mixed up, alright? And you like beer, okay? You can grab a can, your legs work.”

You weren’t sure what made your heart beat faster, the fact that Steve had remembered you didn’t like beer or that he’d went out of his way to make you a drink that was more than a glass of soda.

Robin scoffed but she moved regardless, water dripping on your knees as she got up and walked around the pool, glaring at Steve as she went. “I see how it is,” she told him. “S’real cute, Steven. You could be more subtle next time.”

You were burning, you were sure of it. And Steve seemed to feel the same because he was red now, the tips of his ears scarlet and he flipped Robin off before she disappeared into the kitchen.

And then you realised you were alone with the boy. Something that didn’t happen often, something that you usually tried hard to avoid because you were floundering, both hands clasping the freezing cold glass and god, god— you were so aware that your body was mostly bare, your swimsuit green and suddenly too tight.

Steve’s naked chest was alarmingly close, moles and freckles dotted across sunkissed skin and with a smattering of hair, his arms corded with muscle you hadn’t really seen before, brushing up against yours as he glanced over at you.

He looked shy. Was Steve shy? Was that possible?

You realised you were staring a second too late, eyes flickering back to the pool and you tried not to cringe, or do something stupid, like tumble into the pool and float to the bottom.

So you slipped the straw Steve had placed in your cup between your lips, taking a sip. Bubbles touched your tongue, lemon and cherry and sweetness and tart filling your mouth. You hummed, taking another long drag and you could feel the boy smiling.

“D’you like it?”

You nodded, barely able to lift your head to meet Steve’s gaze but when you did, you were so glad of it. He was beaming, looking too pleased as you took another sip and his knee was bumping against yours, his hand on the pool edge and close to your thigh.

“It’s delicious,” you managed. “You didn’t have to though, I could’ve had some water or—“

Steve waved away your words, nose wrinkled and he tutted. “Nah, what? S’no big deal.”

It was. It was a big deal.

It felt momentous, actually.

“Did you make more?” You dared to ask, feeling brave with the sun in your eyes and Steve’s leg against your own. The water didn’t feel so cold anymore. “For everyone else?”

Steve couldn’t hide his smile then, lips pressed together and eyes crinkling as he shook his head, looking guilty and handsome for it. “No, just you.” He leaned in, like he was sharing a secret. “Don’t tell the rest of them, but, I like you the most.”

You felt hotter than the sun.

[cherrychilli]

18+

Steve Harrington x AFAB reader, grumpy dom! Steve, established relationship, PIV sex, car sex

A/N: I haven't written for Steve in a minute so I pulled this out of the wip vault and dusted it off.

The time to back out had passed.

Steve knew he couldn't disappoint the whole group now when it had already been decided that he would drive them out to the lake that Saturday afternoon. With Eddie's license suspended and Jonathan's car in the shop, there was no other option.

For someone who, on a regular day, looks golden in every possible way under a perfect cerulean sky, he stuck out like a storm cloud today.

Steve sat out on the dock with his shades on to shield his annoyed squint and a soda pressed to his lips to conceal his scowl, wishing it was a beer instead.

Those of you who weren't driving picked frosty bottles out of the cooler Eddie had stocked for the outing, bottle caps coming loose with a pop, the nutty aroma of grain and barley fizzing into the wind. It was more than a little amusing to you as you eyed Steve from over your beer, watching the poor boy stew.

On the surface you appear oblivious but you're well aware that your boyfriend's eyes are trained on you too, a heated, razor sharp stare behind those reflective lenses.

His simmering displeasure goes unnoticed by the rest of the group but when you start to strip down to your swimsuit with the others and head for the water it's only a matter of moments before they notice one less member wading in the water with them.

Inevitably, what he'd been dreading begins and he has to deal with it all day. Everyone takes turns asking Steve why he isn't getting in the water with them and each time he's forced to mutter out some vague excuse that only lifts more eyebrows.

It's obvious to everyone that he's hiding something and the stubborn way he tries to refute is comically adorable. Some lighthearted teasing ensues and you can almost see the steam rising off his skin.

Robin gets the ball rolling with a quip about him spending too much time on his hair to risk getting it wet. Eddie joins in on the teasing too. Nancy and Jonathan are too polite to add to it but they laugh off to the side and try to suppress their giggles all the same.

None of it is cruel. it's all harmless, well meaning fun between friends and it's all the more enjoyable for you because you're the only one who knows the real reason why Steve wont just peel off his shirt and get in the water.

If he did, then your friends would get to see the result of all your hard work last night. They'd see the messy, lengthy scarlet scratches that rawed the skin all down his back, the half moon indents turning violet on his triceps and shoulders and the many hickeys like splashes of merlot you sucked onto his chest and his stomach.

You've got a few marks on you as well but you're saved from suffering the same torment as Steve thanks to your waterproof concealer. He endures it all, forcing the occasional dry, humorless laugh until the sun begins to wind down and the rest of you towel off before lugging your belongings back to his car under a cotton candy sky.

It's a little snug inside the BMW but you make it work. You buckle yourself in the front seat and the others pile into the back. Nancy finds room in Jonathan's lap while Eddie's somehow been strong armed into the middle by Robin so she can have the window seat. He doesn't concede quietly and the resultant commotion in the back is enough to distract the backseat occupants from noticing the tension between you and Steve. Well, more so the tension that's emanating from Steve because you look no more unbothered than you had all day, humming to yourself inconspicuously. Waiting patiently.

Nancy and Jonathan are the first to be dropped off. Next is Eddie, and then Robin. You wave goodbye to her as Steve slowly presses down on the accelerator to begin the journey to your apartment, twenty minutes of being alone together starting now.

"You really put me through it today", he spoke, breaking the moment long silence.

Your lips form a pleased smile as you fiddle with your fingers in your lap. It was obvious where all of this was heading but riling him up was part of the fun and you didn't want it to end just yet. You wanted a little more before it's all teeth and ripped clothes when he gets you inside your apartment.

"I didn't make them say all those things, Stevie sweetie", you turn your head towards him and bat your lashes, the illusion of sweetness thick on your features.

His eyes stay fixed on the road, the vein near his temple more noticeable now. "You wore it on purpose, didn't you?", he sidesteps your comment like you hadn't even said it at all.

This time when you blink at him it's with confusion. "Don't play dumb, baby", he warns you with a laugh so mirthless that it draws a shiver out of you. "Oh..", you utter when you realize that he's referring to your strappy yellow bikini. The one he really really liked, because he made you keep it on all throughout riding him on on his sun lounger the last time you went over to swim in his pool. Not that you did much swimming in the end.

You'd been so wrapped up in all the teasing and what hid beneath the layers of his clothes that you'd paid little attention to what you'd been wearing all day.

"Wasn't bad enough that I had to deal with the others today. You had me fighting off a fucking hard on top of it all too."

Your gaze instantly drops to his lap. By the looks of the thick imprint of his cock underneath his jeans he seemed to be done fighting it off.

The car slows into a turn and you realize that you don't recognize your surroundings, much more greenery around than what you're familiar with. You'd had your eyes off the road long enough for him to divert from the route to your house, detouring off a backroad and into an unfamiliar clearing thickly nestled by trees and forestry.

You bite down on your lip to stem the grin that threatens to erupt on your face. This was much better than you'd been hoping for and happening much faster than you could stand to wait.

Pulling into the isolated space, he cuts the engine, car going completely still. "Come here", but he's already pulling you with forceful a hand curled around the back of your neck before you have a chance of following through yourself. It's ungainly how you fumble with unbuckling your seatbelt as it presses uncomfortably against your chest but you manage to unfasten it, leaning further over the console to get closer to him.

You whine when he latches onto your neck, sucking at the skin there not at all gently. If the taste of lake water and sunscreen still lingered on your skin, he showed no sign of it. At least not any sign of disliking it as his tongue licked over your skin and his teeth dragged close to your pulse. When he pulls away you can feel the wet warmth of the fresh hickey blooming on your skin and your heart beating in time with the subtle throbbing there.

It wasn't hard to imagine what it looked like. Deep and dark and reminder of who you belong to. "You're not covering it up this time, understand?", he tells you and you nod. As if you'd want to hide it.

He leans over you then and you retract into your seat to make room for him, back pressed firmly against leather. Steve's intention becomes clear when he pulls at the lever to adjust your seat. You squeak when it reclines abruptly and he climbs over you to push it all the way down.

"Get these off. Now", he orders you, not unkind but firm, pulling at the hem of your damp t-shirt and the waistband of your shorts. He's impatient but so are you, wiggling around and maneuvering your limbs messily underneath him as he helps you to peel the clothing off.

You manage to toe you shoes off as well, elbows and knees bumping Steve and parts of the interior until you're left in just your bikini. The frantic rush suddenly halts and things slow down when he runs a finger down your sternum until he reaches the little strap just below your breasts, hooking his finger into it. " 'Played dirty all day, didn't you honey? had your fun while I all I could do was sit back and watch?", he tugged, the bottom curve of your breasts becoming visible as the material slips.

"Couldn't help it", you breathe out, hands sliding up his biceps. " I like it when you get mean", you confessed softly, eyes all big and glossy and wanting. He laughs, hair falling over his forehead. "I know, baby. Gonna take my time getting back at you". He's done with the gentle interval, yanking your bikini down to expose your tits. You yelp, not because it was unexpected but because he'd done it a little harder than you had expected. A welcome roughness that made your core feel sticky.

He's all over you, weight pressing down on you as you writhe under him, gasping as he marks you up. More fresh bruises to match the one on your neck are peppered across your breasts first before his lips trail hot on your stomach and then your hips and your thighs. The noises he's forcing out of you are needy and pathetic, high pitched, breathy whimpers and mewling cries of his name all tumble from your lips until he pulls away to look over his work.

You're left panting as he appraises you, eyes raking all over in search of more space to fit another hickey or two. "Never looked better, babe", he sits back on his knees, grinning happily. "On second thought...", he grips your waist, encouraging you to turn around and get on your knees. You scramble to get into position, pulling loose the knot on your bikini top and tossing it towards the back seat so that it no longer hangs limply on you in a tangled mess. You grab at the headrest, bare tits pressing against leather as you arch your back for him and present your ass. "Now you've never looked better", he scoffs, open palm landing on your left cheek with a swift slap.

"Shit! please just fuck me already, Steve", you whine, beyond the point of playing dumb and coy.

He pulls your bottoms to the side, thumb brushing against your soaking entrance as he lets out a low whistle. It's a little strange being almost completely nude in his car like this. You usually had a little more clothing bunched around you on the off chance the rocking vehicle might attract any passersby's attention. It makes you feel that much more vulnerable. Hidden but still technically in public. Still at risk of being discovered.

It's all so terribly exciting.

The distinct jangle of his belt being undone makes your spine tingle and the crude sound of him spitting onto his palm before he tugs on his cock a makes you clench.

"Not gonna go easy on you", he warns, catching your eye when you look back at him over your shoulder.

"I can take it", you challenge him and you can tell by the way the corner of his mouth twitches against the smirk he's trying to force away that he liked it.

He places one hand on your hip and the other on the foggy window pressing his cock into you in one slow thrust.

"That's my girl"

---

The next day you anticipate Robin's reaction when she pretends to barf at the sight of the hickeys on your neck and you giggle, amused because you know never to take it seriously.

Eddie's slower to notice because the first thing he does is climb into the back seat of Steve's car after it's been parked, claiming to have dropped his lighter there yesterday.

"Did you find it?", Steve calls out behind him when he joins you and Robin as you get ready to head into a nearby burger joint for lunch.

There's a suspicious pause and some rustling before he finally yells out an answer.

"Nope! Found something better though"

Kicking open the door, Eddie barrels out with your bikini top sloppily thrown on over his shirt, batting his lashes at Steve like some kind of parody of a lovestruck cartoon.

You're too entertained by it to be embarrassed though you can't say the same for Steve who's turned completely red, placing a hand over your mouth as you snicker.

Puckering his lips, the metalhead makes eyes at your boyfriend and you double over with laughter while Robin rolls here eyes and makes her way inside, having had her fill of Eddie's theatrics.

"Come on big boy, fancy another round in the back seat?"

[netherfeildren]

Someone's Wife in the Boat of Someone's Husband .2

Series Masterlist : Moodboard

(Joel Miller x F!Reader)

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: Art is Body, the Texture, Seung Ah Paik, (2008-2009)

Word Count: 4.8K

Read on AO3

.2

I mean maybe I was holding all of the aces, but what was the game?

Joan Didion, Play It As It Lays

Gerri’s sister, Andrea, makes a wonderful dinner that night, linguine with mussels in a white wine sauce, a tossed salad, and several bottles of a lovely and crisp Pinot Grigio. By all accounts, it should have been a perfect evening. Friends and family in a beautiful setting. The day had been warm and lazy and seemingly perfect on the surface, but the underlying vein of tension was inescapable and un-ignorable. A huge drama had unfolded when you’d come back inside the house from the dock earlier. Eva was up in arms that Joel hadn’t brought you in immediately after the sting, said that he had no business tending to you when you were hurt and there was a doctor present. She’d even gone as far as to suggest that perhaps, if you felt too unwell, you should head back to the city, for a fucking wasp sting. Gerri had stepped in at that, said that it had been her sister who’d rented the house, and thus, was the only one who had the right to suggest when anyone should or should not leave. A screaming match had ensued. No one had really stopped to listen when you’d said that you really were fine. 

The seven of you now sit quiet and awkward at the dinner table out on the deck facing the dark and serene lake. A gorgeous setting with a terribly dark cloud hanging over all of your heads. The conversation is stilted and forced and there is a palpably bitter ball of tension being tossed back and forth between Joel and Eva. Sharply spit whispers and murmurs under their breaths as they sit across from you. She keeps rolling her eyes and clicking her tongue at him every time he tries to join the conversation Gerri’s been fighting tooth and nail to keep going. 

Ger’s best friend, who was supposed to have joined the weekend so that you’d not be the seventh wheel, had canceled last minute, and so you now sit at the the far end of the table across from the happy couple, trying your best to drown your awkwardness and the memory of Joel’s mouth on your skin in as much wine as you can guzzle as quickly as you possibly can. Light-weight or not, these are dire circumstances, it calls for desperate measures. 

The tension between Gerri and Eva wasn’t much better, and by extension between her sister. The three of them reminded you of the angry wasp from earlier, waiting to see who’d strike first. Everything about this was filling you with a type of anxious fizz that has the nape of your neck breaking out into a cold sweat and the backs of your knees itching. You want to run to your room, get all your shit, and run away from this place and these people as quickly as you can.

And then fucking Joel. Part of you wants to kick him on the shin under the table as hard as you can. What was his problem, helping you like that, touching you like that, calling you sweetheart, putting his goddamn mouth on you? Fanning the flames of this terrible, horrible, life ruining crush you’re developing on him? Perhaps this is the wine talking, but it feels like he’s slowly consuming your mind like wildfire. The feel of his hot, wet mouth, the slide of his tongue over the sensitive center of your palm, it’s all you can think about. You can’t stop picturing what it might feel like between your legs, over the tips of your breasts. He’d said he’d be gentle, but you have the uncontainable thought that that’s the last thing you want him to be with you.

You really hate yourself. This has to be classified as some flavor of masochism or something, you sitting across from him and his wife as they have a covert fight, all while you’re imagining what it’d be like for him to lick your pussy. 

Yes, definitely a masochist. 

He hasn’t uttered a single word in the past half hour or so, but you’ve been watching him out of the corner of your eye. You’re trying to be discreet, but you’re pretty sure you’re failing, and you can feel the bright, hot flush of the wine broadcasting itself on the surface of your cheeks like a blaring sign. He looks so good. His hair is wet from the shower, slicked back, and he has a slightly red flush from the sun today across his cheeks and the bridge of his strong nose. And he’s so broad, the sleeves of his button down straining with the thickness of his biceps. Your mouth feels parched, like there’s fire crawling up your throat, writhing within the confines of your arteries, licking up the notches of your vertebrae. 

You should go home. You should get away from these people. This was a mistake. And yet you do not. You remain, for some inexplicable reason. Masochist, masochist, masochist. A girl who likes things that aren’t good for her, that will only hurt her. 

You can’t help but think there’s something strange in the way that the two of them circle each other, in the way they exist around each other. Like two opposing magnets – connected by something, some sort of sameness, but constantly repelling each other, at the same time. You can’t say, quite precisely, what it is, perhaps, the undercurrent of hostility they move around each other with, as if at any moment someone’ll swipe out with sharpened claws, go for the jugular, but also, almost slowly, lagging, as if they are very tired of fighting such an interminable fight. You recognize something in them, and it isn’t until this moment, with you sitting across from them on the universally familiar battleground that is a family dinner table, that you’re able to realize what it is – a marriage filled with nothing but unhappiness and resentment. 

They remind you, very much, of your own parents. 

With age, you now thought that whenever people spoke of love, they were rarely ever speaking of real love. Most of the time it was a shroud for power or fixation or loss. Life has taught you this, your parents have taught you this. In many ways, you are now teaching yourself this. After all, all of these things most usually serve as the true center of what a romantic relationship posed as. Maybe. Or maybe you’re wrong. Too jaded – too gnarled. But when you look at these two people sitting before you, when all you can see in them is the bitter, ghostly reflection of your own parents, all it does is reinforce that idea. 

Joel’s eyes are a little blank, as if his mind is very far away from here, as Eva goes on about her new project at work, but you watch that little, fluttering muscle in his jaw from earlier make its frustrated return. If he grinds his teeth any harder you’re worried he’ll crack them. Gerri and Tommy have been having some sort of silent conversation for the past few minutes, she kind of looks like she’s beating him up with her eyes, screaming at him to do something to make this dinner even the slightest bit more bearable. His jokes are terrible and keep falling flat which you find quite funny, even though no one else seems to. Andrea’s girlfriend got up to go to get another bottle of wine like twenty minutes ago and never came back. 

Joel has his left hand resting on the table beside his plate, the other hidden below the edge. His fingers are long and thick, the nails trimmed neatly. He keeps stretching his hand open, and rotating his wrist to the side, back and forth, as if he’s stretching the muscles in his forearm out. His ring finger and thumb come together intermittently to meet and he rubs them together slowly, slowly. You sit across from him, chin cupped in your palm and watch the slow caress of those two fingers, eyes slightly glazed. Your legs beneath the table are crossed at the knee, thighs pressed together as tightly as you can. 

Eva’s been going on for the past half hour about someone on her team who, she claims, is the best insurance agent she’s ever met in her entire career. Impressive. You think you must scoff or make some sort of unconscious sound, lost in your daze staring at his hand, because she turns to you suddenly, abandoning her tirade to bestow her critical eye on you. Your knee jerks beneath the table, bumping against the underside and rattling the dinnerware on the surface. You feel the wine flush deepen at her inspection. You hadn’t really contributed much to the conversation throughout the evening, feeling too out of place and anxious to think of something interesting to say, too distracted by the sight of him.

“You know,” she starts – her voice has a deceptively guileless lilt to it that you think people must find incredibly charming when the look in her eyes isn’t calling for blood. “You’re a little quiet. Don’t have much to contribute, do you?” she purrs. 

You clear your throat once, twice, you hear Joel spit her name under his breath, and Gerri says something from the end of the table, but a white, rushing noise is filling your ears suddenly. She sounds very familiar. You clear your throat again, “I was just really enjoying hearing all about what it’s like to sell insurance,” you tell her. “I didn’t want to interrupt.” You hear Gerri snort loudly from the other end of the table. Sometimes you could have a backbone, if you tried very, very hard. 

She hums, arches a thin eyebrow at you. “Gerri says you’re single. That you’ve been unattached for quite some time.” You hear Gerri try to interject again, but Eva cuts her off, continues her set down. “Maybe that’s why you still haven’t found someone yet. No man wants a mouse, you know.” She clicks her tongue and it makes you flinch. You can’t look away from her, it’s like you’re sitting across from a ghost. Even the cadence of her voice reminds you of your mother. When you grow up with an angry parent in your house, there will always be an angry parent in your house, and you are acutely reminded of that in this moment.“Some people might think you’re boring if you’re not careful. Don’t you agree, Joel?” She turns to him, wide grin stretched across her face, and you feel your eyes burn, backbone obliterated, back at your parent’s dinner table. 

“No, I don’t agree,” he says coldly. “That’s enough, Eva.” She ignores him. 

She cocks her head at you, “Could be somethin’ to work on,” she says sweetly. 

“Joel, think it’s time for you two to say good night, don’t you?” Tommy says from the end of the table. 

You try to say that it’s alright, but you think you might’ve accidentally swallowed your tongue in your plight to find your voice. Joel stands suddenly, his chair jostling violently with the abruptness of his movements and clasps her around the elbow, pulling her up with him. “Yeah, we’ll say good night now, everyone.” She goes along with him, laughing loudly. 

“Goodnight,” she sing-songs, as he drags her down the hallway. 

That little girl you’d used to be, the one who always needed to make herself lovable, amenable, good, surges up sharp and vicious inside of you at her words, at the uncomfortable look of embarrassment in Joel’s eyes. He couldn’t even look at you, his eyes trained uncomfortably on his plate. All the care and generosity in his gaze from the afternoon cast away in the face of his wife cutting you down and your inability to defend yourself, your pathetic meekness. 

You turn to look out at the dark water, close your eyes and take deep breaths to ease the tightness in your throat. Gerri says your name softly. You swallow once, twice, clear your throat, swallowing the humiliation. You force a smile onto your face and turn back to her, roll your eyes, “It’s okay.” You try to huff a laugh. 

“It wasn’t – I’m sorry about that,” Tommy says. He looks just as embarrassed as Joel. You want to leave so, so badly. Perhaps this need to always run is just another inheritance from your mother. Just one more terrible burden, in a long line of disappointing inherited traits, that she’s left you with. 

“Tommy, really—”

“No,” he says sharply, letting his fork clatter onto his plate. Gerri says his name softly, you see her put her hand over his clenched fist on the table. “They’re unhappy. She’s unhappy — so she tries to cast the net of her misery around the rest of us – trap us in it with her. Make us all as uncomfortable and as miserable as she is.”

“I know — I can see that. That’s why I’m saying, it’s okay. I understand.”

But you don’t think he hears you, he goes on, “And she’s got my brother trapped there with her.” He looks at Gerri now and you can see all the worry and anguish he carries for Joel in his gaze, a little helpless. “I don’t – I don’t really know how to help him anymore.”

“Baby, it isn’t on you,” Gerri tells him gently. “All you can do is be there for him.”

Tommy turns back to look at you, and for a moment, the helplessness seems to have turned to contemplation, for some reason, as he tells you, “I just want him to be happy.”

-

Joel lays in bed hours later, arm propped under his head, unable to sleep. Eva’s in the room next door with Sarah. They’d slept in separate rooms since the start of their marriage. Neither of them had ever considered the alternative, and he’s especially grateful for that right now. He has the window cracked open, and the cool breeze is soothing on his overly hot skin. His cock is hard and throbbing under his boxers, and he wants nothing more than to call your face to his mind and fuck his palm right now, but he knows he shouldn’t. That if he does it once, he’ll never be able to stop again, will use your face to fuel his fantasies forever afterwards. He can’t stoop that low. He’s not that desperate. Not yet, at least.

And he’s angry right now too. So fucking frustrated at his wife and her attitude and the things she’d said to you at dinner. And most of all, frustrated at himself. Frustrated at the fact that he hadn’t said something more to defend you, that he hadn’t prevented that terrible look of shock and hurt from crossing your face. He should’ve stepped in sooner, said something more, stood up for you. He could tell that it was difficult for you. But he’d been a little taken aback at Eva’s words, at the venom in her tone. He knows she doesn’t have any sort of real problem with you, specifically. He can see through the shroud of bitterness to the heart of the issue at hand which is nothing more than what it always is, that she’s reaching the end of her line – been too stagnant for too long, stuck around with him and Sarah for too long. She’s unhappy and she wants to leave and she’s lashing out because of it. 

He knows she just needs time to come to that on her own, to gather the resolve to abandon her daughter and finally leave the way she wants to. He also knows that this will be the last time. That after this, after she leaves this time, she’ll be done with them for good, but also, that he can’t let her continue this. He needs to set a boundary for himself, but more importantly, for Sarah. She cannot watch her mother come in and out of her life, whenever she pleases, forever. There needs to be some sort of structure to their life, to their relationship, it’s his responsibility to make sure she has that. 

So, for now, until Eva comes to this decision on her own, he’ll put up with her venom and her attitude and her lashing out at him, but at him, not at you or anyone else. You don’t deserve for the misery of his life to spill over onto you. You don’t deserve that, you’re too good for that. Too good for him. 

He’s also really fucking frustrated that his cock is hard right now. That he’s such an idiot that the confirmation that you’re single had filled him with an inappropriate amount of relief and satisfaction, that if he isn’t careful and conscious of his thoughts and his body and his proximity to you at all times, he’s almost always verging on being halfway to hard in your presence. Like some horny, desperate, perverted old man. But he can’t help himself. You’re just too pretty. And now that he knows how soft you are, that he’s held your small hand in his, that he’s gotten close enough to be able to smell that subtly sweet scent that envelops you at all times, well, he’s practically a lost cause. Putting his mouth on you today, tasting the salt of your skin, fucking Christ, he shouldn’t have done that. He can never do it again, should never get that close again. It would be, he thinks, extremely easy to lose control of himself with you.

But he also thinks, despite this very aware notion he has that he should keep his distance, that he wants to find any excuse, any at all, to be close, to get closer to you. Maybe he should go apologize. Maybe he should go and say something about tonight, tell you how sorry he is for his wife’s words, for his lack of thought to speak up for you in the moment, to ask you how your hand is, if you’re in pain, if you need anything. Yes, he thinks, he most definitely should do that. It would be the right thing, the polite thing. It’s almost necessary, he finds. 

-

This was a mistake. He knows he shouldn’t be here, he knows this is a bad idea. Dangerous in a way crafted specifically by himself to hone in on his own weaknesses, strike where he’s most vulnerable. Fucking self sabotage and self flaggelation, all at the same time. He lifts his fist to knock quietly anyways. Fuck what he should do, what about what he wants?

You take a long moment to answer, he can hear your shuffling and movement through the door. You were probably in bed, maybe you were asleep already, maybe he’ll get to see that soft, intimate look of sleep in your eyes. Maybe he’ll be so lucky. 

-

“Joel – is everything okay?” Your voice is cracked and gravelly, and you try to inconspicuously wipe away the stickiness of your slick on your hand on the back of your sleep shorts, wind the long sleeves of your soft sweater over your fingers to hide the evidence of the fact that you’d just had three of your fingers stuffed to the knuckle inside your wet cunt, trying to make yourself come at the thought of him. What the hell is he doing here right now?

You plan to never see him again after this weekend, you’ve decided. You’ll tell Gerri you can’t be friends anymore, if need be, as much as it’ll devastate you. This is too risky, you feel at risk in his presence. There is something, some terrible sense of dread you’re filled with, a fight or flight instinct, the sense of prey right before it’s taken out by a larger, stronger predator, but some sort of instinct is telling you something very bad will happen to you if you stay anywhere near this man. That he’ll make you feel things you’ve never before felt in your entire life. 

“How’s the hand?” 

You almost choke. “Wh– what?”

“The sting?”

“Oh–” you’re trying to control your breathing, the stuttering of your heart from the interrupted orgasm, paired with his presence here right now has you close to hyperventilating, “Oh, it’s fine – thank you.” Your cunt is tight and throbbing painfully.

“Doesn’t hurt anymore?”

“No,” you lie.

He shakes his head a little, gives you the gentle curve of his crooked smile, “Don’t gotta lie, sweetheart.” Your heart drops at how easily he sees through you, has your throat tightening into a knot. The reprimand at the pet name catches in your throat. After the humiliation at dinner, the tears you’d shed in the shower, the feeling of being too emotional, overly sensitive, of not being able to just brush off someone’s offhandedly cruel words, your inability, even after all these years, to develop thicker skin – it’s hard to cast away the slight comfort. Even if you know it’s wrong. 

“Your wife?” You need to remind the both of you about her, in this moment. It feels very precarious, set on the edge of a cliff, for some reason. Perhaps because of how soft his old t-shirt looks, his low, gravely voice and messy curls, the late hour – the fact that all you’re wearing is an oversized sweater and sleep shorts and that your cunt is wet and swollen. 

“Asleep with Sarah.”

“Oh, she’s–” you cut yourself off abruptly, none of your business. 

“We don’t uh –” he stutters, a blush creeping into his cheeks, “We don’t st– stay together.” He blinks rapidly, looking down at his feet. The fringe of his lashes is long and thick. 

“Oh… okay–” you can’t think what it is you’re supposed to say to that, but you’re filled with a terrible sense of premonitory dread. He’s trying to establish something now, between the two of you, you think, explain something to you about the dynamic unfolding here and the one between himself and his wife. 

“I wanted to apologize – again.” He looks back up at you now. “I’m sorry for dinner. We were incredibly rude to you.”

“You weren’t rude. You didn’t say anything.”

“Exactly. I should have said something more. I’m sorry for that.”

“That’s not what I meant. You– you don’t need to defend me from your wife. That – that isn’t–” That isn’t right, you want to say, but the words fail you.

“Maybe so – but I should’a done it anyway. She was out of line, and I’m apologizing for it now.”

“Okay–” He looks away then, peers down the dark, quiet hall. Fuck, he mutters under his breath. This feels wrong. You wonder if your mother ever felt this anxious heaviness inside of her right before she did something she knew she wasn’t supposed to. 

“We– we don’t have a conventional marriage,” he says then, spills the words in a rushed tumble. His embarrassed blush flares brighter, and you squeeze your eyes shut, hold on to the door’s edge for support, like he knows, perhaps, that he shouldn’t be going here with you but feels the need to tell you this anyways. 

You blink rapidly, the dread in your gut churns violently. You shouldn’t be hearing this right now. The two of you shouldn’t be standing here at the door of your bedroom in your pajamas having this late night, hushed conversation. You tighten your grip on the door. 

“I – I don’t follow.”

“It’s, well – I don’t –” a frustrated huff, “We’re not really… together.”

You scrunch your nose at him, “It’s – it’s open?”

He frowns, shakes his head confusedly, “What?”

“You have an open marriage – an agreement to see other people?”

He passes a palm over his mouth. “Oh – I – I guess, yes. That’s – well, she does. But it wasn’t an agreement or anything.”

This is what Gerri had alluded to, you realize. “She cheats on you?” Too harsh, but you need to be clear now, on what it is he’s trying to make you understand. Although you’re not sure why, why you feel you need this clarity. You’re treading extremely dangerous water here, surrounded by the violent sharks of your history. 

“Well, I wouldn’t call it that either. I don’t–” he laughs bitterly, “I don’t feel cheated. That’s not what it is. We don’t have a close marriage or… I guess a real one, I don’t– I don’t know what to call it – an intimate one, I suppose. We aren’t really together, in a true sense.”

“Why– why not?” Looking at him, you can’t imagine how anyone could ever not want to be close to a man like this. 

He leans against the door frame, crosses his arms across his chest so his biceps bulge, and it brings him in slightly closer to you. Your mouth feels so dry, parched. “Different reasons, incompatibility. We never – we were never in love or anything. We got married for Sarah. It was complicated, I guess.” He frowns, “And then we just did it, and now this is how we are.” He shrugs. 

“Okay…” you say slowly. You lean against the door now too, rest your head against the smooth grain, prop one foot on top of the other. If you shift your knee forward just a few inches you’d bump his leg. You want to ask him why he’s telling you this, to put him on the spot in a sense, but you know why. You know why he’s saying these things to you. There is, against all odds, against all rationality, logic, morals, fear, there is something here, between the two of you. You’re afraid, you carry your baggage on your shoulders like the weight of a mountain, like the weight of a lifetime of fear and abandonment and painful longing, but you aren’t stupid or blind. You know there’s something unspoken blooming here between the two of you, intentional or not.

“Okay,” he says back to you, equally slowly. His eyes shift between yours, the look in them, so soft and warm. Kind eyes, he has kind eyes. Honest eyes, despite what’s happening here now. Despite the fact that even though you know it should feel dishonest, it doesn’t, not really. “Just wanted to tell you that.”

“I understand,” you tell him, because you do. You do understand. 

“And to apologize.”

“You already did that.”

The gentle curve of his smile, “Again, then.”

You can’t help but smile back, “Apology accepted.”

“And to check on that hand.”

You hold up your open palm for his inspection. “I think I’ll live.” And then he brings his own hand up, without your expecting it, and catches the thin of your wrist on either side by two thick fingers, gently brushes his thumb against the prominence of the bone at your joint. He nods his head tightly, jaw clenched once again, and then lets you go. 

“You have to,” and you think he means it in jest, but he says it so seriously, the look in his eyes so direct, but also…sad, slightly sad or desperate or something you can’t fully identify, that causes the joke to fall flat, has the muscles in your throat tightening painfully. 

“I’ll try.” You can’t tell what it is you’re promising to try to do. To live? To stay away from him? To let him come closer? Does it even matter? Is the act of trying wholly futile already? In some insane way, it feels like it is. As if what’s going to happen is already set in stone and nothing either of you do or don’t do will be able to change the course. 

The thought terrifies you.

He’s quiet for another beat, the two of you just looking at each other. You wish you could press your front to his, feel his breath push into your belly with each one of his inhales, fit your nose to the space behind in his ear, where the scent of him is strongest, and breathe him in, memorize him. You think you’d like to know everything about him. What his favorite meal is, what books he likes to read, what his parents are like, what music he listens to, what his favorite thing to do with Sarah is. 

None of that information is yours to have though, so all you’ll take from him now is his unnecessary apology.

“Goodnight, Joel.”

He nods once, pauses, twice, swallows. He doesn’t want to go. He’s telling you this with his silence and his lingering, but then he lets his eyes flutter shut and nods once more, slowly this time, and you watch another swallow pass through the strong column of his throat. 

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” You don’t correct him this time either.

Chapter .3

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

[smoshyourheadin]

Sunshine and Soda Cans

Part 1 - Fizzes

you’d joined smosh in summer last year, just after anthony’s return. you’d watched smosh with your brother as a kid, so getting this editing job was a dream come true. although you hadn't watched their stuff in years, you quickly adapted to the quick thinking environment.

you got the job from your roommate angela, who was a cast member. you guys are super close, so when she mentioned that they had an editing vacancy, you jumped at the opportunity to leave your job at a marketing company to go work woth her. living with angela proved useful, because after your first day, you asked her about spencer, and oh did she have stuff to tell you.

“hey hey, whats the deal with the uh, spencer guy at work?” you said to her at dinner.

“(Y/N) ITS THE FIRST DAY AND YOU ALREADY HAVE THE HOTS FOR SPENCER?? I MEAN I’D UNDERSTAND IF IT WAS SOMEONE LIKE-” she began shouting, laughing at your face as you blushed

“jelly i- please, just- okay yeah, he’s cute but i don't want to make a move, he’s basically my boss!”

“this is also true. okay so…” she begins to ramble to this spencer guy you, as you eat your spaghetti. he’s so totally your type, but would you make a move? you can't decide.

the days passed, and soon enough you’d been at smosh for a month now. angela, being angela, had one day let slip to amanda of your small crush on spencer

“(y/n)!! get your butt over here!” she beamed at you, so you obliged, because who wouldn't listen to amanda? she's 6 feet of pure love, you listen to everything she says

“a little birdie, who cant keep her mouth shut after two glasses of wine, told me that you like spencer?” she looks at you, a certain glint in her eye

“okay, maybe, JUST maybe, i have a teeny, tiny crush on him. BUT i don't think im going to make a move.” you looked into her eyes, feeling dejected, because you felt he would never like you back.

the events that ensued, you couldn't even keep up with. every day on set, amanda would rake you into a conversation she was having with spencer, or angela would ask you to go to his desk give him something off her. you weren't nescaserily complaining, but it was less than ideal, because you became a stuttering mess around him.

“hey spence, um- angela wanted me to give you this, i mean i dont know why she didnt bring it herself, its kind of lazy, she is, i mean- she isnt but she has me running around for her, but thats friendship right? i mean i’d make her do that, but not if-”

he gazes up into your eyes and gently places a hand on your arm, sending small jolts through your body.

“dude, it’s just me, relax!” he smiles at you, as you give him the mt dew kickstart angela sent you over to give him.

“tell angela thanks by the way!” he said, as you walked over to angela, who was trying not to break out into a big smirk

“oh spencer! angela is making me do things for her! oh woe is me! hold me incase i fall!” she placed the back of her palm to her forehead, dramatically falling into amanda’s arms

“hey! thats not what i sounded like! right? i didn't. right.” you said, becoming increasingly concerned if it was that obvious. courtney, erin d, and arasha walked over to you guys

“hey dudes,” courtney began “whats up with you guys?”

“oh, i bet theyre taking about how (y/n) is totally into spencer” arasha said, stifling a giggle.

you stood with your mouth slightly agape, gawking at her remark.

“is it really that obvious!?” you whined, slumping into a chair.

“i mean,” erin looked at you, as you tried folding into the air to disappear, “we’re the only ones who’ve noticed so far, but i don't think the boys have caught on! i think you're good”

“maybe minus josh,” courtney added, “i was sat with him and he asked me about why (y/n) was ‘oogling at spencer’ on that board af video. but he wont tell, he’s too nice”

a few days pass, and your crush on spencer had become slightly bigger. taking advantage of this, courtney decided to make you, angela, and spencer (the ‘golden trio’ as the fans called you) do an episode of who meme'd it.

“hello and welcome everyone to a brand spankin’ new episode of who memed it!” shayne began, earning a small round of applause from the crew.

“today, we have everyone’s favourite roommates and spencer!”

you were leant on angela’s shoulder, but perked up to smile at the camera

“hi guys!” angela grins at the camera, waving aggressively

“dude!” spencer yelled at shayne “why cant i be the favourite roommate!” he looked dejected

“spencer, we lived together and i have never slept worse, the only thing in our apartment was mt dew and granola bars!!”

“okay, you got me”

you look over at him and giggle, feeling your cheeks begin to warm up

as the rounds go on, angela is on 5 points, you’re on 4, and spencer is on 8.

“okay, next meme!” shayne boasts

the next thing on screen made everyone cackle.

immediately, shayne starts giggling, and puts his fists against the wall, not being able to look at any of you. angela is crying with laughter, and even spencer is giggling. you just stare into the camera in shock.

through tears, shayne manages “oh my- all- alright who memed it, was it tommy, josh, was it courtney, or was it erin, our lovely producer”

you each place your guesses, and its revealed to be a secret shayne meme. you swear you could burn holes through him.

after wrap, you went off with angela giggling about some of the things, your mind still racing from being so close to spencer. for so long. it was cringey, yes, but you felt so exited when you were around him, you couldn't help it!

but little did anyone know, spencer was just as infatuated with you, and he was waiting for the day be mustered up the courage to ask you out

[chaifootsteps]

Hey questions for Chai and everyone here. This is about Stolas and Octavia mainly.

-How come we never see flashbacks to Stolas interacting with Octavia as a teen BEFORE he cheated? We only ever see him be a father to her when she was a toddler (one of the memories is her being traumatized and him being NOWHERE to be found), which makes it seem as though he only cared about his daughter when she was a baby, even though Octavia makes it clear that they were a normal family before Stolas done the deed with Blitz. Sooooo....wtf

-How was the dynamic beforehand? Like in the family. I ask cause how on earth was it at all normal if Stella hates Stolas? We know she didn't fake things cause 1. She's portrayed as stupid and runs solely on her feelings and wants 2. She was okay with bashing and wanting Stolas dead in public seamlessly and loudly, implying there was no such time to switch or hide any of her actual feelings prior. So why tf would Stella care or be capable of hiding how she truly feels about Stolas from Octavia and WHY would she care enough to do so?

-Why did they introduce how much Octavia hated RoboFizz alongside Blitz only to have her never engage in any direct fashion towards the thing and only BLITZO having moments with it? Why not have it where RoboFizz starts to attack, have then fight and it cuts to the chaos leading back to Octavia with Stolas, not only for her dad to see just how much fear and hatred she has for it, but for Blitz to end up saving her from any imminent danger heading her way. It could help actually build off that mutual dislike and put him in a better light for her. Obv it won't make her instantly like him, but it could bring a lot of complexity to the whole cheating situation that could then lead to Octavia running away and the rest of the episode with her and her father (with added material) ensues. Idk, maybe I am wrong on this one since it would need to revise some of the story to fit better, but I felt like they didn't do much with the little piece of info given.

Also random, but how tf does RoboFizz remember ANY of the childhood/teenage memories of their times being in the circus and being clowns? Was that EVER explained cause, um, HOW??? Also, how come Blitz hated Fizz for something HE CAUSED and RUINED someone else's life? WHY IS THE "O" SPECIFICALLY SILENT???

Thoughts?

Short answer to all of these:

[prof-ramses]

Cash's Past and Future

Recently more and more people have been theorizing on what happened to Pa Buckzo after the fire but I haven't encountered anyone who shares my theory, but before we get to it, CONTEXT!

While Mammon's involvement and even awareness is still up in the air, we can safely say that Cash knowingly acted as one of, and likely THE main agent that drove Blitz and Fizz apart after the accident. This naturally raises the question of why? The answer is obviously money, this is Cash Buckzo were talking about, but HOW would he make money off of it? The answer is right under our noses, specifically in Oops:

The Clown Pageant!

I believe Fizzarolli participated in one shortly before the fire which attracted Mam's attention, but not enough for him to seek Fizz out immediately. When he eventually does he finds the rising star horribly disfigured and the circus he worked for destroyed, with it's owner in an absolute shitfit, he then offers Cash the chance to seek out new entertainment ventures without his unwanted family, all for the low-low price of his (effectively) adopted son's agency.

After all this, Cash, likely under a false identity to avoid being recognized by former acquaintances, enjoys a fairly comfortable life somewhere in Greed, possibly even occasionally working directly with Mammon himself.

The reveal of this in the series proper would come with Blitz coming face to face with Mammon, only to run into him mid conversation with his dead beat father, chaos and emotional damage ensue.

So, yeah, I think Cash will actually be a more substantial villain than most fans currently think, even if he doesn't end up with much actual screen time.

[weakly-skoodge]

Week Sixty Five!

The hologram fizzes off. Tak crawls deeper into the ventilation shaft, away from the opening she used to get in, trying to locate a new, more suitable one to slip out of.

While doing that, her knees beginning to get sore from all the crawling she’s been doing, she bumps into something soft and squishy and warm.

She hisses quietly, rubbing her face and ridding it of whatever squish-ness it was exposed to with her hand. The thing in front of her shifts and moves and when her hand peels away from her face she finds out what the thing is.

Another irken. Much wider than her. An irken who just so happens to also be invading Zim’s walls, similarly to Tak.

Weird.

How does he fit in the vents? Why are these vents so big? What’s the deal with that?

Then he speaks, and recognition floods through her. This, this is that one guy that… blech, ‘rescued’ her, after her botched promise to pump the Earth dry and serve it to the Tallest.

“Hi there!” He whispers, enthusiasm seeping into his voice. “Do I know you? I feeeeeel like I know you.”

Tak takes a moment to orient herself with the current situation. She blinks twice, trying to figure out the irken in front of her.

“We… may have met, once.” She squints at him, antennae twitching from where they’re pressed against the vent, wondering what kind of irken starts off a conversation so pleasantly, under circumstances that should scream anything but pleasant.

“Cool.” He puffs his cheeks, squinting back at her with some skepticism. “… What are you doing in here?”

There it is. There’s the rightful, regular question that he should’ve asked at the beginning of their conversation.

“Nothing. What are you doing here?”

“Also nothing.”

“Hm.”

The two’s mouths fall shut, and they end up staring at each other in uncomfortable silence.

Skoodge blinks at her. He pats his hands along the metal interior of the vents, silently of course, as to not draw attention, but soon stops doing that. His face tilts away from her and his hand comes up to itch nervously at his cheek.

She awkwardly coughs into a closed fist — almost by impulse.

“… Well. I’ll just, uh.” Skoodge throws his thumb over behind himself. “I’ll be seeing you around, then.” He doesn’t wait for her to respond before turning himself around fully and crawling away.

Tak stares at his retreating figure, PAK halting and failing to figure out how to respond to this. Eventually, it must land on something, because she hears herself say “Wait,” and feels her limbs shifting under her and moving her rapidly over to Skoodge, and she grabs him by his collar to prevent him from escaping.

The velocity with which she approaches and the banging movements from the ensuing scuffle ends up causing an opening in the ventilation shaft to swing out from underneath them.

Both irkens tumble to the floor in a heaping mass of tangled limbs, with Skoodge on top of and crushing Tak, pushing all of the air out of her. She wheezes upon impact.

“Get off me!”

“You’re the one on me!"

Tak hisses at him, pressing her hand against his too-squishy cheek while he presses his foot against her hip. “You oversized wad of goo, I swear to —”

[stories-and-chaos]

Tarnished pt 23

[Helluva Boss AU where Blitzø’s childhood theft from Stolas’ palace is discovered and major consequences ensue for everyone involved.]

[Part 23/?? Word Count: 1857]

[CW: Drug abuse, addiction, gaslighting]

—————

Two weeks later, Blitzo sent another letter. It was thinner than the first. Barb gave it the same treatment, ‘RETURN TO SENDER’. The next one was even thinner, probably just one page in the envelope.

After she had that one sent back, he started sending postcards. Mostly they were generic landscape images from across the Rings. But not being in an envelope meant she saw snippets of the text on the blank side. Barb let Fizz know that Blitzo was sending mail, but never the content.

She didn’t mean to read any of them, but checking the address meant seeing what was written. There was a theme of ‘sorry, please talk to me, let me explain, I’m sorry, text, call, so sorry,’ in his scribbled handwriting. Knowing their dad’s account of events, her brother’s repeated requests for forgiveness just infuriated Barb.

She saw there were a few that mentioned her and their mom. Blitzo was asking if Fizz knew where they were. You’d know if you’d stuck around, traitor, she thought bitterly as she sent the postcards to be shredded. 

The frequent reminders of Blitzo’s existence kept her off balance. And Fizzarolli was spending more time in Lust. He kept denying any emotional attachment to Asmodeus but Barb saw the difference in how he talked about the Sin.  His absence left her somewhat at loose ends in her downtime.

The other survivors from their circus had scattered; few wanted to stay in Greed with all the established gangs and corruption. Barb, not wanting to be alone constantly, found other demons that shared her interests. One of those interests being drug use was incidental. 

After seven months, the postcards arrived less frequently. Barb didn’t really notice; she had access to stronger stuff and was getting fucked up on a regular basis. Fizz was paying her enough that she could afford it… for now. But as the next pageant got closer, she started missing more days.

At first it didn’t matter too much. Her friend was off being Ozzie’s boy toy. The PR team was finally filtering the mail somewhat. And just before the pageant, Blitzo sent a card saying, ‘I’ll leave you alone Fizz. You know where to find me. I’m sorry.’ That was one less stressor; Barb celebrated with a weekend long bender.

She managed to be clean for a few days before and after the clown pageant. She was able to function as Fizz’s security the whole time. Once again, he won. Once again, Mammon immediately signed him on with a year long contract.

This year though, the king of Greed had some things to talk about concerning Fizzarolli’s assistant. Whisking him behind closed doors for the rigamarole of the contract was the perfect moment to plant seeds of doubt about Barb in his mind.

“Y’know Fizzy, that assistant o’ yours…I know she’s your friend but she’s been slacking big time,” he said as they signed and initialed pages. “I’d hate for someone from your past to take advantage of you, yah?” Mammon had a look of intense concern as he finished his portion of the contract.

“I-I’ll talk to her, Mammon sir.” Fizz was already worried about Barb. He knew she’d gotten hooked on painkillers after the fire. She’d been sober for years but he could see the signs popping up. And if Mammon noticed, things were getting worse.

“Good boy Fizzy! ‘Cause we’re gonna be real busy again and we don’t need c**ts coasting off your success.”

The day after the pageant saw Fizz in Lust again, working with Ozzie on updating the Fizzies. Asmodeus took him out for lunch again. He’d told Mammon before the contest that he’d need the whole day with the winner for their work, preventing his fellow Sin from interrupting anything.

After lunch, Ozzie sprung an offer on Fizz. “I’d like you to work at my lounge club, Froggie. Get you some experience outside the Greed Ring and away from all those creeps.”

Fizz waved a dismissive hand. “Psh, I’ve always had creeps around, it’s not that big a deal. Besides, Barb’s got my back.”

“Yeeeeeeaaaah, about that,” Asmodeus said slowly.

“Oh not you too Oz! Mammon was just bitching to me last night about her!”

“Hey, I’m just saying…she’s having a bad time lately. I’m not gonna pry, but if even Mam has picked up on it? Your girl needs help.” Ozzie cupped Fizz’s cheek. “Look, I know she’s important to you. You’re basically family right?” Fizz nodded. “So I want to help. And moving you both out of Greed is a good way to start.”

Fizz sighed. “Yeah, she’s never really liked it there anyway. I can’t make her do anything though.”

“You know me babe; I ain’t about forcing anyone. Unless she’s in deep shit, too deep to handle or putting herself in danger? you gotta let her make her choices.” He leaned back in their private booth. “I’m serious about working at my lounge though. You’d make a great M.C. Fizzy-frog.”

Fizz agreed to perform at Ozzie’s, with the frequent scheduling starting in a few weeks. He had prior commitments with Mammon to take care of first. Doing nightly shows at the lounge would mean moving to Lust.

Before that, he wanted to talk with Barb. The first chance he got was almost a week later, after they were done at Mammon’s for the day. Fizz had to steal himself to talk to his friend so he went to her apartment after hyping himself up via a phone call with Asmodeus.

Barb, meanwhile, had taken a hit of her current drug of choice as soon as she got home. It was the first big high she’d had in the past two weeks. When Fizz showed up at her door unannounced, she could feel the drugs hitting her system. Although he looked serious and she was trying to focus on what he said, the chemical filter in her veins meant she really only caught a few words. Kind of like those snippets of Blitzo’s postcards.

“Barb, I know you’ve got a problem. You’ve been using drugs again, I can tell. We need to get you help, but we can’t do it here. Asmodeus offered me a gig, I’ll need to move to Lust. Please, come with me. I can’t stand seeing you destroy yourself. We’ll get away from all this shit in Greed. Get you some fucking help.”

Barb tried to string together what he was saying. What truly stuck with her was he was moving. Leaving for Lust and Asmodeus. Away from her. She growled angrily. “Urrrgh! Fine, go fuck off with your royal sugar daddy! I don’t need you!” She pushed him away from her. Her intoxication meant she didn’t have much control of her strength. Her push knocked him against the wall; if he hadn’t hit it with his prosthetic arm, it would have left bruises.

She stomped to the door and yanked it open. “Get the fuck out Fizz. The other imp looked stricken so she pushed him again. This one sent him into the hallway. Barb slammed the door shut, locked it and  put the chain on. He had a spare key, but even his extendable arms would struggle with the chain. She pressed her back against the door and slid down it as Fizz knocked desperately. He kept saying her name but she didn’t respond. She just curled up, silent and crying.

Eventually, he was gone. Her sense of time was completely distorted. Maybe it had been an hour, maybe just a couple minutes. She just wanted to forget about everything again. Fortunately, past Barb had picked up a baggie full of little friends from her dealer that were very good at helping her forget.

A few days later, she’d come down enough to realize she had to go work. That many pill-shaped friends weren’t cheap. But when she got to Mammon’s main offices, her keycard didn’t work. Barb tried multiple times, flipping the card in different directions but she continued to get error sounds. She was ready to punch the scanner when the door opened smoothly.

The shark demon that stepped out towered over Barb. “What do you want?” No politeness, just blunt demanding attitude.

“I want to get to work. Why isn’t my keycard working?” She waved the offending piece of plastic in front of the shark’s snout.

His concentric ringed eyes focused on the card, reading her name. “Barb Buckzo. Yeah, your position’s been…terminated.” He gave her a leering grin and flicked the card. His claw hit with enough force to send it spinning out of her hand and down the street.

“The fuck d’you mean, ‘terminated’? I’m Fizz’s  assistant and bodyguard!”

“Not no more. You haven’t been here for a week. Mr. Fizzarolii and Lord Mammon don’t need some lazy ass coasting on her buddy’s success.” He straightened up to his full height. The shark crossed his arms and continued to match her glaring look. “So you’re out, shoulda got a termination letter in yer mail.” 

Her jaw dropped. Those assholes! “I wanna talk to Fizz. Right now!” She tried to push past the beefy shark, but he outweighed her and Fizz combined. 

“Mr. Fizzarolli is busy. Lord Mammon is free for the next ten minutes if you wanna talk to him.” Barb growled, a rumbling hiss coming from her chest. “Thought so.” The shark went back inside and the door slid shut behind him.

Barb stood there, chest heaving. She had mostly come down from her high and there was no drugged filter between her and her emotions. After a few minutes of glaring at the locked doors, she started hurling nearby rocks at the building. Her aim was still good from all those years in the circus. But those doors were designed to withstand bullets; a valid concern with all the turf wars likely to pop up in this Ring.

All the rocks in Hell wouldn’t do much to the structure. Barb didn’t care; if anything it made her madder. She kept hurling the same rocks over and over, screaming obscenities all the while. Until she threw one that ricocheted back, hitting her directly on her circus brand and knocking her on her butt.

She sat there, dazed. The pain on her forehead belatedly hit and she rubbed the spot to find ichor welling from the scratch. “Fine. FINE, YOU HEAR ME! YOU CAN GO FUCK YOURSELVES! HAVE FUN BEING A PAMPERED WHORE FIZZ! YOU’RE JUST LIKE THAT TRAITOR BLITZO!” Barb turned away, rubbing her upper arms with both hands as she tried to keep the anger in the forefront. She flipped of the building as she walked home.

Not that the studio apartment would be home much longer. She was behind on rent and her landlord was ready to kick her out. Checking her mail, she found the termination letter; included was her severance check. Not enough to back pay everything. But enough to find somewhere else. Something cheaper and closer to the drug dens she was visiting more often. 

Within two days, she was gone, ghosting everyone in her life.

—————

<<First <Prev Next>

[kemihaydeestantonva]

I'm just going to word vomit my season 2B predictions for Helluva Boss here so I can come back later and see how close I was to anything!! I find this speculation game really fun.

OKAY

Predictions! The full moon starts out with the duet, apparently, so my guess is - Blitzø has been doing a lot of opening up lately so I think he is actually going to try and make this full moon more intimate (with Fizz's help) meanwhile Stolas is freaking out and preparing to have a serious talk with him. Blitzø pulls out all the stops (omg that giant ass candle lmaooo) Stolas gives him the crystal and shatters Blitzø's plans. He takes it as a HUGE rejection, the talk escalates to a fight, they break up.

Apology tour is Stolas and Verosika somehow teaming up, she makes the tour all about shitting on Blitzø and maybe Stolas initially goes along with it or maybe he interrupts and finally publicly stands up for him. Blitzø makes amends with Verosika in some capacity, takes the first steps in being accountable for his past actions towards them both.

Ghostfuckers is the ghost busters one, and that creepy blonde guy is Leviathan - he lures them in as an unassuming bellhop with the ghost hunting thing, then traps him and Millie. I'm assuming he has some sort of possession powers, and being the embodiment of envy he forces them to face what they envy about each other, intense fight ensues. We get backstory on Millie, who she was before IMP, how she joined, ect.

Mastermind is the episode with the agents and the cherubs, I have no idea how that is going to play out but it does look like they figured out a way to open a portal to hell. From the picture we got of agents one and two dressed in IMP cosplay I'm still desperately hoping that a furry convention setting might happen because I think it'd be hilarious

Sinmas is the one with all the Goetia family gathered, along with the sins. Looks like some sort of big shindig. All the apple and snake architecture tells me it'll be in the pride ring but I doubt there will be any Lucifer cameo (I don't think they could legally even if they wanted to). I'm guessing that the scary Zestial looking guy is Satan, and I think he's going to be bad news (I think when Mammon told Oz he'd "regret" admitting his love for Fizz that he was going to go over his head and plot something nasty with Satan. Or maybe Mammon teams up with Leviathan and the sin stuff is tied to the ghostfucker episode not this one, but the episode title hints otherwise)

I think Stella is going to turn Via against Stolas over these episodes, he's going to spend this entire time grappling with his breakup and figuring out how to move on, it's a prime time for Via to feel neglected and for Stella to make a move - and the gathering is going to be like, a public reckoning scenario resulting in Andrealphus fighting Stolas, and Blitzø will swoop in and protect him! No idea where this will ultimately leave their relationship but one I hope it starts to mend by the last episode. (I also don't get major bad vibes from Vassago so maybe Stolas won't be entirely friendless at this gathering??)

Anyway that's what I got so far, see y'all at the full moon

[lovelytsunoda]

the songs that remind us of the good times // daniel ricciardo

summary: danny gets his best result of the season in singapore. celebrations ensue.

i get knocked down but i get up again, ain't never gonna keep me down

the second daniel crosses the line, y/n is on the radio screaming about how incredible he did.

and danny can hardly believe it himself as he steps out of the car

y/n wraps his arms around him instantly

he hasn't even taken his helmet off yet.

"i knew you had it in you. you proved mclaren wrong today, darling."

once the media frenzy and subsequent debreifs are over, he's back in his driver's room with y/n

she has two bottles of champagne and a grin on her face as she passes one to danny.

"you deserved to be on that podium today. but we can still celebrate their way."

giggling and laughing as they chase each other around the driver's room with the bottles of champagne spraying everywhere like water pistols

her white dress plastered to her body

daniel's black fireproofs even tighter against his chest from the dampness

the champagne is all fizzed out, and they're both drinking out of the bottles as they find their way back to each other

champagne filled kiss, tongues sliding against each other as they hold each other close.

"i'm so proud of you, daniel joseph ricciardo."

slow dancing together after they've both changed into dry clothes

y/n had to borrow some of daniel's since she didn't plan ahead :)

walking out of the paddock hand in hand, daniel has this mischievous, shit eating grin on his face

"i love you."

he would say quietly, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead before they both got in his mclaren

singing spice girls songs at the top of their lung son the way back to the hotel

ordering room service

all around celebration

and then when it's all over and they're standing on the balcony the next morning, watching the sun rise over the horizon, danny says the inrevitable.

"marry me."

"what?"

and then he gets down one knee. he doesn;t have a ring just yet, but he'll take her to get one before the weekend is over if she says yes.

"y/n y/l/n, you have been with me through some of the best and worst time of my life and career, and i can't imagine spending another day without you. you always know how to make me smile, how to cheer me up after a bad race. everything with you is so easy, and you fit into my life more perfectly than i ever could have imagined. i don't want that to ever change.'

she said yes

and he was so excited for the rest of forever with y/n at his side

[secondtechnicianrimmer]

Space Corp. Directive #1215225

For some ungodly reason, you fancy the second technician, but you'd be damned if you ever admitted it.

Pairing: Arnold Rimmer x (F) Reader

Warnings: None!

Chapter Thirteen: Stay With Me

//

Perched on the examining table in the holosuite, you felt like a little kid waiting to see the dreaded doctor. Your legs swung helplessly under the table, keeping a steady rhythm that mirrored the beeping and chirping of the machines all around you.

Beside you, now sprouting wires in every colour of the rainbow, sat Rimmer’s light bee. Kryten had hooked him up to the computers, and now everything that made up Rimmer, every personality quirk, every vocal tick, every freckle on his body, was listed before you on a screen.

The holosuite was unbearably tense. Kryten hadn’t said anything for a while. As he read from the screens all around him, you felt sick to your stomach.

Cat hung in the doorway, more curious than concerned, but Lister stood beside Kryten, urging him to hurry up and give you all the verdict.

“It’s faint, sir,” Kryten said solemnly. “But his light bee is still emitting vital signals.”

You sat up, heart pounding. The fingers you’d been knotting together anxiously for the past hour finally stilled.

“He’s still alive?”

“So to speak, ma’am. We just need to fix the casing and he should be fine.”

Another anxious wait ensued. Kryten seemed to grow uncomfortable with you all watching, so he sent you off to have dinner and promised he’d let you know when the light bee had been repaired.

You barely ate, you just sat with Lister and Cat, staring moodily at the table until they forced you to have a piece of toast. Churning and grating like the abandoned Starbug’s engine, your mind couldn’t rest.

A million questions swarmed all around you. Would Kryten really be able to bring Rimmer back? What if he did and he’d changed somehow? Rimmer’s personality was stored in a computer chip. If a line of code was misplaced, he might be a completely different man. What if he’d forgotten all that you’d built together? What if he did come back, your Arnold, and you weren’t brave enough to tell him what he meant to you?

You stared at your plate. Time ticked on, agonisingly slow.

When Kryten’s voice finally echoed over the speakers, you were up out of your chair before he’d even finished speaking.

The light bee still rested on the bed when you all piled back into the holosuite, though it seemed in much better shape than the last time you saw it. Kryten had managed to fix the cracks in its casing and had replaced what few parts he could.

Gingerly, you picked it up, running the pad of your thumb over its side.

“C’mon, Arn,” you murmured. “Just do this for me. Please. Just hang on.”

With your crewmates eyes on your back, your kissed the light bee one last time, then gently laid it back down on the bed.

You moved to stand beside Lister, who nudged your arm with his elbow.

”That was sweet.”

”Shut up, Dave.”

His face set with grim determination, Kryten counted down from three, then flicked a switch.

The light bee glowed for a moment, fizzing like TV static, until finally, Rimmer appeared on the bed.

He clutched at his chest, then at his stomach where the bolt of electricity had struck him. His body heaved as he drew in shaky breath after shaky breath.

“What happened?” he asked, glancing between his friends until finally, his eyes settled on you.

Rimmer’s shoulders sank a little, his face softening, but you couldn’t enjoy the fact that he was obviously pleased to see you. All your anxious energy had twisted and grown into anger, and suddenly you couldn’t think of anything you wanted more than to shout at Rimmer until your voice was hoarse

“You fried your light bee, you stupid bastard! You stepped right in front of the engine.”

Rimmer frowned, still panting.

“It looked like it was going to explode!”

“Exactly! So why did you throw yourself at it, you bloody idiot!”

“If I hadn’t, it would’ve hit you!”

“I-” You stumbled, taken-aback. “Oh.”

It took a lot to leave you speechless, Rimmer knew that better than anyone, but you stared at him, completely stunned. He hadn’t been trying to get closer, he’d been putting himself between you and the danger.

Rimmer was staring right back at you, and now you suspected his chest was rising and falling raggedly for an entirely different reason.

“Is it fixed?” he asked Kryten, though his eyes never left you. “My light bee?”

“Yes, sir. You may want to take it easy for a while but you’re essentially healed. It’s lucky that the lieutenant kept you so close.”

You frowned.

“What?”

Lister snorted so loudly, you almost missed what Kryten said next.

“Electrical impulses, ma’am. The light bee is a very sensitive piece of technology. The electrical impulses in your body kept it charged.”

Lister looked so pleased, you could practically hear his smug smile.

“You must have been holding on awfully tight, Lefty.”

Face flushed, you tried to stammer through an explanation. Suddenly, everyone was looking at you and everyone seemed to find it very amusing, apart from Rimmer. He looked like he might keel forward off the bed and pull you into a tight hug. God, you wished he would.

“You saved me,” Rimmer said, his voice soft with disbelief.

When he looked at you like that, so unusually open and honest, it was difficult to remember how to breathe.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You kept me safe.” Rimmer slid off the bed, his gaze fixed on you. “You didn’t even know if there was any chance of restarting my light bee but you didn’t let me go.”

You frowned. The thought was inconceivable.

“I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“I didn’t think… I thought perhaps, after everything…”

“You’re my best friend,” you said firmly.

Slowly, Rimmer began to smile. It was only small at first, he was so very out of practice, but soon it grew until the corners of eyes crinkled and you found yourself smiling right back. You were going to be alright.

/

Later that night, long after everyone else had gone to sleep, you were still awake, staring at the wall, looking for patterns in the patchy grey paint.

Though your body felt heavy and weary, you couldn’t get your mind to rest. So much had happened over the last 24 hours, so much had changed, processing it all could take all night.

The ship was never quiet. There was the low, constant hum of the engine, the rumble of the scutters as they rolled down the corridors, and the soft chirps and hisses behind the walls, the sounds of Red Dwarf navigating its enormous body through the stars.

These noises were all so mundane to you now, they were practically white noise, but it meant the slightest unexpected sound seemed much more jarring than it usually would. When you heard someone walking along the corridor outside your room, then stop right by your door, your heart jumped into your throat.

You waited, lifting your head from the pillow. If it was one of the others, they would knock, then press their palm to the keypad and let themselves in. There was only one person who couldn’t.

Rimmer softly called your name through the door.

Heart pounding, you slipped out from under the covers and opened the door.

Rimmer was still in his pale blue pyjamas, his hair sticking up at odd angles and his eyes heavy. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, like he couldn’t sleep either.

“Hello,” he whispered. “I came to see if- Well, I wondered if I might…”

You laughed quietly.

“Come in, Arn.”

You turned and crawled back into bed, then patted the thin mattress, just as you had done all those years ago, the first time you shared a bed.

You could hardly remember it now, even without the drunken haze over the evening, but you remembered how it had felt to see Rimmer with his guard down for the first time, how it felt to have him close to you. It was the first full night’s sleep you’d had since you came aboard Red Dwarf; no restlessness, no loneliness, no nightmares. All because of Rimmer.

”Are you okay?” he asked as he followed you to bed.

He was so tall and gangly, watching him awkwardly clamber into the bunk beside you without falling out or accidentally kicking you (even though either would have been difficult) made you smile.

“Mm. Tired. But I can’t sleep.”

When Rimmer finally rested his head on the pillow beside yours, you watched each other, just lazily blinking and smiling at each other in the darkness.

His hand twitched nervously at his side, his long, elegant fingers twisting over and under each other, a substitute for the way his right leg would usually bounce agitatedly. You wondered if he even knew he was doing it.

“Today was…”

Rimmer trailed off, his gaze getting lost somewhere near your shoulder. He looked exhausted.

“Yeah.” You smiled. “Thank you again. For saving my life.”

He huffed, reaching down to flatten his hand against his stomach.

“You won’t catch me doing that again. I’m still sore.”

You laughed quietly, shifting around under the covers so that you could see him properly and slipping an arm under the pillow to prop up your head. The movement caused your hair to fall in front of your face. Rimmer moved to tuck it behind your ear for you but stopped himself with his hand raised in midair.

Having him so close still sent your pulse racing but for some reason, it seemed so normal to have him in bed with you. Rimmer’s long legs practically reached the other end for the bunk and your hand rested nervously between you, but it felt right. Good. Safe.

You could feel the warmth coming off him. It felt so natural, you could almost forget he wasn’t tangible. But that seemed to matter less now, somehow. If you really pushed yourself to think about it - even though it made your stomach twist and your heart stumble - you found that not being able to touch Rimmer suddenly didn’t seem like much of an obstacle anymore. Still, your hands ached to feel him.

You watched Rimer’s eyes drift close, only to open again a second later, like he was barely holding onto consciousness. Part of you wanted to let him sleep but for once in your life, the small, selfish section of your brain spoke far louder than the rest.

“I really wish I could touch you.”

Your pulse was steady and strong, your voice low but sure. For whatever reason, the mental block between your heart and your mouth was gone. It had been knocked down the moment Rimmer proved he could be selfless and brave when he needed to be.

You wished it hadn’t taken the sickening jolt of thinking he was gone forever to finally give you courage, but you couldn’t face keeping it all to yourself one second longer. Telling Rimmer how you really felt wasn’t anywhere near as terrifying as almost losing him.

He didn’t seem taken-aback, in fact his expression barely changed. And why would he be? Rimmer already knew because he felt it too.

You watched his face as his hand slid from resting on his thigh, down to the mattress, then up through the small gap left between you. Your eyes never left his as he raised his hand up and let his fingertips ghost across your cheek.

“I wish I could touch you too,” he whispered.

Feeling brave and strangely confident, you asked,

“What would you do? If you could touch me? Right now?”

“Honestly?”

“Show me.”

Rimmer hesitated, then slowly raised his right hand to his left cheek and let it rest there.

You mirrored him, letting your palm settle against your own cheek, your thumb running along your cheekbone, just as his did.

As you watched, Rimmer began to gently move his thumb back and forth across his cheek, his eyelids heavy, his barely-there smile soft and tired.

“What would you do?” he asked. “If you could touch me?”

You didn’t even have to think. You turned your head until you could press a kiss to the soft part just below your thumb. You kept your mouth there, your eyes closed, and imagined it was Rimmer’s lips you were kissing.

When you opened your eyes again, Rimmer was watching you with a sad little smile. After a moment, he turned his head and kissed his hand, just as you’d shown him.

“Please don’t try and save my life like that again,” you said, shaking your head slightly.

Rimmer frowned.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m in love with you. And I couldn’t bear losing you.”

Again, Rimmer barely reacted. You waited with bated breath but the only sign that he’d heard you was the way his broad shoulders relaxed, like he was trying to hide just how painfully relieved he felt. After all, you supposed, again, it wasn't anything he didn’t already know. You’d adored him for years, you were sure even the scutters knew by now.

You watched him, waiting for an answer. You barely breathed as Rimmer’s gaze crossed your face, his thumb still grazing back and forth across his own cheek.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can promise that,” Rimmer said at last.

Barely able to hold back a shuddering breath, you frowned.

“Why not?”

“Because I love you too.”

Neither his voice nor his gaze wavered. The only sign that Rimmer was as nervous as you was the long breath he slowly pushed out through his nose, making his stupid nostrils flare.

The ship was still humming quietly. Its sonorous drone made you shiver, despite your warm covers. At least, you thought it was the ship. It could very well have been Rimmer’s low voice, or the way his eyes stayed fixed on yours.

You didn’t even realise you were smiling until you tried to talk and your own happiness got in the way.

“You lo-” You laughed softly, closing your eyes for a moment. You weren’t entirely certain you weren’t dreaming. “How long have you..?”

“A while. A long, long while.” With his free hand, Rimmer grazed his fingers past your cheek again, then pressed his palm over his heart. “When I get a body, I promise-”

“Don’t,” You shook your head, then shuffled nearer until you were as close as it was possible for you to be. “You’re enough, just as you are.”

Somehow, you’d always known it. And maybe that’s what had scared you so much. Not being able to touch Rimmer had been a good excuse to not think about it, or rationalise it, or even admit it to yourself, let alone him. But you didn’t need to touch him, not really. It would be nice but- You loved him, you loved him so much, and he loved you too, and that was more than enough for you.

Finally, you could feel your body starting to give in to the night. As you sank into the bed and sleep gradually overwhelmed you, the thin mattress and jutting metal frame felt soft as a feather. Rimmer loved you.

You closed your eyes, focusing on the warmth of his body, just a few inches from yours. You heard him sigh deeply and subconsciously copied him.

“Stay,” you murmured, your mind and body suddenly so heavy and drowsy, you could barely form the words. “Stay with me.”

Rimmer smiled.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

//

Next Chapter

Master List

[isahorcrux]

A scrap sounds fun!

I'm so glad you asked -- so @oyprongs' gift had at least 3 (maybe 4) different iterations before we landed on with funny glasses and lots of fizz.

This was the first iteration, where James and Lily (who are both crushing hard on each other) would end up on the same flight to New York and hilarity ensues. Texting AU and mutual pining like with funny glasses, but new friends versus friends forever.

and bonus - chaotic sirius:

send me an ask about my wips

[rodeoblitz]

Theory: going by teases from Viv, Full Moon could be where Stolas and Blitz arrange a meet up which leads to them talking about the Oz/Fizz situation. Blitz will try to lead this into their usual romance, at which point Stolas will instead attempt to give Blitz the crystal -

He'll apologise to Blitz for what he feels as holding their arrangement over him and as a make good, has obtained the Crystal so that he can end their arrangement. Blitz will take this badly, thinking that Stolas only ever saw him as a play thing until he was no longer required-

Huge argument ensues, eventually ending in them admitting their feelings for each other. Blitz breaks down over the revelation and that he messed up again. Stolas consoles and places the Crystal into his hands. Both agree they need to figure things out, before embracing. As the episode is about to end, we see that Andrealphus had been watching the whole time. Learning about Stolas loaning the Grimoire and his longterm feelings for Blitz

[ciaossu-imagines]

Writing for Nanbaka again, yay! Keeping with the grand plan, I used this prompt here for some headcanons. This time, I used a spin a wheel pick-a-name thing to decide the character and hope you guys will enjoy these headcanons for Musashi!

Fancy or casual?

His clothing has become a lot more casual as he aged because as a child and a teen, Musashi preferred a more formal style of clothing and took pride in looking his best. It wasn’t until being sent to prison that his clothing and overall style became more casual and relaxed.

Closet or dresser?

Musashi would prefer a closet, where there’s a combination of room to hang things so that they don’t get wrinkled or to put things that can be folded on shelves. His closet would tend to be very organized and possibly organized by the weight of the fabric so that he could easily tell what to grab for the weather.

Hot or cold?

Because of his excessive heat, cold foods heat up or melt easily if he handles them too much and because of that, he tends to prefer warm or hot meals. In terms of weather, he prefers colder weather because his body temperature is already so warm that hot weather causes him to feel a bit sick.

Meat or veggies?

A mixture of both is ideal, in Musashi’s opinion, but if he had to pick, he’d rather go vegetarian and give up meat entirely than give up vegetables.

One pillow or multiple?

Multiple pillows is a goddamn luxury, in Musashi’s opinion, or so he’s discovered after life as a prisoner. He’ll happily take multiple pillows over one any day, as he really likes good neck and head support to keep his shoulders and back from becoming stiff and sore when he wakes up.

Organized or messy?

Very organized. Not quite obsessively so but he’s always been a pretty neat individual and being blinded has made a good amount of organization a necessity for him to live as normal a day-to-day life as he can.

Games or books?

Musashi is actually a fairly big reader. He loves books and has since he was a child, devouring them fairly quickly. He’s not too finicky about the genres he reads either. He’ll switch genres fairly regularly, just to keep from getting too bored with any one thing.

Hide and watch or stand up and fight?

While his younger self wasn’t much of a fighter, the death of his parents and the ensuing torture at the hands of the Man with the Scar left Musashi a very different person, someone who was a lot more angry and violent. He still retains a lot of that stand and fight mentality but is working on resisting it more and not giving into that temptation following his fight with Jyugo.

Shy or social?

He was a fairly social child who became a shy teenager and adult. He struggles quite a bit with social anxiety, to be honest, but he genuinely wants to overcome that and make friends.

Soda or juice?

Musashi actually doesn’t much care for soda. The fizz just doesn’t feel great on his tongue and it’s very sweet to him so he prefers juice, but only actual fruit juice and not the overly sugared fruit juice drinks like Hawaiian Punch or Kool-Aid.

Handheld or console?

Neither. Because of his lack of sight, video games are kind of hard for him to master, though he’s willing to try them. They’re not things he seeks out on his own though, that’s for sure.

Light or dark?

Musashi prefers the light. Even without being able to see it, it’s a different feeling on his skin than that dark and he’s happier when it’s light outside.

Scary or happy?

Happy, please. This man has had more than enough of scary, sad, or horrific things in his life.

Movies or restaurants?

Both! He does like classic films, getting into them early on as a child but he also enjoys a good meal out, either alone or with company.

Car or bus?

Buses and other public transport actually make Musashi really nervous and unsettled feeling. He prefers a car or to walk, if at all possible.

Carpet or tile?

Tile feels better to him. It’s always slightly cool on his feet and smooth in texture. He doesn’t really care what it looks like, but feeling wise, it’s always superior to him.

Love or wealth?

Musashi grew up fairly wealthy. His parents weren’t hard up for money by any means and he knows both what it’s like to live in a fair amount of luxury and what it’s like to do without and he’s been able to live both ways without too much difference to him. Living without any love or affection though is really hard for him and he’d take reliable love from someone over money any day.

Markers or coloured pencils?

Coloured pencils are his preference. They feel better in his hand and, back when he could see, he enjoyed the wider variety of colours they came in compared to most marker packs.

Independent or dependent?

After the death of his parents, Musashi became so used to being alone and having to survive on his own that independence was something he learned quick and he’s still quite independent but naturally, he is a more dependent person who functions best with other people in his life and day to day routines.

Hat or necklace?

Musashi actually has a nonstandard sized head and has quite a bit of trouble finding hats that properly fit him, so he’d take a necklace over a hat for that reason alone.

Poster or calendar?

Most posters are meaningless to him after losing his sight, but he does have a Braille calendar that he uses. He likes knowing what day it is because it’s easy to lose track of that in prison.

Pain or death?

Death. He’s been through pain, over and over again. So many times, and it’s still so much a possibility of that happening again because of his unique abilities. Because of that and because of his past, there is a small part of Musashi that seeks and wants the release of death and the opportunity to be back with his parents again.

Science or math?

While he studied and worked hard and he is quite good at math, Musashi prefers science, finding it the more fascinating of the two topics.

Shower or bath?

He overheats in the bath if in there for too long but there’s nothing quite like an ice-cold shower to get Musashi’s blood flowing and his mood lifted.

Socks or slippers?

Does he have to choose? Honest to God, if Musashi could, he’d walk around all day, every day in just his bare feet as he doesn’t really much like socks or slippers. His feet sweat badly in them and then it stinks and it’s just not good for anybody.

Chips or crisps?

He calls them chips, being German.

Secretive or open?

For a long time, Musashi was very secretive, really keeping his feelings and thoughts and experiences locked up tight in his mind. He’s really working hard on becoming more open and honest with others and with himself.

Friendship or romance?

Honestly, at this point in his life, while he wouldn’t turn down romance, he’d much prefer friendship. And even with romance, Musashi would prefer a romance that evolved from an existing friendship rather than just jumping into dating someone.

Talent or skill?

Talent, to Musashi, is something you’re born with and don’t have to work hard for while skills are developed and things that you have to put effort into, so he finds skills more impressive.

[justin-chapmanswers]

Justin, if you don't mind me asking. Will be there more "Inanimate Answers"? (It's ok if you dont answer)

Answering another one of these separately because my brain had a little brain-thought. Noggin-whispers. Skull-wiggles.

Exit Interviews! Like today's! Are similar! To Inanimate Answers! Mayhaps't've??

For some background, for Blueberry's I arranged the questions in order and had Barry improvise answers. Then I used those responses to write transitional phrases for our interviewer, Yellow, whose dialogue was mostly scripted. Then with Fan's, I arranged the questions again, but then Brian and our interviewer, Absolute Legend Mickel™, completely improvised their interview on the spot. Then maybe Adam did some light improv for Lifering? OJ's was very scripted, but in a fairly straightforward question-answer way.

Aaaaand, to get the present, Since Box's bizarre Exit interview, Brian and I have been writing them out together, with occasional guest writers, such as Dee helping a lot for Clover's. And here the goal of each of them is to not only find fun answers to the viewer's questions, but to also either find a real core to a contestant's story and help them re-ground themselves post-show, like for Tea Kettle and Cabby, or to shed some more light on a character by having them have an affect on an interviewer who needs to learn a lesson, like for Lifering (in the Box Exit), Clover, and Goo.

And this was always the mentality of Inanimate Answers! Just in a new form. Sometimes Apple needs to learn a lesson from Justin+Santa, sometimes Justin needs to learn a lesson from Balloon. And, in both shows, zaniness ensues. I'm still laying out viewer questions, and getting to use them to craft a little story that explores character not only through those questions, but also a culmination of what those questions mean to the character. It's fun!

One plus for the Exit Interviews is that I get to craft an interviewer who works as a strong foil for the contestant. Dr. Fizz is the perfect target to be driven crazy by Lifering, Bryan as an Interviewer was written to have insecurities that only Clover could help with, and now with today's Goo Exit, I knew for a long long time I wanted to create an interviewer for Goo who would be entirely opposed to Goo's silly existence.

On the flip-side, getting to write the very very bizarre character of Inanimate Answers Justin is veryyyy fun. I do think he fits best when placed next to Knife, whom Justin was created to bounce off of. Not to say that Justin doesn't work next to the other contestants on Inanimate Answers, but I remember when I decided I wanted to do Balloon next that I realized that the core couldn't just be the comedy of Balloon being annoyed by Justin's zaniness, because Balloon natural wouldn't react as strongly as Knife. So, that's when we started exploring different types of cores of an episode, such as showing Justin in the wrong and needing Balloon to help show him the light. Or Justin and Bow who get along surprisingly well, and it becomes about their chemistry. Or Justin being able to easily spot the underlying insecurities Apple has and having a deep dive into the root of those.

Aaaaand after writing all that, I'm missing Inanimate Answers more haha.

But! Exit Interviews are always a delight, as well. And I very much hope that y'all have a fun time as I and the team play around with different fun ideas to play with the question-answering, whilst've still trying to make mainline eps as frequently as possible. Wish us luuuuuck.

Aaaanyway I'm really happy with the Goo Exit Interview. Gettin' all gooey thinking about it. Hope you enjoy! And lemme know what y'all think on Inanimate Answers vs Exit Interviews (vs Fan Features??)!