#i think he should get to front though. i think that would be fucking awesome

[luveline]

Omg please kbd uncle Eddie:’)

dad!steve x mom!reader, 1k

“Hi, Uncle Eddie.” 

Eddie rubs his hands together, holds them out in front of himself, and summons the prodigal child forward. “Bethany. Quick, give me a hug.” 

Bethie walks into his waiting arms, her giggle infectious as she says, “That’s not my name.” 

“Bethie,” Eddie says with a sigh. “You know my full name is Edward. Full names are nothing to be ashamed of.” 

“It’s Bethie.” 

She pushes the hair off of his shoulders. He smiles at her and her little hands. If someone told him ten years ago he’d be carrying Steve ‘King of Hawkins High’ Harrington’s babygirl around like a treasure he’d laugh in their face, but he loves Beth. She’s hands down his favourite Harrington, and he’s allowed to have favourites as an uncle, though the other clingers are cool too. Beth is Eddie’s favourite because she’s an underdog, and because she’s so clearly infatuated with him. They’re best friends. 

He gives her a pat between the shoulders and slips down into a seat in front of the TV. There’s no signs of the other babies nor their parents; Eddie always lets himself in when he’s coming around and he doesn’t expect wait service, but a hello would be nice. “Where’s mom and dad?” he asks, setting Beth down into the seat beside him. He zeroes in on a plate of pretzels and snags a few for snacking. “You’re downstairs by yourself?” 

“No! They’re in the kitchen.” 

“Really? What about Ave and Dove, then?” he asks through chewing. 

“Dove is napping and Ave, um, went somewhere.” 

He raises his brows. “Dad took her somewhere?” He imagines Beth would tell him Avery’s run away with similar nonchalance. 

“To Grandma’s. They’re going to watch a play.” 

“Oh,” Eddie springs up off of the couch. “Stay here, sweetheart, I’ll just go make sure they know I’m here.” 

Eddie is scared to open the door. Why is it closed? He supposed parents are deprived of one another but he doesn’t wanna see you kissing. Then again, if he does see you kissing, Steve will die of embarrassment. That’s worth it. 

“Hello!” he shouts, throwing open the door. 

He makes you both jump hard, Steve’s head thwacking a cabinet and your hand thrown to your chest. You almost fall on your ass where you’re kneeling by Steve’s leg. His pant leg is pushed up to the knee, and you have a tweezers in hand —Eddie frowns abruptly. 

“What the hell are you doing?” he asks. 

“Steve has a tick, you fiend. When did you get here?” 

Steve groans. “The door was locked,” he says, rubbing the back of his head. 

“Not well. Just stuck my credit card in there and wham. You guys should slide the chain in if you’re gonna leave poor Bethie all by her lonesome, don’t you think?” 

“Eddie, the door was locked,” Steve says. “You’re the only weirdo in Hawkins willing to break in. Plus, I still have that baseball bat in the garage.” 

“Sure. Come on, sweetheart, get off the floor. Let Eddie have a stab at it.” 

You laugh and pull Steve’s pants down over his shin. “It’s fine, I already got it. He might get Lyme’s now because you scared the fuck out of me–”

“Language.” 

“–but I heated it up and I think I got it.” You look up with a smile. Steve pauses his pained head rubbing to beam at you lovingly. 

“I’m sure he’ll be fine. Or he’ll turn into a zombie, and that would make him cooler. Win win. So, dinner?” Eddie asks. “Should I go get something?” 

“Nah, I made ravioli, you rude idiot. Where’s Beth?” 

“I told her to stay put in case you were making out.” 

Steve helps you up from your kneeling to dust you off. “Thanks for saving my life,” he sighs tiredly, kissing your cheek. 

Eddie rolls his eyes and turns away. Steve should love and appreciate you, you’re awesome, but he’s also a loser and Eddie’s entitled to thinking such disparaging thoughts about his friend from time to time. 

You and Steve made a kid as cool as Beth, so Steve can’t be too bad of a loser.

“Uncle Eddie?” 

“Yes, my lovely sweetpea angel?” Eddie asks. 

She stares at him, adorable in all her chubby-cheeked, sugary-eyed sweetness with her hands held up for another hug. Eddie leans down, says, “Daw, I can’t say no to you,” as she giggles into his hair. He strokes the top of her shoulder with his thumb. “So what’s happening? How did that painting go with mommy, did you put it in the contest?” 

Steve nudges you forward with a hand on your shoulder. “He’d make a good dad, right?” 

“For sure,” you say, “not as good as you, though.” 

“Oh, you’re flirting with me, that’s cool… Are you free Friday night?” 

“Probably gonna be pulling ticks off of some other guy's leg.” 

“Oh, that’s fine, I was busy anyways.” 

Beth giggles as Eddie tips her backward, a mixture of nerves and excitement that kids experience so much more than adults. 

“I always expected him to just end up with a kid. Like, one night stand style,” Steve says. 

“There’s nothing wrong with that. At least then he doesn’t get stuck marrying somebody he doesn’t love.” 

Steve glares at you as you laugh, dragging you into his arms to smush kisses into your cheek. “Don’t even joke about that.” 

“Sorry, honey. I hope Eddie gets as lucky as me someday.” 

Beth begs to be put down through giggles. “I don’t know,” Steve says, resting his cheek on your temple to watch her laugh, “I don’t think Eddie has luck, just sheer force of will.” 

“He’d totally get a baby in a basket on his doorstep.” 

Steve mulls it over. “God, he totally would.” 

[kayentokk]

Easy Peasy Sukuna Squeezey(Part 2);Fuck It.

Pairing;Sukuna x Fem! Reader

Summary;Sukuna has found a solution? Kind of, one hint though. It’s not ice cream.

Contains;fluff, little argument, not an adult way to deal with problems, cussing, chef Sukuna, totally not feelings(that Sukuna doesn’t have for you), life is ass sometimes, soft Sukuna 

Wc;1,719

A/N;Okay, so I definitely went heavy on the chef Sukuna.

Prev. Series M.list Next

“I hope you’re hungry for pasta ‘cause that’s what m’makin,” he lowly grumbled walking into the kitchen.

“Yeah pasta is fine.”

You’ve watched Sukuna cook a multitude of times, and each time he looks so comfortable. So at peace, well when he’s not cussing out the stove for taking a long time to heat up. 

“Y’want garlic bread?”

“With cheese on top?”

“Are ya askin me?” He teases.

“Sukuna-,” you started to retort with an irritated tone. 

“Ask nicely, y/n.”

You just mumbled out a low “can you put cheese on top?”

“What’s the magic word?”

“Oh my Go-“

“It’s just one word, sweetness.”

You rolled your eyes at the saccharine nickname coming from his lips, “Sukuna you’re seriously on my last-“

“Hmmm?” He feigned innocence while cutting you off again.

You let out a defeated sigh mixed with agitation and said, “please?”

“Seeee? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Oh yeah, so glad it amused you,” you replied rolling your eyes once again.

“It did.”

Sukuna turned the stove up, the small notches making little tick noises each time the setting changed, and began to boil the pasta. 

He was always meticulous about the way he cut up the vegetables and such, one time you even asked him why it mattered and he grumbled something about how eating ugly vegetables is gross. You weren’t exactly sure how one little crooked square would make it ugly since it’s all going in the same pot, but to each their own right?

“You should be a chef,” you blurted out.

It wasn’t a bad thought, just an inside one. But who wouldn’t want to see a chef Sukuna? The lean but buff figure putting garnishes on top of things and his triceps and forearms flexing each time he stirred a pot or chopped a veggie. His forehead collecting little beads of sweat from the steam of the pot he just opened to taste the contents. His fingers cupped underneath the spoon, and his cool breath blowing on the spoon causing his lips to purse-

“Y/n,” he says snapping his fingers to pull you back to planet Earth.

You immediately refocused your attention on the present moment and nervously asked, “yes?”

“Are y’gonna taste this sauce? Or just keep staring off into space?” 

Then you noticed the wooden spoon in front of you and hastily tasted the sauce. 

“It’s good!”

“Yeah,” he replied, “but as awesome as this tastes I was telling you, before you went all spacey on me, that a chef isn’t exactly the job f’me.”

“What,” you said with a pout, “why not? You’re so good at it. I could even be like your sous chef or something.”

“It’s just not, I dunno, it doesn’t feel like my thing.” 

“But-”

“I’ll cook for you all y’want mkay? So don’t complain, cause you basically get a lifetime of free meals. I don’t think Yuuji even gets as many meals as you do.”

“That’s because I’m always at your apartment, and you’re always cooking.”

He just gave a gruff hum in agreement with your statement. The truth is, Sukuna had never thought about what he wanted to be after college. Being a chef wouldn’t be all that bad but he’d have to cook for everyone, not just you. Which, for some reason, didn’t sit right with him. 

When the food was finished he plated it and set it in front of you with a glass of water. You gave him a low thanks and began eating. You hadn’t noticed before, but you must have been starving because you were scarfing his food down. 

“Let me know if you want seconds with that,” Sukuna said while playfully grinning. 

“Oh shut up,” you said chuckling. 

There it was, your laugh, your bright smile. He loved seeing that. To Sukuna, sadness didn’t fit you. It just wasn’t an emotion he would associate with you. To Sukuna, You’ve never truly been sad, well besides the little petty things you’d get upset over. To Sukuna, those were way different because they were fixable.

That’s why thinking about the current situation made Sukuna’s jaw clench, and even worse it made him scared because what if he couldn’t fix it this time?

Once you both finished eating you had decided you wanted to talk about it. You just needed to get some things of your chest. 

He was washing dishes when you started to speak, “I just don’t understand.”

At first he was about to ask, “understand what?”He had forgotten about the problem, and for a moment so did you. But he knew that you’d open up eventually so he just listened. 

You went through a rundown of exactly what happened. You told him about the tip-off from the mutual friend, the obscene sounds you heard, the trail of undergarments leading to the bedroom, and your little exit. Sukuna was pissed to say the least. He just didn’t understand how some ugly narcissistic asshole could throw away everything. What an idiot. 

Sukuna focused in on what you were saying again, “I mean, I think I was a good girlfriend…I thought I was anyways. People say it happens sometimes though….I just never really imagined it happening to me.” 

You continued on, I mean I probably should have seen it coming.” You scoffed before continuing, I mean just look at me-“

“Stop that.”

Sukuna hated that. He hated it, that you could feel so doubtful towards yourself. Like you weren’t good enough for that sack of shit. 

“You could find someone else, t’treat you nice and stuff.”

You laughed at his response, “That is only gonna happen in my dreams ‘Kuna.”

He just shrugged as if saying, “you never know.”

“I thought that when I went over there I’d be fine, I briefed myself and I knew what was going on. I was prepared for it. But now I’m just confused, and-“

“Angry?”

“Y’know, not everyone feels anger as an immediate emotion when something wrong happens to them ‘Kuna?” 

“Really? So it’s just me?” He said sarcastically, letting out a short chortle.

You rolled your eyes and continued, “I am angry ‘Kuna. So angry, okay? But I- I can’t just punch someone like you do-“ 

“I mean you could,” he mumbled under his breath  barely loud enough for you to hear. 

You just ignored him and continued with a sigh, “I also can’t just cry and ball my eyes out over it. I won’t let myself, it’s already pitiful enough. Crying about it won’t help.” 

He didn’t have a witty, snappy response to that one. “S’not pitiful,” he said gruffly while drying his hands off on a towel and moving closer to your spot in the kitchen.

“Have you ever been broken up with Sukuna? Actually scratch that, because you ‘don’t do serious relationships.’ You ever been rejected?”

“Y/n, that’s not the same-”

“It is! It’s proving my point. You can get any girl you want, Sukuna! You’ve never experienced anything like that, I don’t even think you could comprehend it at this point,” you said laughing dryly. 

“Y/n, you know that’s not the same, we’re not the same.” He said, beginning to think you were being a bit unreasonable, “and m’not sure what this has to do with me, but all I’m saying is that there’s nothing wrong with feeling angry or sad about the situation y/n. It’s perfectly normal to want to punch a guy who cheated on you,” he said escalating, “You should feel betrayed! Hell you should-“

“Don’t tell me how to feel,” you mumbled.

He paused, calming himself before speaking again. “I get it, okay y/n? You’re hurt, and I-,” he pauses in frustration, running a hand through his hair to push it back out of his face, “I wasn’t trying to tell you how to feel. But comparing and contrasting our lives isn’t gonna help.”

Sukuna was offended. his life is different from yours, way different. And if he’s being honest, it’s not one you’d want to live anyways. Sleeping with random people, there’s not a difference from any of them. Half the time he can’t even remember them, or they’re blowing up his phone. 

It’s just a distraction for him, for what he hasn’t exactly figured out yet. Well, deep down he knows but he’d never let himself admit it. And with all the “relationships” you’ve been in. It’s the only way he stays sane at this point. 

“I know, I know, sorry for ‘comparin,” you said knowing you were wrong. 

He sighed not liking the way the conversation had taken a turn, “y’dont hafta say sorry Y/n. I just wish y’would channel your inner me or something.”

“What? You mean act crazy and go beat my ex up or something Sukuna?”

At first, he was just joking with that comment. Trying to bring the light back into the heavy conversation, but he thought about it and seeing a more crazy side of you wouldn’t be so bad. Not that he’s crazy, but thinking about seeing a more loose side of you intrigued Sukuna.

“Well, while that is a me thing to do it’s not exactly what I was thinking.”

“What were you thinking?”

“Fuck it.”

“Fuck it? That’s what you want me to do?”

That is such a Sukuna thing, but only with hookups. Make no mistake, Sukuna is an adult, and he does have responsibilities and priorities that he has to take care of now. So ‘fuck it’ is only for situations where he doesn’t have to care. 

“Yes. I want you to say fuck it to this whole situation, hang out with me the whole weekend and not contact him,” he says while crossing his arms. 

“Even if he calls me?”

“Especially if he calls you. I’m sure he’ll get the hint. Since you left your spare key there and made quite the exit,” he said deviously. 

You rolled your eyes and huffed out a, “fine, let’s fuck it.”

“With pleasure,” he stated. 

You were actually excited for this weekend, sure this wasn’t a very adult way to handle things. But if you were being honest, you didn’t want to handle it, you just wanted to act like it never happened. Not ideal, but it’s fine. Besides, some of your best life experiences were with Sukuna, what could go wrong?

@/cafekitsune for the divider

[pseudophan]

some post wad weekend thoughts...

i just wrote all this on the plane and haven't read it through so apologies for any mistakes

first of all, this weekend was incredible. i usually just kinda sit at home doing not much of anything, and this was a much needed break to actually have some fun. london in general always lifts my spirits but i suppose that danisnotonfire guy contributed a little as well.

guys i think i've met more people the past few days than i otherwise have in years. like. holy shit. i started listing people but i'm petrified i'll forget someone so i chickened out, sorry about that. but you all know who you are. i've met friends i've had for years, people i used to know but haven't spoken to in what feels like a decade, newer friends, and a frankly baffling amount of people i didn't know yet but who told me they've followed me for ages. like holy fuck you guys lmao what the hell??? and i mean did the reaction ever get old no of course it didn't. bad for my ego i'm sure but totally worth it. there's something very amusing and incredibly surreal about being chronically lame in most aspects of life and then suddenly finding yourself in an environment where you're kinda cool???? SO fucking fun oh my god, but also i do kinda feel like i've tricked you all? but hey i'll happily let you keep believing i'm cool, that is more than fine with me.

most importantly though everyone was SO lovely. like i said i don't think i've spoken to this many people in such a short amount of time in years and every single person i talked to was awesome. guys did you know phannies are kind of great... don't tell anyone but, lowkey... everyone is so funny and cool and absolutely insane but in a good way (shoutout everyone left at the gates until the very end, we should probably get some help).

and then lastly of course, mr howell himself. i talk about this a lot i feel like but fuck me that man was born to perform. whether you think he's actually funny or not, nobody can argue he doesn't absolutely thrive on a stage. he plays off the audience so well and he's so very obviously having the time of his fucking life. i'd already seen the show twice before this, and i didn't think anything would top the previous london show but man... the first night he came back out after the show having clearly been tearing up backstage, apologising for being an inconsistent absent parent, and i can't lie the "i had daddy issues and THEN i subscribed to dan howell" got me cause yeah no literally dude, you nailed it, exactly, well done. i think something about doing this show again, his magnum opus as he considers it, now after the dapg return was very special to him. he seems genuinely surprised that so many of us were ready to just jump back in like nothing happened, i don't think he was expecting so many people to still be waiting and it's... man. he comes off so grateful for us all and it's so fucking sweet. and then on the last night, i think that was my favourite, when the show ended and he got the standing ovation and people throwing him flowers.. he was so HAPPY. and clearly overwhelmed with emotion which, i gotta say, there is something honestly kinda funny about daniel howell standing in front of you trying not to cry. like no by all means dude go ahead, please, you've made me cry an endless amount of times it's only fair.

ugh. i'm proud of him or whatever. dick. and i'm proud of our ridiculous fucking community. i'm not sure what 14 year old nora would say if you'd told me i'd still be kicking it in the phandom a decade on, but at almost 25 (fml) i'm so so happy to be here still. you know, we get a bad rep, but i genuinely think as far as fanbases go we're pretty solid. and i love you all so much.

i believe i will have to rob a bank or something because the next time dan and/or phil do a tour i think i'll have to just show up at every date like i'm sorry but this was too good of a high we need to do it again immediately

anyway. back to work 💪

(by which i mean giffing dan and phil. i am still very much unemployed. fr though i'm two whole videos behind this has never happened i feel weird. who am i)

[badyan]

Thought onslaught

"I just!…don’t know…"

"Why are you even questioning this?" his voice was cold and unaffected, but you know he doesn’t mean to be so harsh with you. It’s just his usual state. You still feel like you’re interrupting him though…

"It is your birthday. You humans love your celebrations…sometimes even too much," he adds in a lower tone, scrolling for something in his holopad. "So why should no one care this time?"

You go quiet. The thought about you being the most annoying mopping goof floods your mind again. Second day straight. You know too well he has no intention to sound so cold. But two days with these anxious thoughts boiling up within your head…You don’t even have any strength left to pour him your whole heart out. Especially when he’s like this, all in accordance with his role. Right…You should not try to get in touch with him when he’s working. It’s not about personal, you’ve discussed it already — it’s just like his mind switches into the commander mode. And you’ve lost him till the dead of the night.

"Should’ve known better…" you think to yourself, standing up and leaving him alone. Maybe you’re just too tired. Exhausted, actually. Sleep would be great — especially the part when you can have your mind turned off.

You fall flat, huge pillow embracing your face, soft cool darkness soothing your heated watery eyes. You need to take a time-out of this endless thought onslaught. And you can. But right before your mind completely blurs to sleep, you hear him calling you from the other room.

"Where are you?"

"I’ll nap…a bit…" you only mumble in the dark, voice so small in this yearning silence. You know he heard you. You simply try to brush off new wave of trembling overthoughts and force your mind blank, letting the slumber consume you. You don’t want to mull it all over anymore.

The last thing that came to your mind was Ram as you hear some distant clicking of his vents opening in a sigh. Maybe it would have been much easier if you were an omnic like him, able to switch your dumb fucking anxious head off…That would be awesome, even for a bit…

You dissolve into the sweet oblivion of your dreams, now blank, peaceful. Perfect void for your disheartened heart to hide…

…that was until you got scared awake by the sudden noise of fire alarm. Annoying loud beeping was coming from the kitchen, where you immedeately rushed, almost falling because your socks slipped on the smooth floor tiles. You even felt your spine crack from how awkwardly you moved, catching your balance back — but the sight in front of you was worthy of that.

You arrived at the same moment his hand teared the fire alarm detector off the ceiling, crushing it to crunch straight away just to shut the damn thing. He moves frantically, aggressively even, as if this poor alarm could pose a danger to him and all his beloved ones.

Ramattra stands beside the stove awkwardly, oddly slouching and staring at you back silently. The whole scene was so chaotic and so sudden that it makes you both just freeze on the spot, taking a second to comprehend the what-tha-fuck moment. You blink sleepily, taking in the way he stands strangely in the middle of house equipment’s murder scene. He was never jealous of other machines that surround you daily…

Although his pose deceives him badly. Yes, of course it’s usual for him to lower his head like this indoors since he is too large for your cute little kitchen ( or better say, your cute litte kitchen is too small for his full-height posture ) — but right now you sense something off in the way he clumsily stand there, gripping the edge of the countertop, watching you intently with a hint of…guilt?

A deer in the headlights, a little boy who goofed around too much and is now trying to escape getting grounded, quickly eliminating all the evidence of his goofball deeds — that’s what you see in the kitchen instead of your lovely ravager boy. This confounded pose and the way he don’t know where to look to escape your shoked gaze, letting the awfully long foolish pause give him away even more…it’s so obvious that he’s hiding something from you, it makes him sick with embarrassment.

And the more he tries to cover it up, the more it makes your lips curl into a silly smirk. You already know what’s going on — but the view…is charming.

"What?…" was all you can mutter carefully, tone already mischievous.

"Nothing." even his own vocaliser deceives him, pure confusion is evident in his tone. He can only thank the Iris that his faceplate can’t blush, otherwise he would be all red at the moment.

"Why?" your cheeks start to hurt from how big of a smile you have as you point at the poor fire alarm debris in his fist.

"It…it could have waked you up. It did." he objects, though knowing that his arguments sound lame.

"It was doing its job!" you chuckle "It’s the least it could do since big boy commander can’t deal with some mundane human cooking…" you taunt and he lowers his head in shame. He had no time to get rid of the smell of burned food before you rushed over…

You can’t resist this adorable goof. Giggling heartedly, you gesture him to move out of the way. He hesitated for a moment, before he slowly steps to the side, letting you to the stove. There it is — a whole pan of veggies and burned down tomato sause, seasoned with your favourite herbs. All burned, too. You hear his back vents clicking open as he watches you examining the remains of what meant to be your own specialty pasta…

But oh, how his circuitry melts when he’s met with your smile, pure joy shining in your sleepy eyes despite the meal being totally ruined. He freezes, afraid to scare off the moment, finding himself forgetting how to pronounce words. Instead he just stares at you, hoping you’ll read straight from his eyes all the things his soul speaks but his vocaliser can’t yet. At the back of his mind, he sometimes wishes he could have the same deep, gorgeous eyes, just like you, as a human, have…Eyes that can talk louder than any voice or gesture or body language could muster. That would be wonderful, just a bit of this charm any human was born with…

"You sweetheart…" you murmur, gently leaning on him, hugging, snuggling, feeling how his hands wrap around your whole body in his big bear’s embrace, incredibly soft and careful for a creature of steel…your head cradled against his chest and he is nuzzling your hair from up above, planting a silent omnicode kiss.

"You remembered my pasta…"

"Of course I have…I wanted to make you your favourite"

"You remembered my comfort food recipe…to make it for me…"

"… and I burnt the whole meal."

"You! remembered!! and wanted to make!!! for me!!!! and almost cooked!!!!!" you laugh and it fills him with the warmth he has never known.

Perhaps, this is what home feels like…

"So…you’re not mad? Even though I totally screwed it up?"

"Not at all, hun. But I would if we won’t cook it together now." your mischievous smirk is making him thank the Iris again for not being able to blush.

He is enamoured.

~~~~~~~

@statuetochka, @t3chborb silly Rama food is ready!!! fluff flavoured, because my birthday is coming next wednesday, anxiety is getting me and Rama is my babe therapy

[ladykailitha]

Do You Know What Shovels Dig? Graves Part 3

So apparently love and comments are a surefire way to get me to write more, who knew?

*looks over at parts one and two* yeah so...I may do a proper write up this sometime because holy shit the errors in both were BAD. *realizes fully that this will probably be as bad if not worse*

And it may have a total of four parts. Plus this thing really needs a title. Suggest something in the comments. Because I don’t even know what it is at this point.

*

Eddie went back to Steve’s and spent the night. He told Steve about the meeting they had while he was asleep.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Steve murmured.

“The hell I didn’t,” Eddie growled. “Besides, I don’t think that Jonathan or Will was going to let it stand either. El, though? That was awesome.”

“So Joyce is going to make them apologize?” Steve asked, unsure.

“Yeah,” Eddie said. “And I’m going to talk to Uncle Wayne. I just don’t get why he did that. He likes you. Sometimes I think he likes you more than he likes me.”

“He was just trying to be protective of his boy,” Steve said softly.

Eddie kissed the top of Steve’s head. “I don’t care. I’m an adult. It just makes me mad about Hopper and Dustin. And Robin. Jesus Christ! What were they thinking?”

Steve sighed. “I don’t think they were.”

Eddie sighed, too. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”

*

Eddie strolled into the newly minted government funded house that they were given after the shit show with the earthquake, feeling a little better.

“What did I tell you about calling when you weren’t gonna be home?” Wayne asked. He had been waiting by the window for Eddie to come home.

Eddie shrugged. “Sorry about that, but Steve had a breakdown yesterday and I was too busy consoling my boyfriend.”

Wayne blinked. “Is he okay?”

Eddie turned to with a sneer. “Not really. It was something about ten shovel talks, two of them with an actual fucking shotgun. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“Ten?!” Wayne squeaked. “I thought it was just me and Hop.”

Eddie ran his tongue over his teeth. “And that’s another thing. Why did Chief Hopper give Steve the shovel talk instead of me? You know, the metalhead, drug dealing, three-time senior?” 

Wayne blinked. “I don’t know, son. You’re right. That doesn’t make sense. I just never thought it through when he suggested it. Just give Steve a bit of a scare to take care of you.”

“I would think that of the two of us,” Eddie growled, “the one with absent parents, three concussions, and a hopeless romantic would be the one that needs taking care of, not the out and loud metalhead who’s older.”

Wayne’s shoulders slumped. “You’re right, Ed. It’s just that beneath that hard exterior, you’re soft and tender. And I wanted him to know that.”

Eddie gave a high pitched noise of distress. “He knows! That’s why he fell in love with me in the first place. God! Do you not see how messed up this all is?”

Wayne pulled Eddie in for a hug and he went reluctantly. “I do. And I’m sorry your boy got hurt. That wasn’t my intention. Bring him over for dinner and I’ll apologize proper.”

Eddie nodded. “Jonathan said he wanted to throw himself into the pool,” he whispered into his uncle’s shoulder. “I could have lost him.”

Wayne let out a curse. “I’m sorry, Ed. This has gotten so far out of control and it never should have happened. I’ll make it up to Steve. I promise.”

*

Hopper showed up at Steve’s door sometime after Eddie had left to go shower and change.

“Get dressed,” Hopper growled. “We’re going for a ride.”

Steve crossed his arms. “This another shovel talk? Because if it is you can shove it up your ass.” 

Hopper’s shoulders slumped. “No, son. It’s an apology.”

Steve eyed him warily but went to go get dressed. He wrote a note for Eddie and taped it to the front the door. “All right let’s go.”

They drove out to the diner and Steve was told get a milkshake. Steve got a double fudge brownie milkshake, while Hopper got a plain strawberry.

“I just wanted ya to know before I get into the actual apology,” Hopper began. “That ya have a lot of people looking out for ya. Joyce, my El. Even Wayne chewed me out once he found out from Eddie about all the other shovel talks.”

Steve raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“The shotgun thing was all my idea,” Hopper explained. “He wasn’t even gonna do it until I brought it up. It was supposed to be funny. Just a little joke from us to you. I don’t know why everyone else got involved and I am sorry about that.”

“But why me?” Steve cried, his voice cracking on the last word. “I thought--I mean I looked up to you! If I wanted a bully I would have called my real dad.” He was suddenly on his feet.

Hopper looked up at him in shame. “Sit down, Steve. Come on. Please?”

Steve stood there breathing heavily for a moment before he sat back down. Hopper glanced around them and saw that no one was looking.

“You do realize your reputation, don’t you?” Hopper asked after a moment.

“Well, it’s bullshit,” Steve grumbled. “It was all Tommy Hagen spreading rumors to help me get laid. I’ve been with a handful of girls. Sure I’ve dated a lot. But that’s because they leave me.”

“Oh.” Hopper reached across the table and took Steve’s hand. “I’m really sorry, kid. You have no idea. I’m cop. I’m shouldn’t have taken your reputation at face value. I know you’re a good kid with a good head on his shoulders.”

Steve nodded. “I guess it’s just that no one stuck up for me. I just wanted one person to see that I was worthy of defense, too.”

Hopped tilted his head back to stop the tears that threatened to overflow. “Come over here.”

Steve got up and shuffled over to the other side of the booth. Hopper put his arm around him and tucked Steve’s head under his chin. “That’s a valid feeling. And you absolutely deserve that.” 

*

Steve arrived back at his place just as Eddie pulled up in his van.

As Hopper drove off, Eddie turned to Steve. “I hope that was a lot of groveling.”

Steve nodded. “It was. A milkshake, too.”

Eddie nodded back. “Good. You deserve nothing less.“

Steve let them in, pulling the note and handing it to Eddie, because he knew Eddie would be curious to know what it said.

“Thanks for the note, babe,” Eddie said. “I’m glad you got here first, though.”

“You’re welcome. It was also for anyone else who might have tried to come apologize,” Steve explained as he made his way to the kitchen.

He pulled out two water bottles and handed one to Eddie. “I don’t know why I get so thirsty after getting milkshakes.”

“That’s because, beautiful, you always get the richest milkshake on the menu,” Eddie teased.

“But it’s also the best!” Steve protested.

Eddie kissed his cheek. “It sure is.” He chew on his lip for a moment. “Uncle Wayne wants you to stop by for dinner tonight.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Wow. Okay. Yeah, sure. According to Hop, Wayne also called him to bitch him out.”

Eddie grinned. “I know, I was listening. It was glorious.”

Steve laughed.

*

The second Steve walked into the Munson’s house, Wayne pulled in him for a hug.

“I’m sorry, Stevie,” Wayne murmured. “I know you’ll take care of my nephew. Because he takes care of you.”

Steve nodded, melting into the embrace.

Wayne gently pulled away. “Come on, I made your favorite.”

Steve’s eyes lit up. “Holy shit, really?”

Wayne laughed. “I don’t know why you like it so much. It’s super simple.”

“But that’s why it’s so good,” Steve said. “I love your tater tot casserole.”

Wayne waved him in. “Then come on then. It’s hot and waiting for ya.”

They talked and Wayne properly apologized. And after dinner Wayne put on a pre-season football game and got Steve laughing and cheering in no time at all.

Wayne and Eddie shared a glance over Steve’s head. Yeah, this boy was theirs now.

***

And I’ll see about having the last part up tonight. It’ll be everyone apologizing. The reason they didn’t apologize the next day (not only to give Wayne and Hopper a chance to apologize) is because they had to do some real soul searching before they did. Especially Robin and Nancy. 

I also hope I got everyone who wanted to be tagged.

Part four  Part Five  Part Six

Tag: @justforthedead89 @zerokrox-blog @ihavekidneys @didntwant2come @thelittleclare @liorereshkigal @estrellami-1 @swimmingbirdrunningrock

[hypnoneghoul]

Hyp. Your awesome. Your writing is awesome. Could be kinda awesome if you wrote some good ol' RainDrop in a bit of an enemies to lovers or a classic hate fuck situation? Only awesome if ur feeling it, obviously. If not that's cool. Just thought I'd ask to see if your awesome brain came up with anything 🤭

heheh thank you! i had some lore kinda thoughts and it turned into whatever this is. they're not fucking (yet) here, but the enemies to lover vibe is strong. I hope it's okay :3

(and look at my new divider by the amazing @ghuleh-recs!!!)

“What on earth are you doing with that bass?”

Rain jumps at the harsh voice of the other ghoul. He thought he was alone in the practice room—and maybe he was, but obviously not anymore.

“Playing,” he replies, trying his best to sound sure of himself and confident, but it comes out more as a question.

“Making an even bigger idiot out of yourself than you already are is what you’re doing,” Dewdrop scoffs. Rain tries to ignore that pang of hurt in his chest at his words, but it’s hard when every single day for the last weeks all that the fire ghoul’s been doing is showering him in hate. He thinks he may just about have had enough.

Still, he lacks the courage to do anything about it, anyway. When it comes to flight or fight, Rain chooses the former over and over again.

“I’m just gonna go if you need the room,” he says quietly and turns to put his bass away.

“Sure, go abuse that thing somewhere else.” The water ghoul has no idea what Dewdrop is on about. Maybe he is doing something wrong, but how would he know? He doesn’t have a mentor to teach him like all the other ghouls that were summoned to their pack with him.

Rain sighs, packs the bass and turns to leave with his head hung low.

Before he can actually leave, though, Dewdrop stops him. He stands in front of him with his arms crossed over his chest and he’s glaring up at Rain as if he has expected him to do something else.

“Who told you to pick like that?” he asks. Rain’s eyes are dragged to a wrinkle between his eyebrows. It seems permanent, always there with his frown, but the water ghoul thinks he could actually be really pretty if he just…got rid of that everlasting anger etched in his features.

“No one,” Rain tells him the truth. “I’ve been trying to figure stuff out on my own.”

“Why?” Dewdrop asks, seeming completely oblivious. Rain gets a little confused now, too. He knows the fire ghoul’s history, he knows it should be him teaching him his instrument. Did Dewdrop himself forget?

Suddenly Rain gets bolder.

“Well, I don’t exactly have a teacher,” he says louder, straightening up. “I’m doing my best, unlike someone.”

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?” Dewdrop growls and takes a step forward. He’s small—way smaller than Rain—but the pure fire in his eyes can intimidate. Still, the water ghoul doesn’t move.

“You know what! You can’t call me an idiot for not being great at something I have zero idea about just because the person who was supposed to teach me decided to…I don’t know, hate me for no reason!”

Dewdrop’s eyebrows shoot up.

He looks like Rain’s words…got to him and the water ghoul doesn’t know how to feel about it. Is it just a calm moment before the storm, is he about to be burned to the ground with Dewdrop’s anger? His anxious brain manages to come up with a multitude of doomsday scenarios in those short moments.

But what happens is so very different from all of those scenarios.

Dewdrop looks down and scoffs as if he’s regretting what he’s about to do, before he swiftly reaches out and grabs Rain’s arms to keep him close when he stands on his tiptoes and presses his burning lips against the water ghoul’s cold ones.

Rain huffs into the kiss in surprise, but quickly finds it…nice. He relaxes and kisses back and it’s getting more and more heated with every second.

A few moments later it’s Rain who begins to peel the other’s clothes off piece by piece. Neither of them knows what happens, it’s like they black out and in the next moment they’re tumbling on the floor naked.

“Fuck me, Rain,” Dewdrop pants and the water ghoul likes the way his own name falls from his lips. His voice is pretty. “Fuck the hate out of me.”

Well, Rain can’t exactly waste a solution to fixing his own problem?

Can he?

[fandomfluffandfuck]

Hiya, S! Not sure if you're still taking requests but, I had a little idea-

Steve has been working himself too hard, both physically and mentally for weeks now and Bucky has finally had enough and has to go pry him from the gym and sort of force him to relax.. the method he uses exactly is completely up to you.. fluffy or smutty, It doesn't matter. But Steve is kind of denying it all, I haven't been overworking, I haven't been tired at all yada yada, his whole 'I don't need help' shtick so Bucky has to be a little more assertive.

Luv ya! Stay awesome <3

I am still taking requests for right now! And I've been doing a lot, lot of smut recently so I'll take the opportunity to go in the other direction for this if you don't mind.

And thanks!!

So... this is basically the angsty, then fluffy version of this scene 👇🏻 that I wish we got

Warning for Steve being self-destructive, actively self-harming, and, just, in a downward spiral that Bucky helps coax him out of. This sounds super angsty but it ends with fluff, I promise!

Bucky knows when he wakes up alone, just a scant few hours after the post-mission crash dropped them at home, finally back in their very own bed, that he will be able to find Steve down the Tower's gym. Bucky knows this, feeling it down to his bones. Sometimes, he thinks he knows Steve better than he knows himself, and he isn't sure if he should be prideful of knowing his best guy so well, or, if he should be concerned with his knowledge and memory of himself. Either way, even though he knows Steve is down in the gym--beating the shit out of his knuckles with an unrested, already battered body, beating that body in favorite of lying still and letting his mind run in exhausted circles like a snake looping back on itself to swallow it's own tail--Bucky makes sure to check everywhere else first.

He doesn't feel like riding the elevator all the way to the roof, so he asks JARVIS to assure him Steve isn't up there. JARVIS would've waken Bucky to let him know of Steve's whereabouts if he ended up there, regardless, but it can't hurt to double-check. Next, Bucky lifts his weary body from bed to dip his head into the bathroom. No Steve there. Then, he pads, as light on his feet as a cat, to their dark kitchen. No Steve there, either. Bucky sets his hands on the kitchen counter, looking into their open-plan living room. Steve also isn't there, sheltering on the couch, wrapped in blankets, quivering and pretending he isn't, thinking he can "protect" Bucky from witnessing another nightmare (really hiding away from Bucky because he, sometimes, somehow, still gets embarrassed even though Bucky has seen him in every state and never finds him lacking). No Steve anywhere in the apartment.

So, the gym it is.

Without stopping to dress himself any further or do anything at all, Bucky walks out of their apartment on their floor of the Tower into the elevator. He doesn't need to softly request the gym floor. JARVIS already knows. He always does.

"Thanks, J," Bucky murmurs tiredly, standing idle as the doors shut in front of him.

In no time whatsoever, Bucky can hear Steve--thank you Nazi fucks, you absolute monsters, for the super hearing--before he's even left the elevator. It's still descending. Barefoot and in nothing more than a pair of boxer briefs, Bucky leans his forehead against the mirrored wall of the lift, sighing to himself at its cool touch. He prepares himself, tapping his metal fingers against the glass, thinking.

Planning.

What, oh, what am I gonna do with you, Stevie?

He's not upset with Steve. Not really. He's upset with the part of Steve that can't stop. The part that insists he grit his teeth and bare the world's pain and injustice and suffer it all himself as if he has no choice but to do it alone. There's more to Steve than that part, but also, if he didn't have that part of himself, he wouldn't be himself, would he? And so... it's a twisted game. The lynx and rabbit. Chasing.

Forever and ever.

Bucky doesn't know if he's the rabbit or the lynx. He doesn't know if he's either at all. He may be the hunter observing from the outside, not yet sure if he wants to intervene, and certainly not sure who he's going to point his shotgun at. Maybe neither. It hurts to see nature run her cruel course. But what is the alternative? Disrupt? Distract? Should he shout and scare both creatures, leaving them to scurry off with racing hearts? What can he do? What should he do?

The sound of thin flesh and ill-protected bone--just knuckles--against firm, unforgiving leather--a heavy boxing bag--rings in his ears. Ding! A new sound enters his mind. He's here.

Bucky takes one last fortifying breath, not because he's exhausted, not because he doesn't want to deal with Steve, and not for any reason but the scene he knows he's about to walk in on--his best friend, his lover, his everything hurting himself.

Beating himself up. Literally.

Still, Bucky goes.

The pain of seeing it can not be worse than the pain of knowing it's happening and doing nothing to intervene. This is not how it has to be. This is not the natural order. Cruel and sacrificial. Bucky will do something to stop it.

And that something is interrupting Steve in the middle of a particularly brutal assault--on himself and the bag hanging from the ceiling. There's a pile of them waiting to be hung, a grim fate; there's a pile of already strangled bags punched across the gym, spreading deserts of sand between Steve and his own worst thoughts, represented by those bags he brutalized. Steve is slick with sweat like an oil spill, and the smell of grief is coming off of him in feet-sweeping waves. His bangs hang over his forehead, sticking to his skin, gritty and darkened by moisture.

And, God, beneath that bent halo of hair, despite the healthy pink flush covering his face from sweat-beaded hairline to the hem of his shirt, he looks... there is no kind way to say it, Bucky must just say it: Steve looks gaunt. His cheeks are sunken, as are his eyes. With all the sweat coating his weary skin, soaking into his clothes that shroud him, it's no wonder why. He's dehydrated as fuck. Running himself ragged from beyond the blood soaked into his boxing wraps.

And those wraps, Jesus, they're sloppy. Careless. Obviously hurried and barely to be bothered with. They might've started tighter, but Bucky knows at no point were they neat and proper. Steve wouldn't've had the patience. It's a miracle, really, that he's got any on at all. Bucky's seen him go at it bare knuckle until he's ground down to his bones.

Loudly, Bucky clears his throat. But he doesn't make a noise until he's circled Steve so he's in his line of sight. Standing in front of him but just out of the possible path of another exploding punching bag. He doesn't want to stand in his blindspot at a time like this.

The sound of another person joining him jerks Steve into awareness rather than boiling rage and a million other nameless emotions. He comes up from the tempest that was fueling his flurry of devasting, full-weight-and-strength punches that may be enough to wrench his own arms out from their sockets. He freezes so suddenly, caught red-handed, metaphorically and literally, that it looks painful. Such explosive motion to none whatsoever. His chest won't even heave.

He is a grievous statue.

And, his audience, Bucky chooses to say nothing about what he's been caught doing. He won't demand that Steve stop. He won't try to sweet talk him and coax him out of it and back to bed. He won't plead with Steve to stop, hanging off of his shaking, lactic-acid-burning arms. None of those will work when he's so fucking worked up. Bucky can sense it even while he holds himself so perfectly still. He is not moving but he is still vibrating--trembling without trembling, poised to come crashing down sooner or later. The best Bucky knows, is to let him do this, and then be here to catch him.

So, the words that come are sleep-rusty and short, jerking his head to the pile of supplies next to Steve--he's going to wrap his own hands and Steve better re-wrap his while he does.

His bloody knuckles won't stop bleeding if they're going to go toe to toe, and it's not like his dirty bandages are going to do much, it'd take a hell of a lot more than that to penetrate the serum's defenced and give him an infection, but that isn't the point. The point is to hammer home that Steve's body needs to be protected. Still. Even like this. Big, broad, and strong. Especially like this. So fucking tense that he can only relinquish himself to brutal strength or no movement whatsoever. There is no in between. If he tries, he'll break. There can be no weakness.

Bucky will give him the space to find his weakness and then will welcome it with open arms.

So, they box. Knuckles to knuckles. Punch after punch is thrown. Each hit from Steve gets stronger until he's back to nearly damaging himself with the brutality of his own strength, his spirit more than his flesh and blood can take--the way it always has been.

At some point, sinking back into the raging sea of his mind, dropping out of reality itself, Steve's upper lip curls into an ugly snarl and he throws in a kick. Bucky dodges and fakes him out to lure him from the hardwood flooring of the gym where he was wailing on heavyweight bags to the squishy mats in the corner meant for partner sparring.

Once there, he can work through tiring Steve out. Grappling. Kicking. Sweeping his feet out from under him. Taking him to the floor. Pinning him. Punching him. Letting him squirm out of a headlock just to throw him back down. Twisting. Punching. Using everything he's got.

Knuckles to knuckles well past the point of Steve's blood soaking his fresh wraps. Steve's scarlet blood seeps into the white of his own wraps bit also Bucky's. Painting them both with his pain. Bucky will gladly shoulder some of it for him. Always. Forever.

Punch. Kick. Punch. Punch. Kick. Knock down. Grapple. Get up. Punch. Punch. Kick. Punch. Punch. Kick. Knock down. Grapple. Get up. Punch.Punch.KickPunchPunchKickKnockdowngrapplegetuppunchpunchkickpunchpunchkickgrapplepunchpunchkickpunchpunchkickgrapplepunch--

On and on, Steve goes like a wind up toy.

All action until he can't be anymore. It's sudden. And it's right fucking then when he has no more energy, no more effort left inside him, that he withers and wilts. No matter, Bucky can see it coming a mile away from how his combos get sloppy, slower and less offensive, more drawn in and defensive, to how his breathing stutters, going from disciplined and practiced to something of sobs barely reined in with a lash ditch bit of effort to hide how hard he's about to crash. He can't stay on edge forever, though. And when he crashes and burns, Bucky swoops in, not to bunny punch him, popping him with a flurry of hits, but to catch him before he can fall flat on his face.

Bucky won't even let his knees touch the ground, gathering him up with ease. Bucky is so fucking grateful for the few couple of hours he has on Steve, keeping him from being just as exhausted and muddy-headed.

Still, not just because he can think but because he knows this dance so well, it's awful. Awfully hard and heart-wrenching, the way Steve curls into him after collapsing to the floor without a sound of warning. No pleading for mercy. No bloody scream of never being able to do it all--to save them all. Nothing. Just a tight little ball of agony willing to go to the grave suffering before he admits he's struggling. A martyr like no other.

In his hold, Steve clenches his body so tight just the same way he had when he was first caught. Now, he's caught in a different way--caught between trying to fight back the shakes and wanting to shake so violently that he becomes nothing but dust. He's so fucking close to breaking entirely. Barely out of reach of giving way to body-wracking sobs, gasping for breath, tears pouring down his face, snot leaking from his body, and choking on guilt he doesn't deserve to harbor.

Oh, Steve.

Slowly, carefully, Bucky lowers his precious cargo of Steve to the floor, sinking them both into the squishy mats where he can wrap Steve up in his arms more fully and hold him together while he cries it out. Frustration. Rage. Sadness. Depression. Confusion as to why him. Why this? Liability. Bloodstained guilt. Every negative emotion, simple to overpowering and all of it bleeding out of him until he's limp and impossibly more dehydrated than he already was.

He is a husk, empty and thin, and Bucky still loves him. Overwhelmingly so, he loves him. He loves him bad.

Bucky pats and rubs and soothes his hand over his back, the other arm still slung tightly around him to keep him held, until his muscles actually start to get sore. Bucky doesn't care, it's a small thing to weather. There is worse. There will be worse. He will be there for him then, too.

He's stopped counting Steve's heaving, stuttering breaths, but after a handful more, he aches to yawn. He won't. Instead, he swallows the involuntary, nonverbal language of his body down, taking it deep into his chest and tucking it away for later. He'll never be too tired to take care of Steve.

Steve.

Steve with his head is in his lap, his face pressed tightly up against his stomach. He's out of tears. Bled dry. His lungs don't even have it in them to suck in huge, unsteady breaths. His whiffling breaths feel like they're painting Bucky's skin with condensation, humid and heavy with emotion.

"Ready for bed?" Bucky whispers when Steve's hands go limp around his waist, so drained not only can he not cry, not hyperventilate, but he also can't cling on. He combs a hand through his matted, sweat-soaked hair. They both smell like shit; they look like shit, too.

Steve tries to answer him, but his voice is shot to shit from all the crying, and all that will some out is a creaky little rasp that doesn't sound like anything. So, he nods, the motion tiny and admitting of how exhaustion tugs at his bones. There is no fight left in him.

"Okay, then, honey bee, let's get you to bed," Bucky murmurs, not thinking about anything but getting Steve home. He doesn't let the ache in his muscles mean anything as he lifts him up bridal style and starts determinedly toward the elevator. He's careful with him. He's still made of muscle and bone, but Bucky knows he's eggshell fragile beneath thick, unblemished skin. He's an illusion and everyone else is fooled, but Bucky refuses to be. "Bet you're tired, huh? Long day." Bucky is saying it to say it. He's talking. He knows Steve finds comfort in his voice. Sometimes, that's the only thing he can do for Steve, not chase him around and tire him out, but talk to him until he comes down.

So, really, he's not expecting Steve to nod again, but, Lord in heaven above, he does.

Small victories in a war, or, really, a miracle.

Bucky smiles as they step into the elevator, "yeah, baby, I know, I know. You gotta be tired. Anyone would be. I don't really know how you were still on your feet, dollface. You were running on fumes. You deserve a good, long sleep with sweet dreams, Stevie."

"Yeah?" Steve's voice is rust and nails, painful to hear but risking talking because he has to. He sounds so urgently in need of reassurance that Bucky can't take it.

"'Course, honey," he warms, squeezing him tighter in his arms, "and if the dreams don't come, I'll sing to you until they do, 'kay? Like I used to."

"M'kay," Steve says, somewhere between miserably and totally relieved, wrapped around him with both fists curled over his shoulders and that blonde head buried in his chest.

Bucky will hold him; Bucky will sing to him; Bucky will be his--Steve Rogers, not Captain America's--shield.

[rookthorne]

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐀 𝐌𝐚𝐧 𝐎𝐧 𝐚 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

Spontaneity was second nature when you were dating Bucky Barnes, the classic and mechanic extraordinaire. But, what he asked for that particular night caught even you by surprise.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ✯ Mechanic!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ✯ 750

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ✯ Implied spice, crack (so much of it), fluff, do not fuck with a man on a mission

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 ✯ This came about because I was talking to @smutconnoisseur about which Bucky would do anything for chicken nuggets, and, well... Mechanic!Bucky just could not be stopped.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 ✯ Ride on Josephine by George Thorogood & The Destroyers

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

It was late into the night when Bucky stirred next to you, the action flick playing from a streaming service going entirely ignored when he turned to you, a slight pout on his lips. “I’m hungry.”

You glanced at him, brow raised. “There’s food in the–”

“No,” Bucky cuts in, the pout growing bigger. “I want chicken nuggets.”

Laughter bubbled in your chest and you tried to school your expression into staying blank at his earnest request – the damn pouting puppy, you thought. “Nuggets?”

Bucky nodded, his loose hair flowing over his shoulders. "Doll, please." The pout somehow grew impossible to ignore. "I jus' wanna go get nuggets. I won't be gone long–come with me."

Sighing heavily, you considered it. If you went, you could get your own order of nuggets, maybe even convince him to stop at the ice cream bar down the road… “Alright, but we’re stopping to get ice cream.”

The grin on Bucky’s lips as he jumps to his feet was contagious, and you trailed after him to the front door, still in your PJs. 

Bucky’s Mustang was parked next to the kerb, and the chirp of the alarm sounded as the two of you neared it. “Wait, Buck, are they even gonna be able to hear your order over–?”

“I’ll make ‘em hear me, doll,” Bucky laughs, sliding into the driver’s seat. “C’mon, let’s go!”

“Okay, okay,” you rushed, buckling into the passenger seat. “Keep your pants on–”

“I thought you liked them off, sweetheart,” Bucky teased, winking. You just rolled your eyes as he put the Mustang in gear and tore down the road – one mission in mind: to get chicken nuggets. 

The drive through was next to deserted when Bucky pulled in, and you grimaced at the loud rumble of the engine in such close quarters – sure, you adored the Mustang, but it wasn’t the most practical of vehicles to take somewhere where you would need to be heard. 

“Handsome, maybe we should park and go in, yeah?”

Bucky shook his head and pulled into the narrow road, the rumble only getting louder when he pulled up next to the speaker. “What d’you want, baby?” You relayed your order and Bucky smiled with satisfaction upon hearing you requesting nuggets, too. “Alright.” 

The crackle of the speaker could just be heard, then, “May I–oh my god, your car is so loud!”

Bucky snickered and cleared his throat. “Evenin’!” His voice was loud, loud enough to be heard over the engine, even though he had to lean out the window slightly to be closer to the receiver. The worker took the order and sent Bucky to the next window – all the while he had the biggest smug grin on his lips. “I think I made that kid’s night.”

“You think?” You laughed, propping your knees up in preparation to place the order on them. 

A window came into view and you watched a group of teenagers peer eagerly over one another’s shoulders as you approached. “You have fans,” you point out, and Bucky laughed.

“Let’s give ‘em a show.” He pulled up to the window and handed his card over to pay, watching the kids scrabble over one another to get a closer look.

“Mister, your car is- It’s awesome!”

“Is that Eleanor?”

“How?”

“Thanks, kids,” Bucky called loudly over the fuss, his expression bright. “It isn’t Eleanor, but she’s my girl.” For emphasis, he tapped the accelerator once and revved the engine, the grunt of power echoing loudly off the walls. 

You couldn’t help but shake your head fondly, amused by the display. The order came through the window and Bucky handed it to you, still smiling. “Thanks, baby.” He turned back to the kids and revved the Mustang loudly, still grinning like a proud bastard. “See ya, kids, thanks.”

Bucky booted the pedal to the floor and the Mustang roared with the sudden acceleration, and you held the order of nuggets with a loud squeal of shock falling from your lips. “Bucky! The nuggets!”

The Mustang straightened out and purred lowly just as Bucky turned to you, still grinning. “Don’t stress, sweetheart, you’ve got ‘em–now,” he paused, looking to the side to check for cars before pulling out onto the street. “Let’s get you your ice cream, and get back. Those nuggets are callin’ my name, jus’ like you will be.”

You sputtered, eyes wide. “Bucky!”

Bucky, the fool, just grinned wider and winked, speeding up to get to the ice cream parlour.

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑  ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

[darkpoisonouslove]

HotD S02E08

I do not want to do this but I also want to be fucking done with this season so I'm powering through.

TL;DR: What the fuck even was that finale? Also, a relevant question - WHERE is the finale? 'Cuz, like, nothing happened except for more setup and the total assassination of the source material. This is gonna be full of negativity.

gif by oscarwildebutwilder

(Couldn't resist when I saw Freddy Fox.)

Tyland Lannister was the only good part of this episode. He was having such a bad time but he did not give up and not only did he secure allies for the war, but he also got to sleep with a whole harem. Good for him!

The way that they have Larys smuggle Aegon out of King's Landing to protect him from his own brother instead of from Rhaenyra... Though, he also inadvertently ends up protecting him from Rhaenyra but that whole thing is purely because of Alicent. I just... RIP any sort of integrity this show fucking had. But I'm gonna talk about that later. At least that provides us with an interesting parallel between Alicent and Larys. She was horrified when he killed his family but now she's the one sacrificing her son and Larys ended up saving him? Again, for his own benefit but that doesn't change the fact that he has taken on the burden that caring for Aegon will be for the next however many months while Alicent just... did that (*whispers* what the fuck). What we need now is for Alicent to get Helaena's development from the book. She knowingly chose to give up Aegon to death but then he is the last of her children that evades death. Imagine her seeing him come back to King's Landing and being unable to look him in the eye, knowing she chose to let him die but at the same time wanting to hug him because he is all she has left... because of Larys. Insane!

I can see how much everyone cares for Rhaena since she disappeared from the convoy and no one even fucking noticed apparently! Or if they did, they just didn't give a shit. They really are putting her through the wringer for that dragon... and they didn't even give it to her. I cannot believe that they just decided to fucking leave it there. At least let her claim it to close the season. That way the Blacks would gain even more power even if no one knew it yet. It would have been some kind of closure if only on 1 out of 10 fronts. But no!

Jace and the horrible, terrible, no good, really bad days. His face when Rhaenyra asked Addam to go with her AND left him to deal with the "mongrels". Ooh, sorry for that rough patch, buddy, hang in there! (Not Baela only appearing when she has to tell him how awesome and totally Targaryen and fit for the throne he is after her last appearance was her telling her grandfather how awesome and totally fit for the throne of Driftmark Joffrey would be. Hmm... almost like there's a fucking pattern!) I think it would have been more interesting if Jace had suggested that they get bastards to ride the dragons. That would have required them to write him an arc during this season where he confronts his feelings on it first but think about it! He knows he's a bastard and that's enough to let him have a dragon. So it should be enough for other Targaryen bastards. Rhaenyra would be the one to protest based on her ideas of the dragons being the Targaryens' key to ruling but she's already bending the rules for her own sons. What if she bends them further to win this war? And that way Jace would be the one to slowly but surely be dismantling the pillars upon which the Targaryen supremacy is built like he's already done with his very existence. Rhaenyra would have still started this but it would be Jace realizing that he's probably going to face another war for his own succession anyway and he decides to pull out all the stops and prove himself in this war plus simultaneously watch out for those who would be future obstacles to him and weed them out right now.

Fucking clown behavior from Corlys once again. I am so glad Alyn just ripped into him like that.

What exactly was Gwayne thinking bringing up Criston and Alicent's affair so publicly and drawing everyone's attention? There's no way none of the other soldiers around them didn't hear what they were discussing. Great way to protect your sister's virtue, buddy! The way Criston also went through an existential crisis this season - just like Alicent - and has come out of it just as jaded, having lost his faith and his sense of purpose. The writers really fucking copy-pasted that arc, huh? On both characters obsessed with Rhaenyra. As if they're trying to imply that without Rhaenyra the world will end. Oh, wait! Did I say imply? They are outright stating it! But yeah, I want to be invested in the Alicole angst of him sniffing her handkerchief but I can't, knowing that Alicent was on her way to betray him and everyone else on her side. (*whispers* what the fuck)

Aemond is coming up so desperate and this could be interesting if they explore how he was so sure he could do it himself but now he has to face the fact that he's not a one-man(-and-dragon) army and he needs help. Which would have been easier to get if he hadn't torched his brother. He might have even persuaded Helaena to join him then, or at least Aegon could have if they had fucking let him and Helaena seek comfort in each other over their son's death. Aegon, due to their extenuating circumstances, could have chosen to stoke her feelings of anger and grief over Jaehaerys contrarily to how he tried to avoid that in 2x02 when he didn't say anything to her on the stairs because all he had was rage and she wasn't looking for that. The world we could have been living in! But no! We have this instead where Aemond is now turning on all of his family members and threatening their lives while Daemon has overcome his ideas to overthrow Rhaenyra and is now a loyal little soldier. At least can they give us some Aemond and Jacaerys parallels? Both feel that that is something making them not enough rn and if Aemond is to have a relationship with Alys, it would be interesting to see him struggle the same as Jace, who is also a bastard like her.

Apparently, if you are tripping balls for long enough, you will completely change your entire personality and start believing in magic and fate and the divine right of kings - oops, sorry, queens - even though you were the one character that openly admitted that it wasn't some magic-prophecy bullshit that got your house the throne but your flying nuclear lizards. Good to know! At least the writers had the decency to give us two different visions that clearly intersect somewhere but also wildly diverge. We didn't get to see Helaena's vision but she was just as certain in Aegon sitting the throne as Daemon was in Rhaenyra sitting it. Though, clearly Helaena sees further since his vision ended at that point but Helaena was also there and has seen beyond it. At least that way they keep the intrigue because if we know for certain one side is ordained by the gods to save the realm, then what's the point of watching the show further? That is to say, they could have fucked this up even more but they managed to not destroy their basic premise.

Love how they kept Helaena's dreamer side so vague until now and suddenly bam! She has a very clear map of when and how Aemond will die. She might not know the exact day but that was pretty specific, especially compared to her other visions. I am at least relieved that it's mostly because of the visions that she doesn't want to join Aemond, since she knows what will happen. It still feels like "women don't like war because they're so gentle" but a little less annoying nonetheless. (Not Rhaenyra saying that Helaena doesn't like riding Dreamfyre. And that on the heels of Aegon saying that Sunfyre is dead which is a confirmation because he would be able to feel it. My inner monologue rn: kill kill die kill.)

Ser Alfred when Daemon declared for Rhaenyra:

I was starting to think that he had just decided to cut his losses and fuck off to another kingdom. Rhaenyra clearly sent him away to get rid of him and showing up at Harrenhal to demand from the Daemon that left Dragonstone to check with his wife would have gotten him killed. It would have made sense for him to bail. Why did it take him so long to arrive? I know he wasn't on a dragon but this seems like some awfully convenient timing.

Rhaenyra still wringing her hands after she had 30-40 people die a horrifying, excruciating death AND broke the rules so bad that she pissed off all her dragon tamers is ABSOLUTELY. FUCKING. RIDICULOUS. Crack? Is it crack you smoke? Mysaria being there to urge her further into war while telling her how right and just she is is starting to feel a whole lot like they're setting up Mysaria to be the devil on her shoulder while Alicent, who wants peace, is the angel on the other shoulder. It's completely devoid of logic and stupid. I wish they would just cut that shit out.

This episode completely turned me off from Rhaenicent. I just cannot support this bullshit. I don't care how many parallels they've woven in between Alicent and Rhaenyra and how they were always each other's answer because they had what the other wanted and balanced each other out. This behavior is just completely unacceptable from a storytelling perspective, from a character perspective, from any kind of perspective, especially from Alicent.

What the fuck are they implying that Alicent is now fReE and she has shed the chains that kept her suffering and self-sacrificing?! She just agreed to let her son get killed so that she could save the realm from a war. That sounds exactly like self-sacrificing! Except that it's worse because she's not just sacrificing herself, but her child! (Also, fucking watch the writers imply that being disabled means you're completely disposable because you'd be better off dead anyway!) And that's coming after she spent 15-20 years agonizing over the fact that Rhaenyra will kill her sons just because they're a challenge to her claim to the throne! That was the whole reason why she put Aegon on the throne in the first place! How did it even occur to her to go to Rhaenyra at all when now more than ever there is no way to end this war without one of the claimants to the throne dying?????

Season 1 Alicent: *stands in front of a dragon for Aegon*

Season 2 Alicent: *agrees to let Rhaenyra execute Aegon*

Like??????????? WHAT. THE. FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I hate, haTE, HATE how they are still trying to present Rhaenyra's bid for Aegon's head as just or at least deserved because Lucerys got killed. Aren't you fucking forgetting that her husband ordered the decapitation of Aegon's six-year-old child????????? There was a son taken! Rhaenyra was allegedly horrified but now she is still thirsty for blood and wants Aegon's head. And when she kills him, she'll want Aemond's head - for Lucerys and because of all the innocent people he's killed, of course, not because he's also a threat to her claim. And when he's dead, she'll want Daeron's head if he dares to join his family and try to fight her. The attempts to present her as the hero are so outrAGEOUS... Why am I even watching this show? I should stop watching this show!

Otto being imprisoned was both "I fucking knew it!" and "Thank god he's alive at least!" I knew to be worried when Aemond wanted him back and Alicent said he hadn't responded to her letters.

[plan-3-tmars]

Goodbye, My Danish Sweetheart.

Hey I think the framing of this scene is really fucking cool and I wanna talk about it because I haven't seen anybody do that. yet so. yahooo!! let's get into it

BUT FIRST. Symbolism:

an empty chair can symbolise the absence or memory of someone dear who has passed away. This is very obviously meant to represent Hinako in this scenario

In my interpretation, this scene is Kazui saying goodbye to Hinako and apologising for the circumstances of her death.

The lyrics that play are:

"I’m sure nothing will change and we’ll laugh together and call each other stupid names, so many things I wish i hadn't known, I'm just a coward."

The first part of this verse sounds like he's wishfully thinking about what could've happened after he told her the truth - if anything a bit naively.

Kazui wanted (and still wants) to get the weight of his lies off his chest, but he wasn't ready to face the consequences of that confession, most likely making Hinako's death hit even harder.

Here, he bows to the chair before turning around leaving, a silent goodbye.

~

But what about what's going on in the background of this scene? Well!

As Kazui leaves, these two scenes flash in the background. On the table in the first shot is our good friend the green apple, and Background Kazui picks it up, analyses it, before biting it.

So let's go for another symbolism refresher!!

Green apples can sometimes represent platonic relationships, like friendship, but in Kazui's case this takes the form of a sin - as not loving Hinako romantically is what he's lying about - making it a reference to the Garden of Eden story.

Going from that, biting into an apple can represent feeding into temptation.

My interpretation of this scene is Pre-Marriage Kazui indulging in his 'sin', which in my opinion is the fact he's gay.

Let's go back to that lyric shall we:

"I’m sure nothing will change and we’ll laugh together and call each other stupid names, so many things I wish i hadn't known, I'm just a coward."

So many things you wish you hadn't known huh.. Not knowing you were gay would sure make lying to your wife a whole lot easier wouldn't it?

"What I gave up a long time ago, why is it questioning me now? So many things that I should now have known, I'm just a coward"

Woohoo evidence for Background Kazui being Pre-Marriage Kazui!!!

I think this scene is the last time Kazui let himself be free before marrying Hinako. This could possibly have been when he noticed she had a crush on him at their work.

He's indulging one last time. Embracing his sin instead of hiding it away one. last. time. before giving it up for good, almost like a. goodbye.

~

So. I think this scene is framed this way in order to show the parallel of Kazui giving up his sin, and Kazui mourning Hinako's death.

As established, they both have a "goodbye, I'm sorry things turned out this way" atmosphere to them. Kazui is apologetic, in a way, that he has to give up on being his true self and he is apologetic of his lies murdering Hinako, so Milgram conveys this by showing the two scenes posed the same way in front of one another.

This framing also gives the scene a Beginning Vs End feeling that I think is really cool, and the use of Dark Vs Light colours only heightens that! (Though that's slightly off topic rip)

Conclusion? I love this scene it's awesome and amazing and super cool

[emperor-palpaminty]

Bed(side) Manners

Minors DNI- NSFW, but I am vanilla so eh. If your age isn't in your bio and you interact you're getting blocked, sorry babez. It does mention other callsigns hehe (also if y'all have Call Sign name ideas that would be awesome, I'm thinking each COD reader insert will get a call sign)

Female doctor reader ("Doc") x Ghost: part 1 here hehe

Comments/reblogs appreciated! Likes don't do much on Tumblr, sadly. My inbox is also currently open for COD requests if ya want more!

Ghost's foot steps were steady down the hall, but he was moving quickly. He had about fourty-five seconds before his watch read six and he was going to ensure the doctor was off on the dot. He turned the corner, nodding politely at Banshee and Gaz passing by and kept his pace up.

Thirty-two seconds.

He exhaled a bit and glanced around the hall to ensure he was alone. If anyone else spotted him bursting into Doc's office after hours- he didn't really care about himself, but he didn't know how she felt about others knowing or not.

Fifteen seconds.

He dropped his watch as the door came in sight. It always felt slower when he was actually eager for something.

This wasn't his first time seeing the doctor- they had passed on the field and on base many times. She intrigued him. He hummed in thought, pushing aside anything other than lust out of his brain.

His hand pushed open her door with five seconds to spare, and she glanced up from her desk. Her head tilted and her red lips pressed into a smile. "Someone took 'six o' clock' very literally."

"I'm always punctual." Ghost stepped in, slowly, and listened as the door shut behind him. Doc looked back down at the manilla folder in front of her, and he could see her fucking red lips quirk into a smile.

"Half your file is redacted, you know."

"Snooping, doc?" Ghost chuckled, pausing only a couple inches behind her chair. He leaned over the back of the chair, eyes scanning between the top of her head and the open file on the desk in front of her.

Indeed, it was his- much was redacted. As it should be. She hummed noncommittaly as her hands skimmed the edge of the manilla folder, fingers smoothing around a corner of it before she closed it. "Strange man, Riley." She tilted her head backwards and looked up at him, her intelligent eyes skimming over his mask.

Ghost only raised a brow as he looked down at her. The teasing really got him- it was something he enjoyed. Playing with his food, for lack of a better phrase. "Snarky for a doctor. Doesn't make for a good doctor. Bedside manners and all."

She stood from the chair, turning and looking up at him- the same glint stirred in her eye as she looked him over, sizing him up. "Never been good about bedside manners." Doc shrugged off her medical coat, dropping it on the back of the chair. Her lips pressed as she leaned back on the desk, her hands resting on her thighs as she looked him over again. "The bed isn't a good place to practice your good manners."

Ghost managed a chuckle and stepped forward. His hands moved as he strode over, bracing them on either side of her body against the desk- his thumbs brushed the hips of her khakis. "Not even a please? Or a thank you?"

"Why, LT." Doc crossed her arms, leaning back rather comfortably. It was as though she was not sitting between two arms ready to grab, or speaking with lips that looked ready to be devoured. The tension between them was palpable, thick, as she blinked up at him. "You say please in bed?"

Hands scooting closer to her, Ghost leaned in. Eyes locked steadily on his own- concise as surgery, deadly as a wound. "One way to find out."

Her lips quirked again, bold eyes darting down to roughly where his mouth was under his mask. She smiled, sweetly stepping against his hands before guiding him to the door.

---

The bedroom was further off than the barracks- doctors were just lucky that way. Even as he had picked her up, her hands rushing down to his belt, his hips dug into hers and pressed her on the wall next to the door. They had just made it in- by the time they had reached Doc's hall they were all over each other, and now, in the privacy of her own little room...

Ghost's mask was rolled up over his mouth, exposing the fraction of his nose that the mask had come to know- there was a fold in the fabric there, waiting and ready to be pushed back for talking, eating, or using his mouth in other ways.

Her lips were addicting. Ghost could hear the small moans that left her whenever he kissed her or grabbed her, sounds he decided he could get used to. She was hoisted up between the wall and himself, her hands running over his shoulders, his mask, wherever they could to feel like she could steady herself. Ghost jutted his hips into hers, the jeans constricting him. The movement earned him a weak groan, and he pressed away.

"Feels good, yeah?" He mumbled, the gloved hand grabbing at her ass. Her trousers had been a blessing, showing off the shape of her, but they had just about served their purpose. "Wanna get a little preview of how I'm gonna use this body tonight?" Ghost grunted and turned his head, face and mouth digging into her neck. She smells faintly floral- feminine and soft. Breakable. A wanton whine left her lips as his teeth grabbed for her skin, and his hips moved in tandem. "Didn't hear ya." Ghost paused, then chuckled against her skin. "Maybe a please, doctor. Could work on those bedside manners of yours."

Doc sucked in a breath, managing a brief laugh. "You want me to say please? To you?" He heard her smile fade as he opened his mouth against the nape of her neck, tongue and teeth working. Her head tilted back and he groaned against the length of her neck, hands skimming up her skin from under her shirt.

"Yes. Would be-" His teeth pulled her skin into his mouth, and he sighed, happily, as she squirmed. "Impolite not to, yeah?"

The doctor sighed reluctantly, and pulled back far enough to look at Ghost. Kiss-bruised lips pressed into a playful pout, and she batted her lashes. "Please, then."

"Please what?"

Doc chuckled, leaning forward; she was close enough for her nose to brush against the mask. "Please bend me over and fuck me silly?"

Ghost purred in response, dropping her from his arms. "That's more like it." He muttered, yanking a hand up to his mouth and catching the two fingers between his teeth. Slowly, he pulled his hand out. Tattoos peeked out from the long sleeves he was wearing on the cooler base, touching his wrist or snaking along his skin and under the fabric. "Asking me to fuck ya."

Doc's eyes gleamed with greed as she looked at his fingers before the large hands slid up her body, calling her attention back to the matter at hand. She hummed and looked back up to what she could make out of his face as he grasped her, hands feverishly feeling for what he could of her, running up and down her body under the damn shirt. "Let's get these off, yeah?"

"Sir, yes sir." Doc purred.

That was all the affirmation Ghost needed. He yanked up the hem of her shirt, a soft grunt leaving him when he saw the bra- lacy and black, leaving something heavy with desire in the pit of his stomach. "Fuckin hell." Ghost dropped her shirt on the floor, fingers moving back up to her breasts. "These fucking tits. Stare at 'em every time you fix me up."

"I know." The words left her mouth with a little huffed laugh, mingling with a whine as his fingers trailed over the thin fabric before she leaned back on the bed, her hands tangled in the thick fabric of his shirt.

Ghost fumbled with her pants. "Gonna leave my gear on, yeah?" He managed against her mouth. He pressed a kiss against her lips. "Never know when I'm gonna be called for."

"If you leave me now I'm not going to forgive you." Doc chided, leaning on her back. The motion of sliding her pants down her thighs was graceful, well thought and well practiced. "I've been waiting for this." Her lips curled devilishly as she laid back on the bed, grinning up at him as her eyes wandered over him. "I thought you would have lost the clothes."

Ghost chuckled, standing still. He reached a hand down and smoothed it up her thigh. Doc hummed, the muscles under her flesh flexing at the contact. "Nah. The mask stays on minimum."

"I like the mask."

"Good."

Ghost's hands grasped her thigh, staring over her. The cargos were restrictive, he was straining against the zipper of them- but he had to decide what to do. "Wanna fuck ya in so many ways."

Doc propped up on her arms, the bed frame barely creaking with the movement. "Then do it."

"I will, love. Just trynna decide how I wanna do it this time." He had abandoned his jacket, but he was feeling oddly warm. "So beautiful, but not sure where I want ya." Everywhere, mostly. On his face, on his lap, on his bed.

Doc's thighs rubbed together, her hips rolling up in a sinful motion. Ghost fought off a sound in his throat as he watched her strain for him.

"Want me in ya?"

"The sooner the better." Doc grinned, her bare legs squeezing his thighs, eyes coaxing and voice dipping into a gentle coo.

Ghost grunted, hands dropping to his belt. "Just gonna keep that on for me, love?" His fingers pulled at the buckle, eyes trailing over her body again, a hum of approval leaving Doc. She chewed on her lower lip, eyes glinting with greed. "Wanna fuck ya in that."

It was good that her dorm was so far- being a doctor on base gave her the privilege of privacy. Ghost shoved his jeans down and hooked his thumbs around the waistband of his boxers. Doc began to sit up and looked down towards his dick, a smile curling on her lips. "All for me?" She teased, her hips scooting towards the edge of the bed.

Ghost bent his head, spitting on the tip of himself before stroking himself. "You know it." He exhaled, nerves tangling over themselves in anticipation. She told him earlier that she had the arm implant and had a supply of Plan B- all he had to do was get the fuck in her.

Ghost slid his fingers up Doc's thighs- they were soft, the skin supple under his hands. Warm. His eyes darted towards her face, watching her lashes flutter as he tugged her panties aside. She let out a sound at the brief contact, the way his knuckles nudged her core open, a noise that could only be defined as craving. Ghost reached up with the hand that had been on his cock and tugged his mask back down over his face.

Doc's hips writhed up, searching for him, only for his fingers to barely stroke between the fleshy folds. "Patience, Doctor." Ghost grunted, his hand stroking himself again. Even if he stood here, this being wanting and moaning and vulnerable to him and jerked himself off, it wouldn't be enough. "'Boutta wear thin on mine, though."

A whine, a mewel really, wordless, escaped her, as his fingers dipped in- she stuck to him like honey, like sin, and he knew better things lie in her.

Ghost forced his hand away from his own dick, the edging throb of coming ebbing away, the feeling dissipating into annoyance. He exhaled, pushing her thighs open, fingers keeping the panties off to the side. He could smell the sex as he prodded at her opening with the tip of himself, inhaling heavily through the mask as she opened her legs for him, more, encouraging him with soft sounds of seduction.

"Ghost-" She strained to sit up, eyes darting down to where their bodies met. Her lips parted and she gave a whine, urging Ghost to push himself in more. She took every inch like a champ. Warm. Eager. Wanting. It radiated off her as he pushed the rest of himself in, shuddering at the seeping warmth all around his dick.

He was glad he wore the mask, at least. His eyes just about rolled to the back of his head as he bucked his hips once, his jaw tightening under the fabric. Her skin was hot against his cold belt buckle, her legs squeezing around his white tee. His eyes shut as he leaned forward, angling over her and grasping the cool metal board of the unforgiving bed. "That's it," He heard himself say as his huffs of breath were slightly muffled from the mask. "Pretty girl, I've gotcha." He rasped, eyes still closed, focusing on the heat creeping through his veins.

Doc managed something akin to words under him, Her hands raked over his arms, the fabric of his shirt and his mask, trying to grasp something. "This how you pay-" She turned her head, breath warm against his mask. "All those medical bills?" She laughed but it was lost between a moan and sigh as he moved, quicker, her body tensing.

Ghost spread his hands on her thighs and shoved them open, pressing them as flat as possible against the mattress. "'S it working?"

Her body rocked under him, finding solace in the contact. He could feel her shuddering under his hands, her thighs tensing. "Yeah." her breathing quickened and she turned her head against his mask, right by where his ear was hidden, and let out the softest moan. "You're- I'll-"

Ghost nodded, pushing himself to keep his hands on her body, eyes still shut. "Do it." He mumbled. "Whatever ya need. Just-" He grunted. "Soon."

The doctor's back arched, her legs snapping up and nearly shutting around him if his hands hadn't been spreading them open. She whined, a sweet and pitiful noise, and he felt her pulsing around him. A high pitched whine poured from her lips, and Ghost saw stars mounting behind his eyes.

"Fucking hell-" Ghost mumbled, hips snapping into her orgasam. "So fuckin' good, you come so pretty, fuck," Ghost leaned back, breath caught in the knit of the mask, the motions feeling more frantic.

Control- that was what the missions, the wars, he lacked. Here, in bed and behind closed doors, he could at least control himself and his dick. He could finally bring some pleasure, not pain. He buried himself in her, chanting quietly- fucking beautiful, love the sounds of that wet cunt, attagirl- until he was at the brink. He knew Doc could see his eyes open, just see the whites of them as he came, hips stuttering at last.

He leaned over her, Doc's pussy still nestled around him, her spasms slowing as his high began to ebb off. He nudged his masked face into her shoulder, exhaling slowly.

They took a moment. It was a rare few seconds of silence.

"You good?"

"Yeah." Ghost grunted. "Just- been a minute."

Doc chuckled. Her laugh was coy and inviting. In the dark room there was only him and her. Some normalcy, perhaps. "Been a bit for me, too."

Ghost blinked, wriggling his hips slightly. The sound of the suction as he pulled out was wet, needy. "For a pretty thing like you?"

She shrugged under him, doctorly hands running over the mask. "Yeah. I know. What a coincidence war keeps me busy." Doc chuckled, her eyes meeting Ghost as he pulled back.

She couldn't see his flushed cheeks, the way his lips twitched into a post-coital lazy smile. Just his eyes. Sometimes that was all he wanted people to see. "Seems like we're busy at the same time."

Doc's legs dropped from him, folding lazily onto the bed. "Mm."

"And not busy when we happen to be on base at the same time."

Doc's brows raised, and her lips curled into a smile. "What a coincidence," She purred, and even though she didn't know it, her smile matched his. "Maybe the next time we both aren't busy, you can swing by again for another appointment."

Ghost nodded, relief mingling with eagerness, his hand sliding up her body, memorizing the pattern of her skin and the warmth of her body, the deep breaths she took to calm herself and her nerves down. "I like the sound of that."

She grinned, laying back flat on the mattress as he leaned over her, bracing himself. Looks like he had standing appointments with the base doctor for the forseeable future. Not that he minded at all, as long as they all ended like this.

[moonlightdancer26]

I'd love to hear your thoughts about Percy! What is your opinion on him in general? Do you like how his character arc was handled by JKR? What are your thoughts on popular fandom takes about Percy (him being a terrible disgrace to the Weasley family for siding with the Ministry/Voldemort; him being a secret hero of the rebellion who deserved better; etc)? And your thoughts on Percy ships? Who, if anyone, do you ship him with?

I think he’s wicked awesome and way too hated, I will genuinely defend him with my life. If my family treated me that badly I’d tell them to fuck off too, he was literally so excluded from his family because he wasn’t some Quidditch-loving jock and actually preferred to study and stay indoors. And he got mocked consistently just because he wanted a bright future. Sure he may appear a bit stuck-up to those who don’t know him well, but his family?? Plus after he legitimately got the job of his dreams, his father’s immediate reaction was to tell him he didn’t actually earn it and that it was all just a ploy. I would actually be so hurt. Like sure Arthur did end up being right, BUT YOU COULD’VE SAID IT A BIT DIFFERENTLY?? A simple “you earned it anyway, son” or “I’m proud of you” would’ve sufficed, alongside an explanation of why Percy MIGHT have gotten the job. He went about it way too harshly, if I got shut down like that after getting the job I’ve been working for my whole life, I’d have done a lot worse.

And I totally get Percy’s resentment, he felt as though his father wasn’t reaching his full potential due to his proud showcase of Muggle-fangirling. And since he (Arthur) was basically the sole provider in a large family that lived in poverty, I can see why Percy would feel frustration towards his father. Plus why do people act as if Percy was always “so horrible” even before he “abandoned” his family? He literally went RUSHING to Ronald when he got out of the lake in GoF and refused to let go of him, and he loved Ginny to death. He was protective of his younger siblings and was pretty funny imo, it’s hard not to sympathise with him when he has siblings like Fred and George.

He genuinely deserved so much better, he was constantly shut down for his accomplishments and cared so much for his siblings despite their mocking, plus he still came back to apologise to them and then proceeded to see his baby brother die in front of him????? How could you hate him after DH?? I don’t think he’s a disgrace to his family at all, sure he was shitty to Molly but, with what he must’ve been going through at the time, I get it. And any resentment he felt towards his family was completely and utterly justified. Plus he literally apologised, so even if you disagree with what I’m saying and think he’s scum or whatever, he legit still apologised to them? He still redeemed himself? Whatever he’s supposedly done that you hate him for, he redeemed himself for it. And I feel like people forget how young Percy was when all this happened? He’s only like 4 years older than Harry and was still 18/19 when all the family drama occurred, and he held a huge responsibility in the ministry. And having grown up as the lone middle child with the burden of knowing his family isn’t respected much must’ve had a tremendous influence on someone as ambitious as Perce. People should really see things from his perspective sometimes. Imo the only genuinely shitty things he’s done is 1. his treatment of Molly 2. his letter to Ron about Harry (but even then, I completely understand why Percy said what he said), anything other than that is usually just exaggerated by his haters.

One character he’s always reminded me of is Alex Dunphy from Modern Family (*tries to summon Modern Family fans*), she was also the odd one out in her family because she was super studious and introverted. And she had a desperate need to prove herself and was very ambitious, much like Perce. Her meltdowns and extreme studying was treated as a joke to the viewers and her sister Haley constantly made fun of her for it. She reminds me a lot of him tbh, which is why I love both characters so much.

lol this was supposed to be a quick short ask explaining why I love him and who I ship him with, and it resulted in a whole rant 😭 that’s usually how I get whenever his name gets brought up. Also Nonnie, I ship Percy with Oliver :D and I think he and Penelope Clearwater really deserved more screentime, they were such a delightful couple imo.

And thanks for the ask btw, I missed talking about him!!

[the-togepi-man]

The boy you (and maybe shawn?) have a crush on

Sure, im a little high and he wont see this since he doesn't use tumblr. Dunno if I'll ever get the chance to tell him all this so

I cant speak for Sean, who I knows really enjoys his company but falls for people a lot slower-

But I think he's a great guy. He's gives off this very aloof vibe, but he's incredibly smart and very sharp with his wit and observations. The first time He, Sean, and I hung out together - those two talked about how they listen to NPR and the Economist in the morning. It was goofy but thats when I first noticed myself getting flustered. He cares about his friends and his relationships very much, as do I. SO while polyamours people don't HAVE to all date each other it's insanely important to me that Sean enjoys their company too

He and Sean also have this rapport and bounce off each other so well that it's just hard to not roll your eyes but get caught up in it. He's got this really cute smile, and when you make a jab at him or catch him off guard his opens his mouth with this goofy smile and his cheeks turn bright red. His eyes also twinkle a little when he gets excited. And even though he doesn't like eye contact, if the conversation is important he maintains it to show how much he's listening. Also after he does his hair - a few hours in to the day the very front of it has one curl that drops down on to his forehead and its adorable as all fuck

He's passionate about the things he's interested in, and even more passionate about staying true to himself. It's very clear that he wants to live his life as who he is, and I think that more people should aspire to do. He puts his passions and his friends first and does his absolute best to make sure he sticks to all the plans he makes with them. When i first asked him to make plans with us, I was thinking "ah yeah he might fade away like everyone else" but then the next day he followed up with plans for a happy hour. When I point out things I am really interested in he asks questions and says "oh we will have to watch that some time" or "or ill have to try that." He and Sean inspire me to try new foods and do new things I normally wouldn't. Sean's helped me grow a lot, but when he and Sean both commit to something I start to see how much I was missing out on

Small break from his personality- he's also SUPER hot. Like just tall, gorgeous, great body, hairy chest, great cuddle buddy, beautiful eyes, comforting smile, and from what I recall a good kisser- among other things.

He has a lot of parts to his personality and every time we hang out I feel like a learn more in a good way. Like every time we hang out it's a new discovery. With that said, he's also not high maintenance. I love going out and doing fun stuff with him and Sean, but I also love that we can just grab some drinks, hop on the couch, cuddle up and watch something together or listen to music together. He puts on songs sometimes that remind me of my childhood and sitting around at my grandparents house listening to my family talk while I fell asleep to the music

That might be the hardest part about not saying all this to him, - but he feels like he really fits right in to place with Sean and I, not like I've ever felt before. And of course I've talked to Sean about all this (Because Sean is the fucking BEST- and someone would have to really be awesome to have an impact on both of us). Anyhow, he just seems like such a wonderful person that we'd both fight the standards of society to have in our lives.

So all in all, I am just glad I can be his friend more than anything. Thanks anon for letting me get this out! It felt good to type it since again, dunno if he will ever get to hear me say it- nor would he need to hear it. He can handle his life on his own- I just hope I get to be a supporting member for the rest of it :)

[reallydumbdannyphantomaus]

Holiday Truce

@ectopal so fucking sorry for the lateness!!! it has been a little wild in my life lately but i did get it done!!! i picked your prompt of dash finds out danny's secret in micromanagement. very sorry if this is not what you were hoping for, but here's what happened :D

“So,” Dash said.

“Uh,” Fenton said.

Dash looked at the shaking nerd in front of him. Fear, he recognized. Fear, he knew. He used it as a weapon, knew how to loom, how to make himself larger and intimidating. Hell, he’d seen it on Fenton plenty of time before.

Except this time Fenton wasn’t afraid of his fists.

“You’re—you’re he? Him?”

“No?”

“Are you lying?”

“... No?”

Dash reached out with a finger and poked Fenton in the shoulder. It was solid. Squishy, but he thought that had more to do with Fenton not being muscular than with him being a ghost. Still, he knew what he saw. This whole time, he’d been shrunk down with Phantom, the cool, brave, awesome hero of Amity Park, the guy he had a poster of in his locker. Then they get unshrunk and Phantom is gone. In his place: Fenton.

Dash wasn’t the best at math, but even he could add this up.

There were thousands of things he could have asked in that moment. Things he’d wanted to say to his hero for years. Thanks for saving us or Can you take me flying? or Can I have your autograph? Instead, what came out was: “So, are you dead?”

Fenton flinched. “No, I—it doesn’t matter. Just—just be quiet, okay?”

“It doesn’t matter?” Dash wanted to thwack himself in the head. He didn’t want to be continuing this line of questioning. Why was his mouth saying this shit?

“Not to you, anyway.” Fenton spoke with such vehemence that all at once Dash was reminded that Fenton being Phantom also meant that Phantom was Fenton. His hero was the same nerd he’d been shoving in lockers since middle school.

“Oh.”

“Look. Just don’t tell anyone, okay? No one would believe you anyway, so just don’t tell anyone.”

“Okay,” Dash said, voice thready and small. What else could he say? Fenton could’ve been kicking his ass all this time, but instead he’d been saving it. If nothing else, Dash could keep a secret.

“Good,” Fenton said, turning to leave.

“Why?”

Fenton stopped without turning around. “Why what?”

“Why don’t you tell people?”

Fenton’s voice was nasal through his sneer. “Try thinking about it. I’m sure the answer will come to you.”

—

The answer did not come to him.

He watched Fenton from a distance, noticed all the signs he dismissed before. Constant bathroom breaks. Bruises in the morning that were gone by the afternoon. Gasps of blue air that always preceded a ghost.

But he never saw why Fenton kept it quiet.

Teachers yelled at him for being late. Other students laughed behind their hands when he fell asleep at his desk. Paulina watched him rush out of class to the “bathroom” and whispered, “He should start wearing a diaper to school if he goes so much.” He tried to chuckle, but all he could manage was the slight curling of his mouth, and even that was strained. Paulina would never say something like that if she knew the truth. Fenton would have so much support from everyone in the school if he would just tell them the truth.

So, yeah. He didn’t get the secrecy.

Fenton, though, had avoided Dash like the plague. He’d never sought Dash’s company out before, but now the sight of Dash’s shadow was enough to have him scampering away. He tried to corner Fenton once, in the janitor’s closet, but forgot about the whole ghost thing. Since there was no one else around to see, Fenton just walked through the back wall, leaving Dash alone with the mops.

What was he supposed to do?

It felt like a secret of this magnitude should change things more. True, he couldn’t bring himself to shove people around anymore (what if some of them were secret heroes, too?) but otherwise, life went on. He went to football practice. He failed his math test. He laughed when Kwan made fun of Lancer’s pants falling down (again).

He stared at Danny Fenton across the cafeteria.

Danny Fenton did not look back.

—

No one in Amity Park liked the Guys in White. They only ever got in the way of Phantom trying to do his job, while being utterly ineffective. Even the Fentons did more to keep the city safe from dangerous ghosts—mostly through supplying anti-ghost tech and not through actual hunting, but it was still more than the GIW ever did.

So when the GIW locked down the school, most everyone rolled their eyes in disgust.

Every once in a while, the GIW had one of these sessions. He wasn’t entirely sure what the point of them was, but it usually involved a bunch of dumb questions about whether they’d talked to any ghosts. Like they were all conspiring against the government with the ghosts, or something.

(Well, he probably would, given the opportunity, but he hadn’t exactly talked to a lot of ghosts who weren’t trying to kill him. The only ghost he knew personally hated being in the same room as him.)

“Have you had any contact with the ghost masquerading as a musician, known as Ember McClain?” The agent in white drummed his fingers on the desk. Dash had the sudden urge to bite his pinky.

Dash furrowed his brow. “I think she is actually a musician, though?”

“What?”

“Ember. She does, actually, like, play guitar and sing. So I think she’s a real musician? Just. You know. A ghostly one.”

The agent leaned into his face. “So you have had contact with her.”

Dash leaned back. “Uh, no? Not since the time she mind controlled a bunch of us. Which I don’t think is my fault.”

“And you haven’t sought her out since?”

“Uh, no. I don’t actually enjoy being mind controlled.”

“Hm. And the menace known as Phantom?”

Dash barely kept his shoulders from tensing. “What about Phantom?”

“Have you contacted him?”

“I mean, he’s saved me a couple times. But he saves everyone.”

The agent snorted. “That’s what the ghosts want you to think, kid. Make no mistake: all ghosts are the same: evil, greedy, and power-hungry. We don’t yet know what Phantom’s true intentions are. It’s our job to get that creature off the streets and into containment, where he belongs.”

Dash was never the smartest person, but sometimes, when all the pieces were in front of him, he could add two and two and get four. He remembered the Fentons echoing the agent in front of him almost word-for-word. Or maybe this agent was echoing them.

Either way, Dash finally knew why Danny Fenton had a secret.

Dash curled his hands into fists. Fenton didn’t want to talk to him; that much was abundantly clear. But Fenton had still saved his life, saved the lives of everyone in the town, the world even. He could do this much for him.

“Look, dude, you think what you want,” Dash said. “I can’t exactly change your mind. Never been good at persuasion. But,” he said, and he stood up, crossing his arms and hooding his eyes, “no one else here believes your bullshit, dude. We know the truth, no matter what you say.”

“Mr. Baxter, the science—”

“I don’t care what studies you’ve faked. I’m telling you right now that if you seriously go after Phantom like you would any other ghost, you’re going to have to go through the whole town first,”

And Dash wasn’t very smart. And he wasn’t persuasive. But he knew fear. He was 16. This agent was probably somewhere in his thirties. By no means should the man be afraid of him. But Dash knew how to make himself bigger. Dash knew just where to strike someone, just what made them scared. This man was only as brave as his badge. A whole insurrection? One aimed at him? That thought terrified him.

The man was silent.

Dash smiled a shark’s smile. “Do yourselves a favor and leave Amity Park alone. We’ve got it handled from here.”

The door swung shut behind him as he left the agent alone in a dark room, still stuttering for a response.

[teecupangel]

I've been playing AC Revelations lately, and remembered about your Ratatouille AU.

I think Desmond would be very confused, because all suspicious sounding voices should be silent in the like core of animus or whatever this place is. But he anyway hears those strange complaints about how he looked much cuter in previous parts and now he is like weathered or smth. And those simpings on old Ezio. And this comparison of Sofia and Leonardo. And intense swearing when there's no 100 percent synchronization because of THIS STUPID TEMPLAR WHO SOMEHOW MANAGED TO HIT MEE, LIKE WHAT, HE SHOULD BE LYING DEAD, BUT NOW I GOTTA RESTART THE WHOLE MISSION AGAIN WTFF (russian slurs following). Ahem. Also I feel like he would imagine that it's like his descendants or smth, so he would start to believe that he'll get out of animus very soon

The original Ratatouille AU idea

Its little brother, the “Desmond can hear us” idea

And the “I don’t know you can do that” sidestory that got sidelined by people learning that Altaïr can vault in AC1

So the idea would be the voices would suddenly be silent once Desmond wakes up in the Animus Island and he’d be confused and absolutely worried because he’s used to hearing them (especially after a lot of them suddenly showed up because [The Founder By Accident] apparently posted it or something and got a lot more people ‘playing the games’ again) so the silence was…

… worrying, to say the least.

Especially after Clay tells him where he was and what was happening to him.

And then…

Desmond started reliving Ezio’s memories…

And the moment Ezio’s voice echoed in his head “Dear Claudia…”

There’s just a cacophony of [DEAR CLAUDIA!!!!], [Best opening cinematic in the franchise <3], [Goddamn, I still get goosebumps watching this…], someone is able to actually recite the lines in Ezio’s accent as Ezio continues, and many, many more. There’s definitely a lot of them.

And Desmond could feel himself relax as he let both Ezio’s memories and their voices watch over him.

And then…

“Even if they messed up Altaïr’s actual outfit in this scene, it’s still freaking awesome.”

Ah.

[The Founder By Accident] is back.

.

Desmond immediately got used to a lot of them ‘simping’ over Ezio and the mini-debate that happened when Ezio met Sofia…

As well as the mini-debate about Suleiman being either good or opportunistic or both (and Desmond laughed at the “I can’t say anything because he has the same voice as Malik and that’s an automatic ‘yeah, he’s okay’ from me” comment from one of them).

The complaints about the ‘gameplay’ or the bugs or the synchronization requirements or… Desmond found himself being comforted even by these as these were already part of the voices’ personalities anyway.

And then…

He was back in the Animus Island and he couldn’t even focus on Clay because he’s being bombarded with voices all talking about “oh you poor boy what did they do to your face?” and “you still look good, Desmond, don’t listen to them!”.

And then…

[Play DA Everyone] goes “I know what to do!”

Clay’s eyes widened when a box suddenly appeared in front of Desmond’s feet and Desmond crouched. He opened the box and a lot of the voices went “Ooohhh” as Desmond sees it’s a vial with a message that says “Mod to Change Desmond’s Model To Be Closer To Francisco Randez” and there’s a lot of chanting of ‘drink it!’ and ‘chug chug chug’.

Desmond turned towards Clay and asked, “Do I look like I’m weathered?”

“What?” Clay looked confused by his question and Desmond simply shrugged, being used to it already.

He uncapped the vial and drank the entire thing, trusting the voices in his head as usual.

Cheers erupted all over as Desmond didn’t feel anything different.

Well…

He felt more rested than he ever had though…

And Clay could only gape as Desmond’s face changed right in front of him.

What.

The.

Fuck.

[tommyssupercoolblog]

HI i'm a tommyinnit factive and this is where I go feral !!! I have a misce submission sideblog called @justomegathingss as well but it's mostly inactive because no one ever submits to it lol

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I have no DNI but I block freely!! I also am pro RPF and proship ("ship and let ship") so like,, if u wanna block me about that u should do dat- I don't post dark content really or consume it because I don't like to personally?? so that won't be on my blog!!! But it's worth noting I support people's right to MAKE that content, and i don't think someone making or consuming dark content means they condone it IRL.

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