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clarionglass · 4 months

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here we go :) part one of three, updates to be released weekly!

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sam says 4 (game master cinematic universe, part 3)

Ruby was at her mum's for a family dinner she couldn't miss on pain of death, apparently, and the Doctor was many things, but a family dinner kind of guy wasn't one of them—particularly when Carla had already slapped him once in the short time he'd known her. He thought he'd broken his streak of bad luck with mums, but… well, seemingly not. So he was companionless for a few hours, and while he could wait for her to get back, maybe catch up on his reading—what was the point of waiting when you had a time machine?

He ran his hands over the TARDIS console, marvelling at her clean lines and metallic flourishes, the way that even now she felt brand new but familiar, and paused. He’d just pop off for a quick adventure, nothing too dangerous, but—where to go?

He could scan for a distress call nearby, and pitch in to help. He could drop in on Donna and Shaun and Rose, beautiful Rose, and see how they were all doing. Or he could just hit the randomiser button, and jump in feet first wherever he ended up.

He remembered a conversation from a long time ago, when he wore a different face, and his gorgeous TARDIS wore a face too, for the first and only time.

“You didn't always take me where I wanted to go.”

“No, but I always took you where you needed to go.”

He grinned. Who could resist an offer like that? He pressed the button and whooped as the time rotor spun into action, ready to see where the universe would take him.

---

Apparently, he was needed pretty close to where he already was. Earth, 2024. Huh. Same planet, same time—within a few months of where he’d left Ruby, even. The main thing that had changed was the location: he was now in the good old US of A. California, to be more specific, and Los Angeles to be more specific still. And to really narrow it down, the Doctor discovered as he poked his head out of the TARDIS doors, he was in… a broom closet. Not bad, as a parking spot—a bit squeezy, but out of the way. And as he poked his head out of that door, he could finally see he was in the backstage corridors of a studio of some kind. Film or TV, if he was to hazard a guess, it was a different vibe from Abbey Road.

With a shrug, he decided to go exploring.

It couldn’t have been more than a minute before a young woman wearing the full-black outfit, headset, and permanently stressed expression of a production assistant came running up to him.

“Are you the fill-in Sam organised?” she asked breathlessly, and honestly, seeing the look on her face, the Doctor didn’t have the heart(s) to tell her no. And really, what was the Doctor, if not a professional fill-in? This, this was why he had a randomiser button on the control panel, because whatever he was about to get himself into was going to be fun.

“Sure!”

“Oh, thank god,” sighed the production assistant, relief dawning across her face. “When Ally tested positive this morning, I thought we were sunk for the record, because we called around and we couldn’t get a hold of anyone. But then Sam said he could get someone in, and, you know, here you are, and just in time, so—ah, yeah, if you could follow me this way?”

Smiling all the way, the Doctor followed his guide through to hair and makeup, looking around as they went. The studio seemed to belong to a company called Dropout, according to the branding scattered around, and things seemed, at least on the surface, to be… well. Fine. He couldn't tell why he'd been brought here yet, which meant that when he found the reason, it was going to be particularly tangled. He couldn't wait!

And then he looked back at his guide, still engulfed in a miasma of anxiety, and realised he'd been too busy looking for clues to notice the person right in front of him.

“Hey, it's cool, you've found me,” he started with a gentle smile. “You can relax. Hi, I'm the Doctor. What's your name?”

“Oh!” she said, startled. “The Doctor, yeah, of course. Um, hi, I'm Kaylin. Look, sorry, it's just that I've been so busy this morning, I'm so distracted… Shit, and I would've completely forgotten to get your details too. There's paperwork to fill in, but you can do that later. Um, just for now, though, can I get your pronouns?”

The Doctor thought for a moment. “He/him, for now.”

Kaylin nodded, making a note on her phone. “Okay, cool! And do you have any socials?”

“Not me, babes,” he replied. “I'm hardly sitting down long enough to be able to update, you know?”

“On a day like this, I know exactly what you mean,” she said. “That's okay, Lou didn't have socials either for the longest time. Right, so if you go through there, the team will get you sorted, and once you're done, someone will take you up to the greenroom. All good?”

“All great,” the Doctor replied. Kaylin flashed him a quick, relieved smile, then hurried off.

Hair and makeup was a fairly quick process, the sound mixer fitted him with a microphone, and before too long, Kaylin was back to take him upstairs.

“This is the greenroom,” she said, pushing the door open. “The rest of the cast for the episode are already here—they’re great guys, and they’ve both been on the show a lot, so they’ll be able to help if you’ve got questions. And if you need anything else, just come find me or any of the other PAs, okay?”

The Doctor nodded, beamed at Kaylin, and walked in.

---

The greenroom was small but comfortable, and its occupants, two men around the same age as the Doctor appeared, looked up as he entered.

“Oh, you’re new,” the taller of the pair said, clearly giving him the once-over.

The other sighed with a mixture of fondness and exasperation, just as clearly used to his friend’s antics.

“Hey, I’m Brennan,” he said, levering himself up to standing from his perch on a chair arm, and holding out a hand. “That’s Grant.”

The Doctor took it warmly. “The Doctor. Just passing through, and happy to help.”

Grant’s eyebrows quirked. “Doctor… something?” he prompted.

“Or is it just ‘the Doctor’?” Brennan asked.

“Just ‘the Doctor’,” the Time Lord confirmed cheerfully. “You’ll get used to it, everyone does.”

Grant didn’t look convinced, but—

“Copy that,” Brennan shrugged, and settled back on the arm of the chair, returning his gaze to the door.

Grant, in turn, looked at the Doctor and rolled his eyes in a clear expression of ‘no, I don’t know why he’s like this, either’.

“Okay,” the Doctor said after a moment of watching the watching. “I wasn’t going to ask, but now I think I have to. What’s up with the door?”

Brennan huffed a laugh. “Well, the last time there was one of those up—” he pointed to the Out of Order sign stuck to the bathroom door, “—we got locked in here for the game.”

“He’s paranoid,” Grant interjected.

“Well, yeah, maybe,” Brennan retorted. “Or just cautious. Because Sam’s been acting weird lately, and we’re coming up to the last few records of the season, so he’s probably planning something way out of the box for the finale. And the original cast was you, me and Beardsley, so…”

He shrugged one shoulder meaningfully, and Grant nodded, conceding both the point and the potential for chaos.

“So if Sam comes in to give us the briefing, rather than waiting til we’re on set,” Brennan continued, “or there’s anything else weird going on, I’m gonna know about it right from the beginning.”

He turned to the Doctor. “The only reason I'm not quizzing you is because I know for a fact Beardsley was genuinely scheduled for this, so you can't be a plant by the production team. No offence.”

“None taken,” the Doctor smiled. “That sort of thing happen often, does it?”

Grant and Brennan exchanged a look.

“More than you'd think,” Grant answered with a grimace.

“Alright,” the Doctor said slowly, then brightened. “So what is it we're actually doing?”

Grant gave him a disbelieving glance. “You don't know—?”

“Very last minute fill-in,” the Doctor said breezily. “But don't worry, I'm a quick study.”

“Well, you're not that much worse off than the rest of us,” Brennan said encouragingly. “You know about Game Changer, obviously, if you know Sam, and we only find out the rules of the game once we get on set. Hopefully,” he added, with a dark look back at the Out of Order sign.

The Doctor nodded. No, he didn't know Sam, and he didn't know Game Changer, but he could work out the situation from context clues. This was a game show. And with the Toymaker banished, and Satellite Five not coming into existence for another 198000 years, give or take, he found himself smiling. Maybe third time would be the charm.

“Mmm, hopefully they aren't going to throw you in the deep end,” Grant said. “Because Brennan might seem lovely now, but as soon as we get out there, he's a whore for points. He'll stab you in the back and won't even blink.”

Brennan barked with laughter. “Yeah, and you wouldn't?”

“Excuse you, I'm always a goddamn delight,” Grant replied, the very picture of injured dignity.

“Oh, absolutely!” agreed a new voice. The Doctor turned to the now-open door to see a bearded man in a pinstriped suit smiling broadly. “That's why we keep inviting you back!”

Grant bowed sarcastically. “Why, thank you, Sam. Good to know I'm appreciated by someone here.”

“Always,” Sam replied, gently but firmly ending that particular path of the conversation. He scanned the room, and his eyes lit up when they landed on the Doctor.

“Ah, you must be the Doctor!” he said with obvious delight, walking over with his hand outstretched. “I'm Sam—thanks for filling in for us, you've made sure we're going to have a good show. Seriously, it's a pleasure to have you here.”

“Aw, cheers!” the Doctor smiled, shaking the offered hand. “Glad I could help out, I'm really looking forward to this!”

“Well, great!” Sam exclaimed, then took a step back, regarding all three players in turn. “Now, folks, I'm just letting you know that we're just about ready to start the record, so if you can start heading down, that'd be great.”

Grant and Brennan nodded—Brennan, the Doctor noticed, with relief.

“See you down there,” Sam said, smiling. “Have a great show, and—”

His eyes caught on the Doctor's for a second, twinkling.

“Good luck.”

---

Backstage, the Doctor, Brennan and Grant were marshalled into podium order and given a final briefing from the crew. And then, with a thumbs-up from Kaylin, that was it.

Showtime.

“Get ready for a Game Changer!” came Sam's voice from onstage. “Tonight’s guests: he can shoot off a monologue with laser accuracy; it’s Brennan Lee Mulligan!”

Brennan, his back to the camera as the curtains opened, spun on his heel and, with a stone-cold expression, pointed finger guns straight down the barrel, before letting the facade crack open. “Hi!” he exclaimed, and walked over to the leftmost podium.

“It’s his first appearance, but he’s already on fire; it’s the Doctor!”

The Doctor leant against the archway to the stage and flashed a broad smile towards the camera, then in a few skipping steps, had bounded over to the next free podium. What the hell, why not make an entrance?

“And even in the toughest of mazes, you’ll always be able to find him; it’s Grant O’Brien!”

Grant dipped his lanky frame into an approximation of a curtsey, spreading his arms wide, then sauntered over to the closest podium with a grin.

“And your host, me!” Sam announced, a ring of manic white showing around his irises as he beamed down the barrel of the camera. “I’ve been here the whole time!”

“This,” he continued, pushing his microphone shut and stowing it in his jacket pocket, “is Game Changer, the only game show where the game changes every show. I am your host, Sam Reich!”

As he said his name, he looked at his hands, front and back, as if he was pleasantly surprised to be himself, then gestured towards the three podiums.

“I am joined today by these three lovely contestants! Now, you understand how the game works.”

“Of course not,” Grant started. “You know we don't.”

“We can't, Sam, that's the whole point of the theatre you've set up here,” Brennan said over him.

“Not yet,” was all the Doctor said, anticipation starting to drum a tattoo of excitement against the inside of his ribcage.

“That’s right!” Sam said brightly, shooting finger guns at the camera. “Our players have no idea what game it is they’re about to play. The only way to learn is by playing. The only way to win is by learning, and the only way to begin is by beginning! So without further ado, let’s begin by giving each of our players fifty points.”

The Doctor, biding his time, watched the reactions of his fellow contestants. Grant looked at the front of his podium, checking the point total, and nodding approvingly when he saw that yes, it was sitting at a round fifty. Brennan, on the other hand, was starting to frown.

“Players, Sam says: touch your nose,” Sam began, and Brennan sighed the sigh of someone who wasn’t happy to be proved right.

“Oh, no,” he groaned. “Oh, you son of a bitch. Wasn’t one this season enough?”

He touched his nose anyway, as did the others, and Sam smiled encouragingly. “Sam says: touch your ear.”

When they all did, Sam nodded. “Touch your other ear.”

Everybody held still, fingers on the ears they had originally touched.

Sam beamed. “Easy, players, right?”

“You say that now,” Brennan said darkly. “Which makes it worse, because all you're doing is setting us up for failure.”

Sam gasped, pretending offence. “Would I do that?”

“Yes,” Brennan and Grant replied in unison, which drew a grin from the Doctor and set Sam off chuckling.

“And I'm not having it,” Brennan continued, leaning his elbows against his podium and pointing at Sam with the hand not touching his ear. “You better watch yourself, because I know how this game works, and you're not going to get one over on me.”

“Strong words, Brennan!” Sam said, clearly delighted by this response. “Okay, then, let's start making things a bit more interesting!”

The game continued as per Sam Says usual, some rounds done as a group and some individual. Points were won, sure, but lost slightly more frequently, and even the Doctor found he was having to concentrate to avoid getting caught in the host's traps.

It was fun. Genuinely, it was like playing a game with friends, and the Doctor felt himself leaning into it. There wasn't any sign of danger—maybe there wasn't a mystery to solve at all, and the TARDIS just decided he needed a total break.

Well, probably not. But the way things were going, he was able to let himself hope.

“Alright, players,” Sam said a good few rounds in, just as pleasantly as he would start any other question, and the screen behind him dinged as a new prompt popped up. “Survive the death beam.”

For a second, everything was frozen perfectly still.

And then came the crash, the explosive noise of heavy machinery moving relentlessly through a drywall set.

The Doctor was already moving. “Everyone down!”

“Duck!” Brennan yelled at the same time.

The two of them hit the ground within milliseconds of each other, but Grant was still paralysed in the face of the giant, science-fiction type laser cannon that had just ploughed through the wall.

It whined ominously, screaming its way to fever pitch. And then a sharp pain in Grant’s ankle made him stagger, pitching forwards onto the carpet behind the podiums as the Doctor rolled away to avoid getting pinned.

“Sorry, babes,” the Doctor whispered. “But it was either kick you to get you down, or—”

A hideous metallic screech ripped through the air, and all three of them could feel the crackle of ozone as a beam of energy swept across what had, moments ago, been neck height.

“…Or that,” the Doctor finished with a grimace.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Grant breathed, suddenly very conscious of every inch of his 6’9 frame. “Thanks.”

“Well done, players!” Sam exclaimed delightedly from above them. “But… sorry, I didn’t say ‘Sam says’, so that’s a point off for everyone.”

“What the fuck!” Brennan snapped.

“Are you actually insane?” Grant demanded at the same time, his voice overlapping with Brennan’s.

In response, Sam just wheezed with laughter. “You can come back to your podiums,” he said, cheerfully ignoring them.

Nobody moved.

“Very good!” he acknowledged, and even without seeing his face, the grin was obvious in his voice. “Okay, Sam says: come back to your podiums.”

Although the words were innocuous, and his tone was just as light and breezy as usual, there was nevertheless an edge hiding just underneath the surface. And while the death beam loomed large in the minds of all three players, it was impossible to consider disobedience as an option.

Slowly, they stood, returning to their places. Now they had the time to look at it properly, the death beam was even more sinister, and Brennan and Grant both kept flicking nervous glances its way, ready to move if it looked like it was charging up again.

The Doctor, however, was focused purely on the man standing in front of them. Unbothered, Sam met his gaze like a challenge, a mischievous smile playing about his lips.

“Oh, you’ll love this one,” he said, and the screen changed. “Sam says, starting with Grant: say my name.”

Grant frowned in confusion, but answered quickly nonetheless. “Sam Reich?”

The man himself shrugged tolerantly, moving on. “Brennan?”

Brennan just stared at him coolly. “Do you take me for a fool?”

“Well caught, Brennan!” Sam said happily. “Sam says: say my name.”

“Sam,” Brennan replied, suspicion clear in his voice. “Samuel Dalton Reich.”

He nodded, still with a hint of indifference. “And lastly, Doctor.” His smile broadened. “Sam says: say my name.”

It was easy. Too easy. And as the Doctor looked into the eyes of the man calling himself Sam Reich, he felt his hearts stutter in recognition, because something had changed. He wasn’t hiding himself anymore, and while the face was different yet again, the Doctor would know the shape of that soul anywhere. It was impossible. It was inevitable.

“You can’t be,” he breathed.

Sam smirked, leaning in across his podium. “Oh, but Doctor… I’ve been here the whole time,” he stage-whispered with a wink.

“He said you lost,” the Doctor said, shaking his head, looking wrong-footed for the first time that Brennan and Grant could recall. “You lost, and he trapped you.”

The other two watched, uncomprehending, but Sam just smiled, drumming his fingers against the podium with an audible beat, fast but distinct. Four taps, four taps, four taps. “I’m waiting.”

The Doctor took a slow, deep breath. Set his jaw.

“Master.”

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missed an installment of the game master cinematic universe?

original idea by @ace-whovian-neuroscientist: x

art by @northernfireart concept: x scissor sisters sketch: x sam and his doppelganger: x

writing by me (!) part one (escape the greenroom): x part two (deja vu): x part three (sam says 4): you are here!

#game master #sam reich!master #doctor who #dw #dropout #game changer #you know what let's chuck some character tags in here #15th doctor #the master #sam reich #brennan lee mulligan #grant o'brien #kaylin mahoney #clari speaks #clari writes #ah darlings i'm putting my chat down here rather than in the post body for once #so i've thought of this whole saga as 'part three' but i will be a) titling them all and b) just keeping on numbering the parts sequentiall #rather than 'part three part one' etc #otherwise we're getting into homestuck act titling territory and that is ground i do not wish to tread #also fuck i hope i've got the time zones right #i'm planning to post this when an episode of game changer would ordinarily be released. to plug the gap. to tide us over.#(the finale trailer is so delightfully unhinged and i cannot wait til next week)#anyway gang this one was wild #the slight but significant genre shift from 'game changer with doctor who elements' to 'doctor who with game changer elements'#it was fun to write! and hopefully fun to read :)#also i MUST say that eugene northernfireart has a baller comic in the works that this entire thing is based on #this is thousands of words of setup and continuation because the sketch idea was so good it possessed me #and we decided that it had to be a proper dw episode #(hey rtd hire me pls)#anyway eugene is on hiatus bc of life so in the meantime go give him love and be Fuckin Hyped for the comic when it appears bc i know i am

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magpie-trinkets · 5 months

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continuing that "maya tries to contact claire" post, i present you the post-Spirit of Justice follow-up

#post that caters to ME specifically #let me first tag #ghost trick spoilers #lost future spoilers #now that that's out of the way. you know who's on that suitcase ;)#also claire is fucked up by time travel shenanigans so it's possible let's just say #also ghost powers grow and change with time sooooo. let's play with canon #layton “i have a dead girlfriend” and yomiel “i had a dead girlfriend” bisexuals #also yes the whole gang traveled to london they're just strolling around #maya had unfinished business and now that she's more powerful she's BACK #this would take place 7-or-so years after lost future/plvspw so layton is in his mid-forties here. i had to look it so correct me if im not #also yes this is a crossover AU i have rotating in my mind i love the source material and layton's and claire whole thing no shade to that #powerful narrative that made me cry #but with aa and gt magic fuckery we have the technology #also about the jail bit. that's a fic i am writing (one sentence every month)#ghost trick #professor layton #ace attorney #my art #ms paint #GOD. that wall of text is surely something

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cloud-based-and-rainpilled · 6 months

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I’ve been highly confused as to why Michael “deeply openly thirsting on Twitter about David Tennant for half a decade” Sheen is half-in half-out the closet but apparently Wales is absurdly homophobic lmao what the fuck how is a country the size of New Jersey that much of a hater bruh we out number the shit out of you

#i thought googling ‘how to say gay’ in welsh would be funny but it just made me sad #i knew the uk in general had a problem with trans people but WOW it’s fucked up in wales like. there are 8 of you what are you doing #i feel bad now lmao #wales #my weird welsh hyperfixation has taken me places let me tell you #cymru #homophobia #gay #lgbt #lgbtqia #good omens #bbc staged #michael sheen #i thought he was just ‘oh i’m quiet about my personal life’ but that’s not even true like my man’s probably actually scared #what a fuckass country lmao awesome #uk politics #united kingdom #david tennant #what is it with this tiny ass island taking over the world and being shitty lmao and this is coming from an american #bisexual #<- bisexual gang gang feel bad you fuckin haters lol #yes the whole world is homophobic i know etc but it’s like outrageously bad out there apparently #stay mad that i think nationalism is dumb ‘how dare you ever have an opinion you american’#you’re white you are not going to like where the power + privilege argument inevitably goes

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uncharted-constellations · 1 year

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Dreaming about them 🥰

#spider-man #coffee bean gang #peter parker #flash thompson #gwen stacy #mary jane watson #harry osborn #randy robertson #mj watson #art #my art #technically ben re-illy but i wont tag him specifically #i know randy wasnt technically part of the group but he was at esu so im counting it #let randy hate the rich again 2k23 #also rip harry you ugly bitch sorry you were in secret hell for 20 years #ive been mentally feral for petermj for weeks #even if they become canon again they wont be hot and grumpy enough #give me a man who hasnt watched television in 10 years except for whatever his wife is in #anyways this is a friendly reminder to stop tagging comic verse on ao3 when it isnt #mc-u is not comic verse #spid-erverse is not comic verse #if you need a blanket tag thats what the ‘all media types’ is for #this goes for all comics honestly #marvel

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triglycercule · 1 month

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horror being very specific with table manners and he berates people (dust and killer) for eating like fucking pigs

i think it'd be morbidly funny that because there was no food in horrortale but the cutlery and stuff was all there that maybe he would pretend to eat with no food on the plate. it was in a satirical way that he would joke maybe around horror paps or alone where he would pretend to eat and have really good table manners but then the satire joke became REAL and now horror is incredibly specific about how to eat food

you MUST hold the fork in the left and knife in right says horror. no killer you can't duel wield the fucking knives this is a table not a slaughterhouse. dust pick up your elbows off the table. actually how about you get your entire upper body off the table tf why are you SLEEPING ON THE FOOD??? killer's sitting fetal position in the chair because of course he wouldn't sit normally like the idiot he is. dust is forced to put his hood down and reveal his face no more mysterious shadow style because it puts horror at ease. they cannot have a single peaceful meal because once they get past the table manners phase it then becomes a completion to see who can eat the least (because they suck at everything including eating)

#hey guys. every time i don't post it feels like i'm abandoning my own children #NOOO im sorry i'll come back home... i wont abandon you chat PLEASE DONT MAKE ME PAY MORE CHILD SUPPORT #i've been a busy little bee i snicker out. and by busy i mean playing. and by playing i mean hi3 #i'm sorry my brain literally cannot handle having more than one interest. once i get into something else the other thing becomes ignored #IT MAKE ME SO UPSET BECAUSE WHY CAN'T I DO BOTH OF THESE THINGS I LIKE EQUALLY ☹️☹️☹️☹️ is this a me problem #anyways none of these tags were related to the post. i usually do little extra tidbits adding onto the post when i tag huh #i just recently learned (2 years ago) that youre supposed to put the fork and knife in that order. i still mess it up #i've been drawing on this notebook from the same brand from what i drew on in 2019 AND GODDAMN 🤤🤤🤤#this notebook is SO FUCKING SMOOTH I LOVE IT 🤤🤤 drawing on this paper is like drawing on fucking BUTTER it's delectable #a shame nobody likes traditional art i cry out (i'm not particularly skilled in either traditional or digital)#you could call me a jack of no trades master of none #got this idea bcs i was listening to binomi (HARDCORE MARETU FAN SINCE I GOT A PHONE. WHAT YALL KNOW ABOUT MARETU‼️‼️‼️)#and i was like omg food theme.... horror. so i drew it in earlier mentioned notebook #and i was like hmm what positions should i put the fork and knife. and then i got this idea #i KNOW cannibalism songs aren't exactly horror themed. but let me be delusional i wanna give my boy a cool theme and cannibalism is soo coo #killer sans #dust sans #horror sans #murder time trio #tricule hc #bad sanses #bad sans gang #nightmare's gang #this is funny but in a sad way because i added context to it. as is with all my mtt content #it's comedic because i think they're all stupid fucking idiots but i also make them do this dumb shit bc theyre traumatized

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themintman · 28 days

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I HAVE SURVIVED COMIC CON! (just about-)

I am! A little scared of how many people took photos with me! I underestimated how much people like villagers lmao BUT EVERYONE WAS SUPER CHILL AND NICE I LOVE YALL 🩷

some of my incredible achievements this convention:

Was "hrm"ed at by an entire queue of people. I gave them all a good giggle im quite proud of myself for that 😋

Accidentally clocked some poor guy in the head with my hat while trying to take a selfie (sorry bro 😞)

Played my first DND game and rolled the WORST charisma possible in my first throw (1. How the fuck did I fumble that badly 😦)

GOT RECOGNISED AS NURM?????? HOLY SHIT IM STILL GOING FERAL (cosmiczomb on tiktok, the selfie above is her's ⬆️🩷🩷)

Not my achievement but SOMEONE ASKED MY DAD (who went in his regular clothes) IF HE WAS STEVE. LIKE SINCERELY ASKED HIM. THIS IS HIS SECOND ACCIDENTAL COSPLAY IM SOBBING

I have! Less photos to post then I first thought! (Like I said people like villagers I got loads of photos just not. On my phone. 😭) But I do hope y'all enjoy this wee morsel of Nurm content.

Thank you father for taking these photos (but I will practice selfies good heavens it looks so much better)

#Hey pssst. If your one of the people who took a photo with me. May I. Have it? 👀 Pretty please?#minecraft story mode #mcsm #mcsm nurm #nurm mcsm #mcsm cosplay #minecraft villager #minecraft cosplay #minecraft villagers #Dublin comic con #Comic con #I have! No knowledge on hazbin hotel (I think that's what the TV fella is from) but they looked Hella cool #Similarly I haven't watched aqua man in years! I just... I like big hairy guys with tridents (or other obnoxiously big weapons) 😞#It's peak character design #Cosplay #Furry #The furry photo has me giggling I love it. Me n the gang #The council will decide your fate. They've decided. It's death.#Noelle's face (and the dude in the back) are blurred as I .. assume they are minors? I mean I assume everyone is 16.. I know aquaman isnt #But if that's you and you want me to unblur just say so!#Let it be known that the villager stance was a complete accident I just stand like that.#I stand like a villager and I go hrm when people interact with me they must think I'm just really dedicated to the cosplay #oh! Oh! If your in one of these and want me to remove it lmk that too!!! Or just blur either are fine!! 🩷🩷🩷

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alaynestone · 5 months

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3.15 TIME IS ON MY SIDE 5.01 SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL

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ieatedrawegg · 4 months

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hand perspective is hard

#And so am i 😎#IM JOKING IM KIDDING #rdr2 #Can't let gang know I fw micah a lil #micah bell #don't attack me please chat #red dead redemption 2 #own drawings #He's one of my fav villains ever tbh #rdr2 fanart

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ancha-aus · 4 months

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RealAgeAU - First Night

We are back because i had a new idea and i really liked it :3 and I really wanted to type a KillerPOV drabble so here we are

So we are back with a new drabble! also @spotaus get over here :D also. *nervous laughter* I think these drabbles keep getting longer and longer. don't expect long drabbles each time please hehe... Some concepts are just shorter in what they need to do them justice and sometimes i get multiple ideas for the same scenerio and they get longer to fit it all.

First Drabble Prev Drabble over here Next Drabble

Look at these guys trying to parent their immortal child. Look they know the situation even if they are still getting used to the idea and all it implies

-------

Killer watches the farm house through the tree line with a frown. Cross stands next to him with his own frown "Think this was a bad idea? Maybe we can go to another place."

Killer thinks as he keeps staring at the door that Horror disappeared into "Maybe..." except they had been constantly universe hopping for the last four days. Never staying for longer than either a quick nap, meal or supply run.

A glance back to see Dust who stands with a very exhausted Nightmare.

Killer turns back to the house "Maybe for the better." even if they really need a night of rest and-

Dust huffs "Or you can just have trust in Horror's opinion and wait it out."

Killer turns back with a glare "I am being cautious!"

Dust doesn't even look at him "You are being an idiot. Crop is fine. He never sold Horror out to the Stars. He won't sell out Nightmare." Dust keeps looking at Nightmare who is very clearly on the path to fall asleep fully.

Killer glares but steps away from the treeline and marches over to Dust. He glares and takes Nightmare from his hold. Dust looks unimpressed but doesn't challenge him.

Nightmare grumbles but just turns around and holds unto him instead as Killer hugs him close. Killer can feel his soul getting a bit smushed between them but it feels nice. a pressure that reassures him that nightmare is there and alive and fine.

Ngihtmare is still so light and tiny and fits so perfectly and Killer honestly doens't want to let go.

There is a very good reason that Nightmare hardly has to walk himself as all four of them are more than happy to hold unto him.

Cross looks up "Horror is coming this way."

Killer turns to look in the right direction as Dust stands next to him with his hand in his pockets.

Horror joins them and looks between Dust and him. more pointedly at Nightmare before pointing back over his shoulder "We can stay for a bit." Then he stares at Killer "please just behave. Crop is nice."

Killer huffs as he hugs Nightmare tighter to him. Nightmare huffs as he looks at him annoyed but doesn't complain. Killer actually feels Nightmare hold unto him tighter as well. Clearly more anxious about this meeting than he wants to admit.

Killer coos and nuzzles the tiny skull "It is okay Nightlight, if anything happens we are out before they even have the chance to do anything." Nightmare ducks his skull and mumbles some words before nodding.

Cross pushes and pats his own clothes down. Trying to get some of the dirt and grime off "Okay. okay. good first impressions. We can do this." he straightens his spine and nods to Horror. Clearly giving up on being presentable.

Killer can admit the constant universe hopping hasn't been the best for their overall hygiene which was another deciding factor for even considering doing this.

Horror gives him another look and Killer grumbles "Fine fine! I won't start trouble." for now. unless that other sans tries anything to hurt or take their little nightlight.

Horror still holds his gaze for a moment longer before nodding and leading the group towards the house. Instead of knocking again he just pushes the door open and gives them a look "no shoes" he glances at Nightmare who still doesn't have fitting shoes and clearly gives up with having manners concerning their babybones.

Killer shrugs and easily kicks off his shoes by the door, Dust does the same while Cross puts his shoes neatly by the door. Horror removes his own shoes again and leads them in.

Killer holds Ngihtmare close and starts to hang back in the group, nearest the door but still able to keep a close socket on what is going on.

Steps on the stairs and a sans walks down. this one has green eye lights and looks up with a smile "Howdy! It is nice to meet you'll!" he nods to dust "Good to see you again Dust. How is the shoulder holding up?"

Dust shrugs and gives a thumbs up.

Crop nods and smiles at them "Anyway. Horror told me about... the situation." and it is obvious in his curius gaze who he is looking for.

Killer pulls Nightmare a bit closer to him but Horror shoots him a warning look and motions forwards.

Killer huffs but slowly walks closer. Making sure everything about him says not to even fucking try or there will be pain. Nightmare turns slowly to study the new skeleton.

Crop smile turns more nervous as Killer goes closer but his whole face lights up when he spots Nightmare. Killer is a bit torn on how to feel about that. Obviously it is the correct reaction, Nightmare is the most adorable little babybones. But this is their babybones and Killer feels possessive over him.

Crop smiles more gentle as he focusses on Nightmare "Hey there. I am Crop. Horror's friend. Nice to finally meet you."

Nightmare frowns and pushes closer to Killer. Still feeling a bit conflicted about being treated as a kid it seems. At least he isn't trying to deny he is a child anymore. Killer nuzzles the top of the tiny skull and Nightmare relaxes more in his hold.

Crop grins widely as he looks at Horror "Anyway. I was grabbing some stuff. I don't have a lot of children things but I do got some too small clothes for either my brother or me." He looks from skeleton to skeleton "I... think you all can use a moment to relax."

After which Crop points out the obivous living room and kitchen. He motions towards two doors to the side which he says are his own and his brother's room. Next he shows the door under the stairs that leads to a bathroom and he welcomes them to use it.

Dust frowns "anything apple scented? apples dont go over well with Ngihtmare."

Crop tilts his skull but clearly thinks it over "I don't think so... if you do find anything with apples you can just leave it in my room, I ask you not to throw it away because somethings are harder to get than others."

Dust nods and takes Nightmare out of Killer's arms again and Killer can't help but watch closely as Dust easily gains a secure hold on Nightmare and Nightmare gets comfortbale with practised ease.

Dust nods to them "I am going to wash us." and he goes towards the bathroom.

Crop frowns "I am afraid i don't have enough toothbrushes for all of you. Maybe I got some somewhere but i wouldn't know where."

Dust shrugs as he raises his own bag "Has some necesserities." and he disappears inside.

Crop nods before looking at the them "I can show you the spot I had in mind for you guys. It is the attic and I apologise for the mess but I am sure it can be quickly changed to fit you."

Horror nods and Cross smiles "Thank you so much. Sorry for springing this on you..."

Crop waves it off "It is better than Horror just showing up with a stranger who had a hlaf severed shoulder."

Killer and Cross both blink and slowly turn to Horror. Horrro just looks sheepish "The crystal wasn't charged and Dust had been the one injured. This was as far as I could get..."

Killer blinks, okay that explains why Horror had trusted this place and this person.

Even so as Crop starts to lead them up the set of stairs Killer shares a look with Cross and nods towards the bathroom holding Dust and Nightmare. Cross follows his gaze before nodding and easily going to stand guard by the door.

Perfect. that way if anyone tries anything there is Cross to stop them as Dust can get Nightmare away safely. Killer quickly goes after Horror and Crop.

The attic is full of old boxes. But also an old closet, a large lounge chair by the round window and a nice queen sized bed. It is bare at the moment but Crop walks over with some new sheets and blankets and puts them on the bed. After it he quickly goes to the window and opens it to let the room breathe.

Crop turns around and smiles "Well, this is the attic. obviously a bit of a mess but we can probably move all the boxes and old stuff towards that area" he points to the side "Which will open up the space for you five to use." he looks sheepish "my house isn't exactly made to hosue this many people so it isn't a long term solution but this should work for a little while for you guys."

Horror nods as he starts moving stuff around "Thank you again Crop. This means a lot."

Killer gets to work with putting the bedding on the bed and getting ti ready. He doesn't care to much about bedding himself but Nightmare can't handle the cold that well and he deserves every bit of comfort they can get him.

Crop smiles "no worries! I am happy i can help." he starts helping moving the tinier things around as Hroror does most of the heavy lifting "I can go into town aftr chores tomorrow to see what I other people in town have that we cna use. I will also call my brother after you guys are set up to tell him of the situation." he stops and shoots them a look "I already told Horror but I am going to need somekind of story to tell others around here. THe multiverse isn't a known thing and I honestly don't want to get involved with that too much." and he waits.

Horror and him share a look before they look back at Crop "We will... figure somethign out..."

Killer nods "We will have to talk with the others. see what we can say and get a general idea." Killer figures they can sell it as being one of their babybones having been stolen six years ago. Probably either Dust or Cross as both have purple magic and would fit genetic wise. Can probably fit somekind of abusive ex in there that would explain Nightmare's nervous and scared reactions.

He will offer it as an explanation to the others later.

Crop nods "I will for now just say some friends came by with a babybones and you guys aren't willing to tell me exactly what happened yet. Should buy us more time but also enable to get someone to come to make sure he is okay."

Cold dread and Killer growls "What the hell are you talking about?!"

Crop blinks "A healer? Horror said that there was magic at play that caused him to become an adult before and now a child again. I can only imagine what kind of strain and restriction that places on a child's magic and soul."

A new dread. a fear he hadn't considered.

Did the magical protection harm Nightmare's own magic?!

Horror nods "And a healer would be able to make sure he is okay?"

Crop relaxes and smiles "hopefully. But for that I am going to have to need somekind of explanation or they will worry any damage or wounds have been newly inflected." and he shoots them a look "Which... could cause trouble with the family situation you guys have established at the moment."

Hroror frowns and Killer knows they both know what Crop implied. If someone thinks they are actively abusing him they will try to take Nightmare away from them for his own safety. The fact they all have love and aren't the most... friendly looking monsters will work against them.

Crop finishes putting some spare clothes in the closet "Again, I can buy some time with vague answers but from there on the explanation is up to you four." he looks around the room "This good for now? Sorry there isn't anymore space but Papyrus will come back soon and need his own room."

Horror thanks him again and says it will work just fine. Crop welcomes them to use the shower and bathroom as much as they want and that his kitchen is open for them to use whenever.

After that is is mostly a blurr. They finish getting the attic ready for them and Killer takes his turn to shower after Dust as Horror and crop work together on some quick dinner for them all.

The meal itself is mostly silent as Horror tries to coax Nightmare into eating. Nightmare still has the bad habit of eating too little or not eating at all when he is nervous or anxious, which is often.

Killer is still not a fan of how Crop seem to stare mystified and in awe at Nightmare. completely enchanted by the sight of the small babybones.

soon dinner is ready and Killer gets ready for bed quickly as Dust takes over most of the duties to get Nightmare ready, having had the most practise up to this point.

Killer just lays in the bed waiting when Dust comes by to drop Nightmare off with him "get him comfortable." and Dust leaves to get ready for bed himself.

Killer immediantly hugs the tiny form close and purrs "busy day today."

Nightmare hums sleepily nad give shim the stink eye but Killer grins as he pokes one of the little cheeks. Nightmare grumbles as he pushes at the hand poking him "Killer..."

Killer chuckles as he hugs the other close "Tiny grumpy nugget." Killer laughs as he sees Nightmare's little skull explode with a purple blush as he pushes at him.

"Killer stop that" it is more of a whine than a real demand and Killer nuzzles the skull with a purr. Killer can admit it is amazing to just lay in a bed. feeling clena and having a Nightmare near while content, full of food, and clean. only thing better would have been to have him wrapped up in a warm blanket directly after a very warm bed. but Killer only had that happen once before.

For now he just holds the tiny being near and relaxes when his own soul is right next to the comfortable babybones.

Honestly? All of this was worth it to have Nightmare clean, well fed and ready to sleep in an actual bed. Killer will admit to himself that the others were right with them having to find a place to settle, at least for a short while.

By the time that Dust returns and joins him Nightmare is already sound asleep and Killer is close to going to sleep himself. He falls asleep before either Cross and Horror join them.

------

Cross finally finished cleaning up himself and feels so many times better. Cross can admit he has problems with being dirty and is a neat-freak as Killer likes to call it. Cross doesnt mind it much because despite his teasing Killer also makes sure they go to places and by places where Cross can get the time to clean himself up.

Cross was a bit unsure about this plan at first but with the absolute faith both Horror and Dust had shown in the plan it had been a quick decision to trust them on this.

and they had been right!

The sans, crop, had been nice and helpful and immediantly saw Nightmare as the child he was. Which honestly is amazing and the only correct answer in Cross's mind. He also apologised for only having one bed available to them but Horror had just shrugged and siad it wouldn't be the first time they slept in a pile. Crop had been confused but didn't demand an explanation. Which is good because Cross doubts any of them have an explanation for why they all feel so comfortable with eahc other and will gravitate to lay together.

The fresh ingredients and meal made with it had also been welcome and even needed by how clearly all of them had needed a calm evening. Seeing the others relax had been a welcome sight and Cross takes all their dirty clothes to the washer.

Cross takes time to put their things in the washer and turning it on the right cycle. They will probably have some clothes dye mix-ups but Cross isn't going to seperate it into three different loads and hog the washer and run up the electric AND water bill just to run three tiny washes when it fits in one.

Cross nods to himself as the washer gets to work and makes his way up the stairs, hearing Horror move around in the kitchen. No doubt cleaning up and preparing some food for tomorrow in advance. Cross walks up the set of stairs with a certain excitement, he hadn't seen the attic yet as Horror and Killer took care of getting their things up there and getting them all installed while Cross helped Dust with Nightmare.

Cross feels the clothes he is wearing. it is just old cotton t-shirt and old sweats but Cross feels so much better. Just the idea of not sleepign in his everyday clothes will be so nice!

He opens the door and moves silently into the dark room. THe window is still open to let in the fresh summer air and Cross sight finds the three sleeping in the bed.

Cross walks over and smiles as he sees Dust, Killer and Nightmare all sound asleep. Nightmare is held captive in Killer's arms but lays with his skull right against Dust's own skull. Dust lays mostly hidden under the blanket wiht Nightmare and Cross is pretty sure that Dust is rolled up around nightmare as much as he physically can with Killer being where he is.

Killer has two arms tightly around Nightmare but his skull lays higher on the pillow than Dust, making it seem both are slotted together.

The three of them hardly take up a third of the room on the bed like this but Cross can't get himself to lay in it just yet. Not with the sudden turbulance in his soul. He quickly, but silently, leaves the room and rushes out of the house.

He stands on the porch panting and shaking. What are they doing? They are going to mess this up beyond believe and-

A hand on his shoulder. Horror leans with his back against the fench and stares at him "What is wrong?"

Cross chuckles and lays his skull on the wood of the porch fench. It is cool in the night air "We are messing everythign up."

Horror tilts his skull "I mean. I think we have been doing alright."

Cross laughs as he holds his skull "alright?! We have been dragging a babybones through different universes and dimensions for the last two months, you know, after abandoning him for a month?!" How is that okay?! This is the first time that Cross saw Nightmare completely clean, fed and comfortable in a fucking bed. Three. Months!

Horror doesn't disagree with him and just rubs his back.

Silence around them and Cross groans "What are we going to do?"

Horror shrugs "Same as before? figure it out step by step and try to do right."

Cross pulls his skull away from the wood and looks at him "We couldn't even feed him regularly. we had no place to stay. We were homeless Horror."

Horror nods "And we will have to figure out a plan for that now."

Cross feels himself shake as the anxiety returns "How?! We have no money. we have no papers or passports. we have no plan. nothing!"

Horror gives him a calm look "We got a place to stay right now to figure it out."

Cross groans as he rubs his face "Great. just taking stuff."

hroror shrugs "We can help Crop on his farm as thanks." he shoots him a look "It wasn't like it was that different wiht Nightmare before. we did somework for him and in trade could live there and get things." he raises a brow "If it makes it easier. See it as a temporary job with included housing."

Cross blinks as he considers that. it... sounds better than just getting things and owning someone for a lot of things. he gives a slow nod.

Horror nods as he continues "As for the other things. we are still... figuring stuff out. We ar e new to all of this and didn't exactly have places to stay when we started this whole thing. I think we did okay." he shrugs and nudges him back inside "lets sleep. You are tired and it is making you anxious. Tomorrow we can talk with Crop about how this will all work and go from there."

Cross is unsure before nodding and following Horror back inside. Horror locks the door behind him before going upstairs. They get to the bed and Horror gets comfortable with practised ease and Cross follows his lead. a bit of rearranging and Cross feels himself relax as he lays near his... friends? colleagues? fellow co-parents? Cross doesn't think about it much longer.

Killer had once compared them to cats for their habit of laying on and enar one another and Cross can't help but agree. it helps to hear them and feel them close as Cross tries to sleep in an unfamiliar place.

He drifts off rather quickly as exhaustion makes itself known.

-----------

First Drabble Prev Drabble over here Next Drabble

And there we have the drabble on how their first night/day went when they started to stay with Crop!

I think they did okay :D

#utmv #realageau #nightmare sans #bad sanses #horror sans #cross sans #dust sans #killer sans #farm sans #drabble #deaged nightmare #We are back at it again!#I got this idea in my head and I could not let it rest #also #the gang sleeps like a pile of cats and you can not let me give up this headcanon #and they are actually getting comfortable and try to take care of themselves!#They are strugglign but trying!#poor cross is a bit anxious though #as he feels like he is failing at this and so feels like a failure #luckily the others are used to this and know how to handle it #You notice how this AU has me in a deadgrip? (:#I will never escape it #I mean probably once i get bored of it but i like it so :D #also yes #I read all the reblog tags and they often make me smile and laugh #let me know your own silly thoughts nad ideas people!!

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arthursfuckinghat · 8 months

Text

Full disclosure, I'm still on chapter 6 but I wanted to say a few things:

Arthur isn't a mindless killer. If he is mass murdering civilians, that's your choice.

Arthur knows that pain is not currency that you can exchange, and causing it only builds a debt - the kind he can't pay off.

He says it himself, "Revenge is a fool's game" - He writes constantly about his remorse in the journal.

Led by Dutch, the Van Der Linde gang have been chasing the feeling of living by their own terms so much that it's killing them. Pursuing that high has only left them to run forever, from those who want to clip their wings of freedom for the sake of law.

The O'Driscoll and Cornwall feud is a scapegoat for Dutch to get revenge for himself and his pride, he uses his charismatic rhetoric to sway the gang and justify all his actions. If they don't obey, they get named and shamed. Dutch labeling the gang as a family and treating them as such has conditioned them to know not to disappoint him, especially Arthur.

Arthur was taught not to bite the hand that feeds him, even when he wasn't fed.

The days of stealing from the rich and giving to the poor are long gone. Their way of living is outdated and they're running out of land to run away to.

This pursuit of freedom, once idealised, has become a desperate attempt to survive in a world that doesn't want them.

Their hearts have always been in the right place, but their guns were misguided by Dutch.

That loyalty has killed them.

#charles is the only other sane person in this game #dutch's whole “im doing this for us but it only benefits me” manipulation has worked #arthur is seeing through that act but us still torn about it #he has accepted that he might die to his loyalty to dutch but he doesn't want it for anybody else either #how did we go from “youre more than a son to me” dutch to “I need no traitors” whilst glaring at arthur #hosea's death happened #but it's been a long time coming #arthur morgan #dutch van der linde #van der linde gang #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #mick squeaks #no spoilers please #liveblogging #please let me know your thoughts!!

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nico-di-genova · 4 months

Text

A Lesson in Braking

Chapter 2

Read on Archive of Our Own

A/N: hehehehehehe (my only thoughts while writing this fic).

Warnings: NSFW and a brief mention of anti-harm dorm furniture.

“I fucked an old guy last night,” Lance says to Esteban, when he’s lying on the floor of his dorm room, head resting on the Spider-Man pillow he bought Esteban for his birthday last spring. “Behind the Barnes & Noble. Hand job.”

Esteban hums. He’s sitting at his desk that he’s moved to slot beneath the single small window of his room, curled over his laptop and working on some complex string of numbers. Three weeks into the semester and Esteban is already drowning in assignments – Lance doesn’t envy him.

“He ate my cum,” he continues, picking at a fraying edge of the pillow. When he pulls at the red string it snags on the fabric and then releases, growing longer in Lance’s grip. He should buy Esteban a new one, maybe a whole bedspread to match. The thought occurs that he could buy a matching set, just to sleep on during the nights when he’s too drunk to get back to his own place and crashes in the living room.

Esteban hums again, pushes his glasses further up his nose, keeps clicking away on his laptop so that the number sequence only grows longer. Lance can only catch pieces of it from where he’s lying on the floor, head angled backward to stare up at Esteban as he works. But even the small bit he can see is enough to give him a headache.

“When I kissed him I tasted it.”

That gets him.

Esteban sighs, leans back in the chair as far as it will go given its anti-tip design – dorm furniture made to prevent kids from hanging themselves from their light fixtures – rubs at the bridge of his nose and then falls back forward with a groan.

“You’re telling me this, why?”

Lance pouts, tips his head further back on the pillow so he can get a better look at Esteban with one arm on the back of his chair, leaning down to stare at him with mild judgement.

“You don’t want to know about the old man sex I had?”

“I can barely tolerate hearing about the normal sex you have.”

Lance laughs. The spider-man plush, also bought by Lance from the birthday trip to Disneyland last spring, rises and falls on his stomach with the movement. Technically, he has homework for his intro to Marketing class, but it’s more fun to laze around on Esteban’s dirty floor, talking about his sex life, than it is to learn about how to make people buy things. Besides, he’s grown up listening to his dad rant about his successes in the industry, so much so that his first word might as well have been entrepreneurship. It shouldn’t be a hard class to pass.

The dorm room is so tiny he almost runs the whole length of it, one foot nearly to the door, his head at the base of Esteban’s chair, one knee propped in the air. One of his arms is spread wide enough that it’s laying underneath Esteban’s bed, fingers toying with the shoelace of a sneaker that’s been kicked off underneath. It’s a familiar sight by this point, Lance taking up space in Esteban’s room, his life, with ease and spreading out enough that he can be found in nearly every corner of it. Esteban always makes room for him, sometimes will join him on the floor when his course load isn’t too much. But junior year is already different from the two prior, kicking off with a speed that is giving Lance whiplash.

He misses Sovi, the freshman dorms that once made him feel caged, but provided infinitely more freedom in that they weren’t tied to the paths that had led them here.

“My normal sex life just involves Pato, you’d rather hear about me fucking Pato?” He asks, smirks, just barely dodges the pencil Esteban flicks down at him.

“I don’t want to hear about you fucking anyone! Get a journal!”

Lance muses, “I guess there was also that one guy a few weeks ago. From that party in Q,” the building a few doors down from Esteban’s. It sat on the shore of the lake and far enough away from the central hub that university police tended to overlook it. Esteban had called Lance four beers deep a week into school and told him to get there quick, didn’t specify where ‘there’ was, so Lance had to use Find My to even locate him. When he’d pulled up the party had been in full swing on the third floor, and he was welcomed into the cramped apartment by Esteban who reeked of alcohol and weed. Lance ended up fucking one of the guys who lived there, riding him hurriedly and enduring the guy keeping a sweaty palm pressed to his mouth so he didn’t make too much noise in the room they’d locked themselves in.

Esteban squints at him, “You said that guy was shit.”

“He was.” He came first and then didn’t even bother to get Lance off.

“So why the fuck would you want to talk about it again?”

“Because you don’t want to hear about the good old man sex.”

Esteban’s nose crinkles in disgust, “Well how old was he?”

“I didn’t ask.”

The mechanical engineering is quickly forgotten, Esteban spinning around fully in his chair and staring at Lance with wide eyes. Lance grins up at him innocently, flutters his eyelashes, scoots over on the pillow as a silent invitation for the man to join him on the ugly blue carpeted floor. Esteban doesn’t take it, yet, Lance is still confident he can convince him.

“How old did he look?”

“I don’t know, forties maybe?”

“Forties?! What the fuck, Lance!?”

“What?”

The deadpan stare Esteban gives him isn’t new, it’s pretty standard actually. “You are insane. And stupid.”

Lance, because he likes testing his luck, pushing at the boundaries of his and Esteban’s friendship, seeing where the line is so he can be prepared for when it snaps, keeps going, “I’m seeing him again tonight.”

He wishes he’d been filming, just so he could preserve the way Esteban’s eyes get impossibly wider. Finally, Esteban gets out of the chair, but he doesn’t join Lance on the floor, instead he paces the length of the room, hands held on his head and mumbles a rapid string of words that Lance doesn’t quite get but he thinks are mainly swears.

“You are joking, yes? Tell me you are joking.” Hands on his hips, towering over Lance, he looks like a giant. Tall and lanky with big eyes behind his wire-rimmed frames.

Lance hadn’t been. He’s been texting Fernando since late last night, ignoring calls from his dad in the process. So far the conversation has consisted of little substance, just enough to establish that Lance is a junior, Fernando is retired, and lives in one of the mansions on the other side of the lake that is right outside Esteban’s prison cell-sized window. Mainly they’d talked about Fernando’s cock, how Lance is upset he didn’t get to see it, taste it – how he’d like to return the favor preferably outside of the backseat of a car and somewhere a bit more comfortable.

He wants to be called beautiful again, reverently, spread out on silk sheets and spread open by Fernando’s fingers. He blames the accelerated horniness on the dry summer he’d just had, the time spent at his father’s house with little else to do and no one to hook up with because Lawrence had insisted on spending as much time as he could with Lance. They’d gone to the track to watch a few races, the office where Lance was meant to be shadowing, galas and banquets, and the golf course most mornings so Lawrence could ensure Lance actually had something to show for the tuition he was fronting. Lance knows it was mainly a last ditch effort on his dad’s behalf to maintain their relationship, before Lance slipped off back to Florida and began predictably sending him to voicemail. Which is why he had even bothered enduring it in the first place, when he just as easily could has gone off to the Mykonos with a group of guys from his frat.

He'd refrained from debauchery all summer, was paying the price for his abstinence now. But, like always, the cost was something to which Lance paid very little, until the bill began to raise eyebrows, as Esteban’s now are.

“Lance. Tell me you are joking!”

“Why would I be joking?”

Esteban glares down at him, while Lance sprawls out further across the thin carpet, concrete flooring beneath digging into his shoulder blades, and smiles. It’s wide, lazy, slow to draw across his face. The sort of shit-eating, self-assured, smirk that Esteban hates.

“It was good sex, Este! He did this thing-“

“Stop! No! Stop! I don’t want to know.”

Lance stops, goes quiet, but continues to smirk. In his pocket, he feels his phone vibrate, probably Fernando again. They’re meant to be meeting in a few hours, once the suns gone down enough that being outside doesn’t make him feel like he’s melting. When Fernando can take him to the bar in the shopping plaza nearby and treat him to a beer before he fucks him senseless, as he’s been promising all day.

He doesn’t tell Esteban this, figures he’s maybe traumatized him enough for the day. Instead, he changes the topic to Esteban’s course load, feigns interest in the math still open on his laptop. Esteban is all too willing to explain it to him, to turn his attention away from the phone Lance pulls from his pocket and grins at with cheeks turning red.

Fernando has sent him a photo of his outfit, button of his slacks undone, zipper pulled low, hand holding the waistband below his hips. He has a tattoo on the inside of his forearm, close to his wrist, something Lance hadn’t noticed in the dark of his car last night, but that he now can’t draw his eyes away from. It’s a cross of some sort, produces the sort of sacrilegious thoughts that he can’t linger on for too long for fear of losing his religion.

‘Wear something nice,’ Fernando’s text says, when he manages to read it.

Lance doesn’t own much that fits the description, other than a suit he saves for formals, but he figures it maybe doesn’t actually matter that much. Fernando promises to rip whatever it is off of him anyway.

Esteban throws another pencil at him when he tries to show him the photo, holds his hand up to block the view and then lands the writing utensil right on Lance’s nose.

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

His dad calls when he’s fresh out of the shower of his own apartment, steam curling in the air around him and his phone vibrating steadily against the granite countertops of his humid bathroom. He answers before it goes to voicemail, figures he owes his dad this because it’s the third time he’s called since that morning, and he doesn’t want to risk pissing the man off too much.

“Hey,” he says as he’s wrapping a towel around his waist, slicking his wet hair back out of his face with his free hand. He leaves the phone on speaker, lets his dad’s voice fill space as he busies with getting ready.

“I’m going to assume you’ve been ignoring my calls because you are going to class.”

He only has one class on Tuesday’s, and it’s finished by noon. Advanced golf merchandising, a pointless elective where he’s meant to be learning the management of a retail location. He takes notes, enough to retain the important bits, but he already knows management isn’t where he’s going to end up. His dad would secure him some corporate position within his company before that was even an option. Which, he doesn’t want either, can’t stand the thought of being forced to wear a shirt with a collar every day.

“Yeah, I just got back from campus,” he lies, he’s been hiding out at Esteban’s since class ended, it’s seven now. The lie comes too easy, but the truth would only hurt the both of them – that Lance is avoiding his father because their conversations hurt more than they help these days. That Lance is growing, but it’s in a direction away from Lawrence, from the idea of who his dad thought he would be.

His dad wishes Lance were still small, and Lance wishes that too, but only because when he was a child hurting his dad only resulted in a brief scolding. Now it leads to awkward silences that neither of them know how to fill.

“Class is going well?”

“Um, easy so far, yeah.” They’re only three weeks in. “Other than this financial accounting class, it’s brutal.” He’s already had to ask Esteban for help, already knows he’s going to need to visit the library for tutoring.

He wipes steam from his mirror with the palm of his hand, catches a glimpse of his dripping reflection. Somehow, he needs to assemble himself into something relatively attractive within the next ten minutes, only for it to most likely come undone the second he slides his helmet over his hair. There’s a twisted sort of humor in him wondering how best to style himself for Fernando, while he’s on the phone with his father, pretending to care about classes that had stopped being fun once Lance realized they were actually supposed to lead to something.

“You spent all summer looking at the books,” Lawrence says. Which is true, but it had made more sense when things were hands on. Now it’s just a jumble of words and numbers on a whiteboard, a professor who knows the course is meant for weeding out those who are too weak to continue, and who looks at Lance every time he shows up late with a knowing sort of disappointment.

People didn’t used to look at him like that, it’s a growing sentiment the more Lance stumbles.

“Yeah, I know. It’s just- it’s different. All reading and equations and- I don’t know. I’m not a numbers guy, dad, you know this.”

“You got it pretty well while you were here.”

Only because he’d felt his dad’s eyes on him the whole summer, felt the pressure and the weight and need to prove he could do something. His professor doesn’t bother to look at Lance once he’s sat at a desk, which means Lance zones out, doodles designs in the margins of his notes and then wonders why the numbers don’t add up while he’s doing homework later.

“It’s different,” the exasperation in his voice is audible, he pauses where he’d been drying his hair with a towel pulled from under the sink. Closes his eyes. Breathes. “But I’m trying. I’ll- I’ll figure it out.”

“I know you will, Lance. I didn’t say you wouldn’t.”

They’re being careful around each other, the eggshells just beginning to crunch beneath their feet. Neither one of them want a fight and Lance can feel the tension of it through the phone, the tightening of something in his chest that threatens to break every time he speaks to his father now. This is why he lets it go to voicemail.

Fernando texts him, he sees the notification come through as he’s staring at the phone, hands braced on the bathroom sink. Probably asking if he’s on his way. Lance’s hair is still dripping water in cold tendrils down the back of his neck, a puddle forming on the carpet at his feet. He hasn’t even bothered to find an outfit or brush his teeth.

“Look, dad- I- um, I gotta go. I have a, uh, a study thing with Pato-“

“Oh, okay, yeah. I’ll talk to you soon.”

Lance closes his eyes again, bows his head, tries not to care about the hurt that’s audible in his father’s voice and finds that it somehow manages to dig between his ribs anyway. He hangs up before there’s the chance for the line to fracture further, and then he busies himself with texting Fernando back.

‘You are still coming?’ Fernando asks.

Lance says he’ll be there soon, and then he focuses on the toothbrush in his hands, getting himself ready, and ignores everything else.

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

“I need a drink!” Lance yells over the music, leaning further into Fernando, who holds him up with ease. “A shot!”

Fernando’s hand on his waist tightens when Lance rocks on his feet. They’re standing in the press of bodies on the dance floor, people on all sides. The crowd makes it easy for Lance to press against Fernando, the flashing lights adding to the disorientation. No one notices the way Fernando’s got one hand gripping Lance’s hipbone, the other on his ass, tucked into the pocket of his jeans and cupping the curve of him.

They’re the same jeans he’d worn last night, pulled from the crumpled heap on his floor and slid back on because he couldn’t find anything else. If Fernando has noticed he doesn’t say anything, too distracted by the white linen button-up that Lance wear, only half done-up and exposing nearly the full expanse of his chest in the multicolored lights. Lance knows it puts the chain around his neck on full display, makes his collarbones stand out, shows how broad he is, and produces the impressed reaction Fernando had exhibited upon first seeing him.

He’d bought Lance his first drink, and then the first requested tequila shot, leaning on the bar top and staring at the exposed column of his neck as Lance tipped the liquor back and downed it with practiced ease. Lance had seen the way Fernando’s eyes had darkened as his adams apple bobbed, looking from the corner of his eye just to see the response that would be elicited with the movement.

“What do you want?” Fernando asks now, hand on his hip coming up to pull Lance down to him so his lips just barely brush over Lance’s ear.

He shudders, breath stuttering when Fernando’s fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck and pull just enough that there’s the promise of something better later. He’s been teasing Lance since Lance first arrived, the ghost of a touch, a tongue tracing over the sweaty line of his neck, enough to have him hard in his jeans but never doing anything to solve the problem.

It’s the most public foreplay Lance has ever engaged in, even if everyone is too drunk or too involved in their own games to even notice.

“Vodka?” Lance yells, knowing he probably seems young for only ordering shots, but he’d only just turned twenty-one last October. Most of his experience with alcohol has been bagged wine fountained before entry to a party or the mix of Kool-Aid and whatever liquor could be procured into a giant tub for jungle juice. Shots are simple, uncomplicated, and he knows he can handle them. Plus they hit fast, or at least feel like they do, give him the liquid courage needed to grind against Fernando as Pit Bull blares around them in the crowded bar.

The Keys is a mixed sort of space, half occupied by college kids who were too lazy to drive all the way to Rusty’s and half-filled by the locals who are looking for fun outside of their mansions. It means he and Fernando don’t draw attention, Lance fits in with the group of kids in their backwards caps and low cut shirts, Fernando blends with the guys in their pressed button-ups and black slacks. He just looks hotter than the others, the pants hugging his waist and ass well, clearly tailored. And the peak of a tattoo Lance gets on the back of Fernando’s neck as he follows him back up to the bar, Fernando’s hand around his wrist towing him through the crowd, separates him enough from the older guys smoking cigars outside on the patio. He wants to know what the tattoo is, slide Fernando’s shirt off his shoulders and trace the ink with his tongue.

But that’s for later, for now he lets Fernando guide him, lean him against the bar top, slide a hand back into the pocket of his jeans because the shape of his palm over his ass is becoming familiar. He flags down the bartender, orders two shots of Vodka and then they tip them back together. Lance can feel how flushed his neck is getting, wonders if the red of it is spreading to his chest, his cheeks. His hair that was still slightly damp from the shower is frizzing in the humidity of the packed space, falling over his forehead.

Fernando stares up at him, lips wet with vodka and his own spit when he licks them, Lance follows the movement, starts to lean forward like he intends to taste the lingering alcohol himself. Fernando stops him with a hand on his chest, fingers splayed across bare skin, index finger dipping into the hollow of his clavicle. Lance shudders, Fernando feels it.

“Let’s get out of here, yes?”

“Yes.”

Lance can’t drive his bike, just drunk enough that he knows he couldn’t keep his balance. Instead, he climbs into the passenger seat of Fernando’s Aston Martin, and deposits his own keys in the cupholder, casting a forlorn look back at his gear in the backseat. The same seat he’d come undone in last night, now occupied by his motorcycle helmet with the sticker of a cat waving the Canadian flag – something Pato had found online and ordered because ‘it’s Canada, Lance! You know, you!’. Fernando had asked him about it when he parked earlier, traced the outline of it before Lance had taken his helmet off, lifted Lance’s visor so he could see his eyes more clearly as he did so.

When he looks back at Fernando in the driver’s seat the man is staring at him. Lance knows what it looks like when someone wants him. He knows the way Pato gets all slack jawed and dopey-eyed, eyes flicking to Lance’s lips every two seconds even though he wouldn’t even try to kiss him. But Fernando’s look of want is different, more demanding and all-encompassing. He looks like he’s plotting the best course of stripping Lance out of his clothes before they’ve even reached their destination, like he is thinking of the best way to take him apart.

Maybe it’s because he’s more experienced, or maybe it’s because he’s less. Lance doesn’t know enough about him, anything really, to know if he is the first man Fernando has hooked up with or not. They still haven’t found much time to talk, or maybe just haven’t wanted to make the effort. Lance is okay with that, his idea of foreplay is not long discussions and get-to-know-you’s. He doesn’t have the patience for that, much prefers Fernando’s method of cutting to the quick and easy of it. Which Fernando does when he leans across the console enough to grab Lance by the chain around his neck and pull him in for a kiss.

Lance is still not used to the kissing, just opens his mouth and lets Fernando’s tongue slide into it because he’s not practiced enough. He’s okay with letting Fernando take control, likes how he doesn’t have to think about it, just follow. Fernando tastes like vodka, and Lance swallows the familiar taste of it when their spit mixes and he can no longer tell whose is whose.

When Fernando pulls back Lance tries to chase him, is stopped again by a hand on his chest, firm and unyielding.

“You are still okay with coming to my place?” Fernando asks, and something in the way he says it is slightly sobering. It makes Lance remember his bike two spots over, prepared to be abandoned for the night and hopefully still there come morning.

“Yeah. Definitely.”

“I will drive you home, instead. If you want. Up to you.”

“No. No I’m good. Trust me.” He’d prepped himself in the shower and everything, knew what he was getting into before a drop of alcohol ever touched his tongue. “I’ve been thinking about this since last night.”

Fernando eyes him, glances down at his chest where his skin is still red and hot and bare against his hand.

“Okay. God, you are beautiful.”

The praise shoots straight to Lance’s cock, has a quiet moan escaping him, something he only just barely manages to bite back with the press of his teeth into his bottom lip. Fernando catches it anyway, grins like he’s realized the praise wasn’t just a one-off from the hand job last night, but something Lance actually enjoys.

"Don’t worry, pretty boy,” he promises, “Make you feel better soon.”

#strollonso #strollonso fic #a lesson in braking #a lesson in braking fic #my fic #gang they make me maybe a bit unwell #also!! don't say anything about it lowkey being toxic rn #I know!#(it's intentional)#I have a path #let me stroll along it

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