#more words for the slop pit

[sourmonsterworms]

The END (2009) - The Black Eyed Peas

8.5/10

This album has a Very Mixed reputation but there’s a goddamn reason I can still sing every single word of the first 5 tracks. The album is very frontloaded, all of the charting singles are shoved front and center in the album. I know this album’s singles get a lot of shit but I could make a case for all 5 of these singles, even I Gotta Feeling, which I don’t even like that much comparatively (despite the fact that I think this is the song most people feel the most positively toward).

Boom Boom Pow is tight, earwormy, futuristic (for the time) sounding, I haven’t listened to this song in years and I remembered Every. Fucking. Word. Not too overly repetitive, the verses are good, it doesn’t feel like any part of the song is carrying or lagging behind, the epitome of a cohesive song where something interesting is always happening. 

Rock That Body my beloved. I don’t give a fuck what you think about this song its fucking twerkable, this song used to make me go fucking apeshit when I was a kid, this song is a hill I will fucking die on. I genuinely enjoy the chipmunk Fergie vocals and respect them as an artistic choice, I’m Not Fucking Kidding.

Meet Me Halfway is a guilty pleasure, I know by all rights I should say it's bad, that its sampling of The Yeah Yeah Yeahs iconic song about longing Maps is baffling, but in the moment? You know what? This song DOES hit. This is probably the best vocal performance Fergie has or ever will give. 

Imma Be- Ok please stay with me here, I know this is probably most people’s least favorite of the singles. It's repetitive, it's probably the ugliest sounding production wise, its pioneering annoying “ay”s as an instrument, the ever present “Imma Be”s. But when the bridge hits I feel like it's all worth it. I fucking love the back half of this song so much. It's like the musical equivalent of eating your vegetables to get dessert.

I Gotta Feeling is my least favorite of the charting singles, I dunno, I just think it's like, ok. Most people would say this is the best song on the album I feel, its not even in my top 5, but I know every fucking word like its burned into my brain so, what’ll you do.

The album doesn't stop with its commercial singles though, the next two songs were non charting promotional singles (one of which was only released in France). Alive is, surprisingly, kind of reminiscent of a RAM era Daft Punk song but if The Black Eyed Peas were there (4 years predating RAM). I think this song honestly deserves to be remembered as well as the preceding 5 songs.

Missing You, the aforementioned France Only Promo Single, at first feels a bit heavy handed, opening with Fergie doing her most Fergie. However, I actually really like the production on this one. The transition from the first chorus to the first verse immediately changed my expectations for the song, and the second verse, with Fergie’s interjections of “Missing you” is the high point of the song, immaculate. I could easily imagine this song having been a successful radio single 2009-2010 (Yes, I am saying this album should have had 7 charting singles Actually, it’s my review I get to say whatever words I want)

Unfortunately this is actually the point where the album falls off. Ring-A-Ling, a song about bootycalls, is the most straight up offensive to my ears, which is a shame because Missing You leads into it so beautifully that it leaves you completely unprepared for what is about to happen to you. The chorus proudly proclaims that “the girls want ding-a-ling” how brave of will.i.am to say that like it doesn’t sound goofy as fuck. The vocal effects on Fergie do not sound like a Respectable Artistic Choice on this one. The production is very “annoying song from the late 2000s-2010s”, unfortunately I could also imagine a world where this charted in 2010, so it's good that we mercifully dodged that timeline. Also this song ends on a sample that used the R slur, reminding you that the Peas love that word so much that one of their most famous songs is unlistenable without the censored edit (ugh).

The songs after this aren’t too terribly notable, Party All The Time feels like a less good retread of I Gotta Feeling, Out Of My Head is actually pretty decent but feels like a rejected leftover from The Duchess rather than a Black Eyed Peas song (it basically is just a Fergie song), and Electric City just, isn’t very good. Showdown feels like it could have had something with the counting in the pre chorus, but the rest of the song is just, eh.

Now Generation opens with a narrator talking about how The Youth can destroy the Economy by Not Buying things, before tiptoeing into an absolutely baffling song about how cool technology and the internet is and Money and Stuff. I feel like this is supposed to sound rebellious or something but it’s just? What the fuck is this? One Tribe feels like an attempt to return to their roots, or at the very least Where Is The Love? But it's just an empty song about Love and Peace and Unity. Also it sucks.

After 7 tracks of mid, here we are at the closing track. So you know how I said Alive sounded like Daft Punk? Lightning striketh twice because Rockin To The Beat sounds even more like Will.i.am really wanted to make a Daft Punk song. I don’t know if this would clear on an actual Daft Punk album, but on this album? It's a pleasant surprise. Genuinely nice way to close out the album.

Despite this album cycle’s insane success at the time and the album’s commercial success, this album feels bloated. With 15 tracks, the shortest of which clocking in at 3:45, most being over 4 minutes, this album could have been 5 tracks shorter and it would have benefitted the listening experience greatly. Personally I think Ring-A-Ling, Electric City, Showdown, Now Generation and One Tribe could have seen the chopping block and little of value would have been lost. That being said, the good songs here? Pretty good. Would absolutely suggest listening to Alive, Missing You and Rockin To The Beat at least once if you’ve never heard them.

1 Rock That Body

2 Alive

3 Missing You

[irenadel]

And if the devil... 1/10

Making a banner for this finally for the grand finale coming soon. Excuse to rb. Credit for the Aemond screencap goes to the wonderful Liv @barbieaemond Eventual smut, Aemond Targaryen x Maid!Reader

Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

“And if the devil was to ever see you, he’d kiss your eyes and repent.”

- Farouk Gouida

He’d had nothing but contempt for you the first time he’d seen you: a too tall, mannish girl mopping up baby vomit for Helaena with less tact and grace than a stable boy. He had seen the blotchy red and white of your hands and face and had thought you one of Aegon’s cruel jests for a sister-wife he did not deserve: a freakish chambermaid for a mad princess.

And far too familiar with a lady who was in every way your better.

He told himself it was not jealousy that burnt in the pit of his stomach, brighter and wilder than Vhagar’s fire. No. It was distaste and a healthy amount of distrust, he’d felt when he’d come to visit Helaena and found you rocking her gently in your arms. You’d been in drab servant red, hair escaping your work bonnet, so strangely pale that it had made Aemond squint in immediate suspicion. Whatever it was, you were no noble companion or even one of the prettier handmaidens, just a scullery girl, dress still stained from floor scrubbing, holding a Targaryen princess and gently brushing her hair out of the way.

He’d had to control the urge to snatch her from your arms and snarl at you to leave if you wanted to keep your head… It would not have been becoming. Helaena would no doubt have found it distressing. But most of all, he feared what he would do to you the moment he’d had your pale, sickly hand in his grip. Because you had robbed him of a thing which he had not known belonged to him. His right to his sister’s pain, always so far and yet so close, because he feared the things he could say if his affection were ever to escape him. And here you were, like a thief in the night, snatching his chance before he’d even known it existed.

You’d had the common sense to leave quickly with your bucket of slops, and your eyes fixed determinedly on the floor. As if you’d known your transgression.

Helaena was not half as wise as you. Her tears had been all but gone, not there for a brother to wipe away or avenge. No forthcoming confession about Aegon that he could use as an excuse to stalk his brother’s steps and pick a fight. Just her tongue loosened by the joy of Aemond’s sudden gentleness, brought on by unwarranted competition.

You’d been recently assigned to her quarters, she’d told him and you were very good at putting the children to sleep. You weren’t squeamish like the ladies of the court, would look at Helaena’s insects without problem and think nothing of her muttering under her breath, however strange her words might be. When the children were quiet, when Helaena herself hadn’t known what else to say, you had talked to her about the great locusts of the plains of Essos, told her stories of swarms of them, climbing atop the little babes, eating the grass so thoroughly no horse or cattle could survive on what was left.

But more so, you were kind and strong and willing to put the princess to bed when her head hurt so bad she could barely think. You stayed up with her when her dreams were more a punishment than reprieve from her reality, asleep in her bed besides her or waking up for her to tend to the babies. Not a wet nurse, but you had a good head on your shoulders for fussing and crying. She had come to depend on you really. 

He had not liked it at all.

He’d blamed himself for being too engrossed in weapons training and Vhagar to have noticed your creeping, insidious influence on his sister. He’d questioned his mother and had found only her relief that at least Aegon left you alone, probably less out of kindness than out of distaste. You may have been coarse and rude and perhaps unfit to deal with anything but the lower floors of a castle, but the queen had had enough problems to deal with and at least you had a strong back and a mean glare that kept even princes away.

Not Aemond though.

He’d kept his good eye on you, and a new man-at-arms he trusted always at his sister’s side. Had even thought to corner you and put the fear of the gods in you lest you had thought Helaena alone and vulnerable. Had not even considered replacing your presence with his own, uneasy with how much the prospect thrilled him. 

You’d looked up only once: a lightning quick glare for the One-Eyed Prince before the subservient mask was firmly back in place. And Aemond had been struck strangely silent by your odd red eyes and let you scurry away. Your coarse yellow hair had been escaping its thin bonnet and he’d known immediately.

Not Valyrian blood, not a misplaced bastard, not some political trick as he had suspected…

Albino.

Oh but Helaena did have quite a fondness for broken, repellent things.

He’d been less wary then, but no less watchful. He’d stopped to stare when he saw you carrying the princess’s tray or even one of her children up and down a corridor, infallible technique for getting them to sleep at last. He’d haunted his sister’s rooms, lurking in doorways, listening in to your accent (not Flea Bottom, but not court either, no one had taught you how to speak to your betters or even how to speak well at all, it seemed…) as you told Princess Helaena about having eleven cousins and wrestling them all into bed, about taking in laundry because you couldn’t take in sewing, about a crotchety old uncle who had broken his hip out at sea and needed minding now. An uncle who resented the minding and the niece and wife that kept him and his children fed. An uncle who sounded to Aemond’s hungry, savage loneliness a lot like a father and a king.

He does not hear the other talk, even if allowed to be present for it he would not consider it. He would have dismissed it as women talk, gossip, having seldom let himself dwell on kindness instead of grievance, succor instead of retaliation. He does not hear a beloved sister tell you to stay one step ahead of the dragon, as far away as you can manage, because dragons bring nothing but fire even if they love you, warm enough until it becomes death. She should know.

It does nothing to keep Aemond from following behind you. When you took the children and their mother down to the kitchens for hot milk with honey. When any of them were achy or colicky or cranky and you would put a shawl over them, babies or mother. When you insisted the princess and her children could do with a stroll and some sun, and Aemond found his heart aching with hideous envy because he could hear his sister laughing at your snappish kitchen talk, speaking softly and intimately to you, as hungry to give the attention as to receive it. (Even as his sorry, wicked heart screams out, it was mine, all this was meant for me, how dare you, how dare you take what I didn’t know I needed!) When you sang Helaena’s babies or Helaena herself to sleep and Aemond found he had to cover his  ears against your strange, foreign crooning, that didn’t sound like King’s Landing but sounded treacherously like home. He’d had to flee to the training grounds and take out this all-consuming anger on something, drown out your husky, kind voice with the din of his sword against a shield. Hitting the wood over and over again until he tore it to splinters and Ser Criston had to hold him into stillness, knowing there was no comforting a dragon without getting burned.

“My prince.”

You would say when you fled a staircase he cornered you into.

“My prince.”

When you’d courtesy, clumsily, still too sour-faced and suspicious to do it gracefully, when he managed to catch you on your way out of Helaena’s room.

“My prince.”

The day he had decided that yes, your prince, was exactly what he’d be to you, what you’d say to him, in whatever way he’d manage to tear it from your throat, in spite of Aegon’s taunting and the visceral fear at his own woeful lack of knowledge in matters of the flesh.

Because he had decided if you had no problem taking from him, he would have no problem taking from you.

Because you’d said it to him on your way out of the washing court, bonnet gone and coarse yellow hair sticking out of your pinned braid like a frightful halo, a bright purple bruise already forming on your cheekbone, as you’d glared directly at him, challenge in your head held high, and the water splashed all across your linen apron, sticking to your skin so closely that Aemond should have had you right then and there.

Because you’d said it with a curt nod, like Ser Criston when he approved of a particularly good move Aemond had just learned in the training yard, like a general to a soldier, “My prince.”

Because he’d just seen you swing a chamber pot directly into a stable boy’s face after hearing him call Princess Helaena “daft,” bringing it swinging back to the other side of his face, contents and all, just to take a step back to bring a fist into the stable boy’s friend. Aemond had been too transfixed by the sight of your heaving chest and the splotchy red of your cheeks to intervene after you’d taken a half-hearted punch to the face, returned it in kind and thrown the now empty chamber pot at the whimpering serving boys at your feet.

“And clean up your bloody mess!” You’d said before washing your hands in the fountain and strolling out of the courtyard, about as triumphant and vicious as Prince Aemond himself had ever felt when defeating knight after knight, telling himself he was better, stronger, a more fit ruler than any of them would ever be.

“My prince,” you’d said with your curt, martial nod, with your ruby-red eyes and the split knuckles of your hand, wounds taken in the defense of Aemond’s sister, wounds that should have by right belonged to him.

He’d taken your wrist in his hand, grip monstrously strong, and watched you realize the mistake you had made in the proud tilt of your head. You had forgotten for a second that pride wasn’t for your class of people, less so when confronted by a prince of the realm. He’d watched you realize your danger and how you didn’t care, that if there was a price to pay for pride you might as well pay it… and had realized himself that he didn’t care much either. Because Aemond had decided in that moment that he liked the defiance and stubborn anger in your ruby-red gaze, just as much as he had liked the ringing din of the chamber pot breaking something in that stable boy’s face. The prince had smiled at you then, his hunting cat smile, the one men all over the Seven Kingdoms would learn to fear, as he let you pass. Your prince, you would call him again, he decided as he let you go. Your prince, he would hear you call him, on your knees, on your back and beneath him, anyway he could get you. Because he wanted it. Because he had known himself to be spoiling for a fight and would be spoiling for a fight his whole life, the moment he had gone looking for Vhagar, the largest living dragon in the world, and won her. As he would win you. On your knees, your back or beneath him, as you called him your prince, because you wanted to, not ripped out of you by fear and hope for profit but because you wanted him. He would teach you that. That there were none like him, Targaryen or otherwise. That he was your prince and more than. He would teach you this, just as he had begun to teach the world.

[rateaters-sutff]

All FNAF drama is like this:

\> Game dev, "The Slipster" creates a Fnaf fan game "Those 8 Nights at Zopster's Slop Factory."

\> The Slipster gains massive popularity due to their meme-ish and charming personality

\>YouTuber "Slamstest Yah!" covers Zopster's, criticizing gameplay and story while praising modeling and atmosphere

\> Both individuals have suspiciously furry rantsonas

\> Fans of Slamstest yah! go to Slipster's Twitter and threaten to kill and eats Slipster and their family

\> The Slipster @ s Slamstest yah! about the harassment and death threats Slamstest yah! gave them

\> Slamstest Yah! says they did nothing and accuses Slipster of punching down (Slipster has fewer bunger points than Slamstest Yah! but okay??)

\>Meanwhile a discord group of random Fnaf fan creators forms, calling themselves "The Gaggle" with the sole purpose of fucking over Slipster because he was pretty rude and selfish in their past fan game projects.

\> "The Gaggle" leaks all of Zopster's Slop Factory's assets and developer notes, as well as private DMs where Slipster called "B1LLR0xy" creator of FnaF remake "FNAF **-1/12**.", a "small unlovable glop with a trash game" and "ngl I think gungster#37 was right" ("gungster#37" is a controversial figure in the Fnaf community)

\> Slamstest yah! has no clue any of this happend

\>The Slipster starts a 15-page twit longer accusing Slamstest yah! of conspiring against him with "The Gaggle" to take him down.

\>5 minutes later, Slipster starts a live stream on his YT channel "slipZlop LIVE"

\>has a panic attack and begins crying live on stream, revealing a lot of extremely personal trauma to his audience of Slipster and Yah! stans, who all come to eat up the drama.

\>Slamstest Yah! DMs Slipster on stream and says he didn't orchestrate any of this.

\>Slipster goes on a tirade on Slamstest yah! and claims he should be sent to the deepest pit of the inferno, never to breathe anything but ash and fire

\> While this is happening famous offical Fnaf artist "Vensty Yummybunsty" comments "Gungster #37 was a mixed figure tbh" on the Fnaf sub,

\> Vensty gets backlash and apologizes, only for some random Redditor to go into their [timzbus.art](https://timbus.art/) page and it turns out they made infant cannibalism art and a Fnaf fanfic where William Afton eats 15 children.

\> Scott Cawthon materializes out of the black void between voids, grabs Vensty by the neck, and dematerializes with her, leaving swathes of black particle-like mist dispatching outwards in the air where the two figures were once was placed.

\> The Slipster starts a new stream where he comments on the dematerialization of Vensty and claims she was wrongfully dematerialized from our realm.

\>The 800+ FNAF content farms who have embedded themselves in the viscose flesh of discourse, all began to amalgamate videos describing word for word the entire cascading series of events that lead to this spiral point of pain and distress.

\>all 800+ content farms have suspiciously furry rantsonas and are 97% British

\> Slamstest Yah! continues making his Fnaf content and starts a VHS analog horror series called, "The Glerbs Reports"

\> Slamstest Yah! was later revealed to have eaten 15 children 2 years ago, jolting the twitching mess of the YouTube content farms to exsanguinate Slamstest Yah! pulling the veins rich in blood apart from the form, like pulling the thread out of a rigid carpet, weaving them out with so careful yearning, yet with such parched predation, as to leave dark hollow cavities where his circulatory system was once grown, a body now filled with devoided holes, and hollow smooth tunnels instead of veins that fit so snug and warm. All now pulled out and coagulating on the knees of which the creator of this work sucks violently at the wet plastic-like streamers. The corpse placed facing up, beamed by the sun, showing deep dots of drilled flesh. The animals sit and whip more ribbons to their tongues, cramming their mouths with veins palmed up and compressed to fit in between their cocked jaws, day after day they all sit kneed, pulling and balling the wrinkled tubes in their hands, to lastly entomb this dragging crumpled mess into the very back of their head by the gate of their teeth.

\> And when all veins gone, they bend forward their pale shapes, and lumber on.

\> Zopster's Slop Factory is still being developed, though The Glerbs Reports are still postponed

[satans-helper]

Make It Better

Pairing: Danny Wagner x Josh Kiszka

Word Count: ~2900

Warnings: slash & smut, people!! Blowjobs! Also some blood (non-sexual). 18+ only~

Inspired by Danny kissing Josh's hand during the Cleveland show (and what a show that was!) and, of course, Halloween. Hope you enjoy ;)

---

“You sure you wanna start carving them now?” Danny asked Josh, who was gleefully cradling two pumpkins in his arms from the porch. Danny was holding the front door open for him, letting the crisp, cold breeze momentarily waft into the house. 

“Jake and Sam can do theirs whenever,” Josh answered. He heard–and felt–Danny following his steps as he went through the hall and into the dining room. With a little huff, he set the pumpkins down on the ratty old tablecloth they’d both laid out for the event. “It’s not our fault they’re stuck on interview duty today.”

“I don’t know,” Danny remarked, leaning against a chair. “Carving pumpkins seems like just as much work. Maybe more.”

Josh looked up with a little smile. “This is supposed to be fun, Daniel. Come on, where’s your Halloween spirit?”

Danny sat down, spinning one of the pumpkins around in front of himself. “Play ‘Monster Mash’ and I’ll get into it.” 

Josh laughed. “Sure, fine by me.” He started to sing the words, mimicking the silly voice of the original song, as he meandered into the kitchen, phone in hand. Soon enough the real thing was playing from a speaker, hopefully truly getting Danny to perk up–whenever Sam was out of the picture even for a little while, it was like a little of Danny’s energy was gone with him. Josh could relate though. Whenever his twin was absent, he felt a little emptiness in the pit of his stomach. But he was happy to have some one-on-one time with Danny. That didn’t happen very often. Not to mention none of them had actually carved pumpkins since they were literal children–this was going to be fun.

“What’s yours going to be?” he asked as Danny sliced the top off his pumpkin, Josh following suit with an enthusiastic sawing motion. Using knives was always a good time as far as he was concerned. 

“I was thinking of trying to make it look like Sam’s drunk face,” Danny told him with a laugh. “But I don’t know if I have the skills. We’ll see.”

Josh laughed too. “That’s a good idea. Maybe I should make my pumpkin look like Jake’s guitar face.” 

“Put these two pumpkins together and it’s basically Jake’s ass,” Danny said, smirking to himself; Josh cackled in return. He wasn’t exactly wrong. Then Danny stood up and leaned over the table, hand disappearing into the pumpkin. “Ugh, this feels disgusting. Why the fuck are we doing this again?”

Josh did the same and, yeah, it was pretty gross. So cold and slimy, the seeds slippery between his fingers. “We’re bonding,” he reminded Danny, who was still so immersed in the pumpkin guts that Josh wasn’t even sure what he’d said had been registered. He and Danny slopped handfuls of pumpkin guts onto a platter together, as in sync as they all were on stage.

“Sam will probably want the seeds,” Danny said, reaching back in as the Ghostbusters theme started playing. 

“Good. Nothing left to waste,” Josh replied, beginning to feel very focused on the task at hand himself. He really was going to try to carve Jake’s guitar face into the pumpkin. “We can compost the rest.”

Danny was even more quiet than usual, he quickly noticed, and Josh didn’t think it was just because they were immersed in jack-o-lantern carving. He wanted to ask about it–was there something bothering him? Was he just really not into this? Josh’s sudden onslaught of anxious thoughts broke his concentration and as he was bringing the knife down in a steep curve, it slipped and, in the blink of an eye, bright red blood was shining on the blade, down his hand and across the orange pumpkin. 

“Oh shit!” Danny jumped to action, wiping his hands on a towel as he rushed over to Josh, who was so stunned by his mishap that he was just staring at the shockingly grisly wound. “Wait a minute,” Danny instructed, disappearing into the kitchen for a moment. When he returned, he was standing over Josh and wrapping his hand in a clean towel. 

“Oops,” Josh said, then hissed, suddenly conscious of the deep sting from the cut. “Ouch!” What a stupid thing to do, he thought, because not only did he ruin his hand, he ruined the pumpkin.

“Jeez, Josh, this looks bad,” Danny said, holding the dish towel around Josh’s bleeding hand snugly. “Do you think you need stitches?”

Josh waved that idea away with his uninjured hand. “No, no, I’m sure it’s fine. Let me see.”

Danny sighed. “Let’s go to the bathroom. We need to clean this.” 

So Josh let his friend take the lead. He sat down on the edge of the tub while Danny grabbed yet another towel, one of the black ones with little ghosts threaded in white that he and Jake had picked out just for this season, and wet it in the sink. Danny dropped to his knees in front of him and carefully unraveled the bloody towel from his hand, winching even more than Josh did as it happened. 

“See,” Josh began when his wound was revealed–a deep, long slash down the side of his hand, extending from the bottom of his thumb to just above his wrist. “I don’t need stitches.” 

“Okay, maybe not, but this looks bad,” Danny said softly. Josh was enamored with how tender he was. Maybe in another life, Danny would have been a doctor. Josh could see that. He sighed again, dabbing with the warm, wet towel. “Do you have any hydrogen peroxide here?” 

Josh tensed. “That’ll make it hurt more.”

“Just for a second. It’ll disinfect it,” Danny assured him, then took Josh’s other hand and pressed it over the towel. “Hold that.” He swiveled on his knees to open the cabinet beneath the sink–if nothing else, this allowed Josh a nice view of Danny bent over on his knees, ass in the air while he did his best to rescue Josh from a nasty infection. “Got it,” Danny proclaimed, shuffling back with a brown bottle in one hand and a bag of cotton balls in the other. He sat there frowning for a moment before saying, “We need bandages, too. Not the small ones. I gotta wrap it in something.”

“Maybe in the drawer?” Josh suggested, realizing he knew very little about the contents of his own bathroom. 

“Aha,” Danny said victoriously, tossing the roll of gauze at Josh’s feet. He sat right in front of him, opening the hydrogen peroxide and wetting a cotton ball with it. When he looked up, Josh’s heart fluttered at how genuinely apologetic and hurt Danny looked on his behalf. “Alright, yeah, it’s gonna sting. But it’s gonna help.” He took the wet towel away from Josh’s hand and held that bloody hand in his own. “Okay?”

Josh nodded. Danny doing this made it seem less daunting–he didn’t consider himself very afraid of anything, but physical pain was something he, like most people, always wanted to avoid. Causing himself further pain wasn’t something he was ever inclined to do. But Danny was gentle and reassuring, rubbing Josh’s wrist with his thumb as he dabbed the cut with the hydrogen peroxide, and just that small, simple, sweet action diminished some of the angry stinging that came with it. Then, with a dry part of the ghost towel, Danny dabbed some more until Josh’s hand felt dry again. Next came the gauze, which he wrapped carefully and skillfully around the wound, leaving Josh patched up as best either of them could do. Well, Josh thought, he actually didn’t do anything but sit there. 

“Better?” Danny asked, sitting back, resting his hands on Josh’s knees.

Josh thought about that question for a moment. Then he lifted his bandaged hand up to Danny’s face: “A kiss would make it better.” He was confident Danny would do it, and he did, but the way it happened made Josh’s breath catch in his lungs. Danny gingerly held his wrist, held it so delicately like he was made of glass, and the press of his lips was just as gentle and soft but so full of intent. It wasn’t a quick, silly gag to appease Josh. It was an earnest, lingering, passionate little kiss, and Josh felt faint for a moment.

“Now are you better?” Danny asked, still holding Josh’s hand.

“Yes, thank you, Danny,” Josh said, cheeks burning. He was also sure he now looked very flustered and he felt even more out of sorts when Danny straightened up, moving in close, and gave him a kiss on his forehead. 

“You scared me. Maybe you shouldn’t be around knives,” Danny told him, who was still too flabbergasted to laugh at the absurdity of that. Instead, Josh tried something he’d never done before, something that did actually scare him–he brought his good hand to the side of Danny’s face and leaned forward to kiss him right on the lips. Thankfully, Danny reciprocated, humming softly into the kiss and moving in even closer, their chests touching. 

Josh was the one to pull away, giggling with nervous energy. Maybe an excuse wasn’t necessary–in fact, he was still positive it wasn’t–but he said, “I don’t think my insurance covers this, so will that help?”

Danny smiled, his own face a little flushed. “I always wanna kiss you regardless of personal injuries.”

“Really?” Josh squeaked. Was that why he’d been so quiet earlier? Did Danny think about him like that when they were alone?

“Sure do.” In a feat of strength that baffled Josh, Danny began to get up, scooping him into his arms and carrying him out of the bathroom. Josh hooked one arm around Danny’s shoulders on the journey, heart pounding at this revelation. What exactly was happening here? Then Danny set him down on the couch and placed a bag of the candy they’d been sharing earlier in his lap. He sat down next to him, staying close and, with a gesture at the bag, said, “Doctor’s orders.” 

“Whatever you say, Dr. Danny,” Josh replied, popping a Dum Dum in his mouth, though he really wanted to do something else with his mouth. He paused when Danny cuddled up against him, pulling Josh’s legs over his own and looping his arm around his waist. 

“Wanna watch a scary movie?” Danny proposed, but the look in his eyes was saying something else. Josh was sure of it. 

“No, what the fuck!” Josh exclaimed, riled up and excited now that he knew Danny was so agreeable to him. He grabbed Danny’s shirt, drawing him further in, as he tossed the bag of candy to the floor with his other hand. “For fuck’s sake–I wanna make out with you.”

Another smile, but then Danny grabbed Josh’s wrist and slowly brought his bandaged hand down. “Just be careful of that,” he said, and Josh was about to protest, but then Danny was taking the sucker from Josh’s mouth and replacing it with his lips, then a little tongue, then a little teeth. 

Josh had thought about what it would be like to kiss Danny before. He was convinced there weren’t many people who encountered his beloved drummer that hadn’t. But actually doing it exceeded all of those brief fantasies–Danny was simply a good kisser. A great kisser, with a perfect mixture of tenderness and lust, matching Josh’s pace when it was easy and slowing him down when Josh got too hard and fast with it. Josh followed the doctor’s orders and was mindful of his hand, keeping it at his side and using the other to touch all over Danny’s upper body, feeling the heat and muscle beneath the pesky t-shirt while Danny’s own explored Josh’s body in tandem.

When Danny’s hand found his bulge, his cock growing harder with each kiss, a quiet moan slipped from Josh’s lips and over Danny’s. Danny moved back just enough to look down at his own hand cupping Josh’s dick through his pants, fingers gripping his length despite the barrier. Josh looked down too, already breathing hard, and wiggled his hips in encouragement. 

Meeting his gaze, Danny asked, “Can I go down on you?”

“What?” Josh asked, flabbergasted once more. They’d gone from carving pumpkins to sucking dick, apparently. What a world. 

Danny kissed him again before he asked, using the same explicit words Josh had been thinking, “Can I suck your dick?”

After he gave the green light, Josh learned that Danny was not only a good kisser but really good at giving head–a delightful, surreal surprise. Bare from the waist down, he squirmed and whimpered while Danny’s lips wrapped around his cock and his hands squeezed his thighs, spreading his legs wide enough to sink between. He made sure to keep his injured hand resting over his head, but his other was going wild in Danny’s hair, fingers tangling in the curls, brushing over his scalp, urging him to keep doing his magic. 

“Oh wow,” Josh said, eyes widening at the sight of Danny fumbling with his own fly to get his dick out. Josh almost asked to touch it himself, but Danny swallowed hard around him and he forgot that words existed at all. Danny was rocking his hips back and forth while he licked and sucked and jerked him off; Josh lifted his leg up higher to press it between Danny’s own, and then Danny dropped his hand to quite literally begin humping Josh’s leg. 

Wet sounds emanated from Danny’s hand while he stroked him, popping off to breathe. “Shit,” he muttered, resting his cheek on Josh’s stomach. “I thought about this, too.”

Josh gasped, astounded by these dreamy confessions. His hips bucked; he pushed his leg up harder against Danny’s cock. “More, Danny, please,” he pleaded, fitfully fussing with Danny’s hair again. “Suck me off. Let me come in your mouth.”

With brightly flushed cheeks, Danny took another breath and carried on, the hand on Josh’s belly pressing down hard as he sank down. Josh groaned loudly, eyes closed while his head tilted back against the arm of the couch, so close. When his hips bucked again, Danny gagged, Josh yelped and his fingers tightened in those curls as he shot right into the back of Danny’s throat. It left him exhausted but still determined, and Danny hadn’t come yet–before he lost any more energy, he pulled Danny, who was wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, up by his shirt. 

“Whoa there!” Danny wiggled as Josh yanked him to his knees beside his own face. It was a bit of a tough angle, Josh had to admit, but he just grabbed Danny’s ass to pull him forward while he wrapped his lips around him. Eyes closed while he centered his focus, Josh then felt Danny’s gentle touch on his wounded hand, bringing it down. “Careful,” his drummer warned, the word soft but the voice delivering it rough. 

Josh nodded, which made the head of Danny’s cock jump to the back of his throat. Stifling his own gag by squeezing Danny’s ass harder, Josh made good use of his mouth, trying to get Danny down as much as he could while those lovely, strong, kind hands messed around with his now equally disheveled curls. 

“Fuck yeah, that feels good,” Danny said breathlessly, ending the sentence with a surprising whine, which made Josh look up. Danny looked down at him and his lips parted like he was surprised, eyes growing bigger and brighter while he stared into Josh’s. “Oh my god, yeah, keep looking at me. So pretty, Josh, holy fuck–” If Danny was going to say anything else, it was lost in a strangled moan as he threw his head back, and Josh grunted with useless surprise as slick warmth coated his tongue.

After a few seconds, Josh freed him, flopping back onto the couch. “Woof.”

Danny did the same, lying halfway on top of the back of the couch, his lower body pressed against Josh’s. “Hell yeah, woof. Wow.” He closed his eyes and sank down further, resting his head on Josh’s stomach with apparently no intention of moving despite Josh’s dick still being out. Oh well, Josh decided, and started to idly play with Danny’s hair. 

He was snapped out of his beautiful daze when he looked over at the clock on the wall. “What time are Jake and Sam supposed to be back?”

“I don’t remember,” Danny said, sounding like he was on his way to unconsciousness. 

“We should finish the pumpkins,” Josh said, very glad they decided to do this. If he hadn’t cut his hand trying to carve his own twin into one, would Danny have ever made a move?

“You can’t, Josh. Your hand,” Danny reminded him.

Josh huffed. “I can do it. I’ll be careful.” He tapped Danny’s temple and added, “Maybe you could help me?”

“Alright, I’ll help,” Danny said, lifting himself up. Before Josh had the chance to outwardly question where all of this was going in a larger sense, Danny captured him in another hot, heartwarming kiss. 

Josh giggled when Danny broke away and just looked at him. “So–should we keep this to ourselves? It might be too scary to share with Jake and Sam.”

Danny stood and extended a hand to help Josh up before he got his jeans back up. “Nah,” he said, smirking, which made Josh smile even wider. “Let’s tell ‘em. I think they can handle it.” 

---

Tagging: @sparrowofrhiannon @clairesjointshurt @starbuggie @bizzielisteningtogreta

If you want to be tagged in any of my fics, you can go here or DM me <3

You can also find my fics on AO3 (theLazarus) or wattpad (BananaJubilee)

[blackhakumen]

Mini Fanfic #1218: Two Dorks Finally Found Love(SSBU X River City Girls X Darkstalkers)

A Couple of Years Earlier........

It was a nice, eventful evening at Smash Town that day as the Smash Family held their very first annual Smash Gala Party located at the mansion's dining hall.

Everyone present were laughing and dancing to the loud music, having a blast of a time, all while Yoshi and Dark Pit were sitting down in one of the tables, chatting among themselves before noticing Dedede walking over and taking a seat in the last available seat left, grumbling.

Yoshi/Dark Pit: Hey, Uncle De.

Dedede: ('Grumbles')

Yoshi: You got struck out by the model tonight?

Dedede: ('Groans in Defeat') Yeah. 'Said she doesn't want to be seen around with a fat slop of an Ex-King. Can y'all believe that hoe?

Yoshi: Welllll.....You're not really a Kong anymore.....

Dark Pit: And you're fat.

Dedede: Yeah, but I didn't work tooth and nail to provide for this family JUST to be called a damn slop! (Crosses his Arms While Pouting) The nerve of that woman.

Dark Pit: I don't even know why you bother getting back on the dating scene to begin with. You're clearly not enjoying getting stood up to the dirt every day and night

Dedede: ('Sigh') Yeah, you're not wrong there. It's tedious, but your old man can't help but to give it another go, you know? Love is nice, beautiful thing to have once you give all the work, commitment, and support it needs to grow from both or more sides involved.

Yoshi: (Turns to Pitto) Yeah, everybody needs a little romance in their lives. You especially.

Dark Pit: (Raises an Eyebrow at Yoshi) Me?

Yoshi: Yes, you! You're the most anti-social out of EVERYONE in this entire family.

Dark Pit: (Glares at Yoahi) Bullcrap! I hang out with people.

Yoshi: Reluctantly.

Dark Pit: Shut it! In all those instances, I still had myself a good time regardless.

Dedede: Eventually.

Dark Pit: (Glares at his Appointed Uncle) De!

Dedede: What? He not completely wrong! You do need to go out and enjoy the outter life some more, boy. It'll do ya wonders

Dark Pit: ('Sighs in a Bit of Annoyance') I will in due time. But I ain't gonna be a lovestruck idiot anytime soon. (Points at Pit Dancing With Viridi on the Dance Floor) Especially like that cupid dork over there

Pit: ('Sigh') Love you, Pitto.

Viridi: (Glares at The Dark Angel) Quit making fun of my angel over there, jerkwad!!

Dark Pit: (Smirks at Viridi) Tell your angel to get better at reading and maybe I'll reconsider.

Dark Pit starts chuckling over his sly remarks before suddenly getting pelted in the face by Viridi's water volley blast, causing him to fall off from his seat.

'Thud'

Dark Pit: ('Ugh') (Gets Back Up From his Seat, Now Soaked and Wet) What the-

Viridi: (Smirks at a Soaking Pitto While Pit Snickers at his Dispense) Hope you enjoy your refreshments over there, Pitto!~ Our one of a kind treat!~

The couple laughs as they continue on with their dance, leaving Pitto to glare and groan at them in pure annoyance..

Dark Pit: (Tries Squeezing the Water Out From his Dress Shirt) Aa what I was saying...... (Turns Back to Dedede) You're better off going solo, Uncle De. (Turns Back to Pit and ViridI... Doing a Cute Eskimo Kiss in the Close to Mid Distance) Less you want you and your partner to end being as obnoxious as those two.....

Viridi gives Pitto the middle finger without so much as looking directly at him, causing the dark angel to sigh.

Dark Pit: Screw it. If you guys need me- (Walks Off) I'll be at the restroom drying off. (Starts Grumbling While Walking)

Yoshi: ('Sigh') Love wins once another. (Takes a Bite Off of a Cookie From his Plate Before Disliking the Taste Of it Shortly After) ('Ugh') Too plain. (Turns to See Dedede Lost in Some Thoughts) Oh come on. Don't tell me you're actually taking Pitto's words to heart here.

Dedede: (Immediately Comes Back to Reality) N-No, I ain't!.....But-

Yoshi: (Raises an Eyebrow) Buuuuuuuuuut?

Dedede: (Sighs Heavily While Looking Down at his Reflection on his Drink) I dunno. Maybe I should take a break from the dating scene for a while. I doubt I'm ever gonna end up with someone in the next few years.......

Yoshi: (Place his Hand Onto De's Shoulder) Don't give up hope just yet, Uncle De. A lot of things could happen during that time, so you never know.

Dedede: Yeah, probably. (Takes a Bite Off of the Cookie Ffrom his Plate Before Splitting Out in the Other Direction) ('POOUAH') The fuck!? These cookie taste bland as hell!

Peach: (In the Other Side of the Room) LANGUAGE!

Dedede: Sorry.

Yoshi: ('Sigh') Yeeeeup.

Fast Forward to the Present.........

The Annual Smash Gala Party has now returned, more lively than ever this year around. The music's loud and bumping and everyone: friends and couples alike, are out on the dance floor, dancing the night away, having a grand ol' time.

..........................................................................................

Owain: (Doing Various of Heroic, Epic, and Goofy Looking Poses In Front of a Giggling Zelda)

Zelda: Owain!~ Whatcha doing over here?~

Owain: Ohh don't mind me, milady~ Just moving along to the beat of this highly advanced music playing. It's incredibly intoxicating.

Zelda: (Casually Shrugs) That's what electric pop music would do to ya. (Smiles Softly While Blushing) Your moves are very nice to look at by the way~

Owain: (Properly Bows at Zelda) Why, thank you!~ (Smirks Proudly) I will be more than happy to teach them to you- (Forms an Annoyed Glare at Two Familiar Faces) Only if two of the most closest people in my life would quit taking pictures of me.

Robin: (Happily Waves at his Son While Taking Pictures of Him Along with His Equally Happy Wife and The Mother of Their Son, Lissa) Your mother's idea by the way.

Lissa: You were doing great, sweetie!~ Don't stop now!~

Owain: MOTHER!

.........................................................................................

Jun: (Sighs a Bit She Sits Next Woth her Husband and The Few Other Members of the League of Villains in the Bar Section) Such a lovely atmosphere tonight. It's a shame my body gotten a lot older these days or else I would've been out there by now.

Sephiroth: (Turns to Jun) You know how to dance?

Jun: (Nodded to Ganondorf) In my younger years, I did. Kazuya and I were quite the dancing couple since then.

Hades: I'm sorry- (Eyes Widened at Kazuya) Mr. Former Devil Boy here used to dance!?

Kazuya: (Rolls his Eyes in Annoyance) Shocking, I kmow. (Points the Fellas To His Wife Next to Him) She was clearly the better dancer of the two if us.

Jun: (Giggles Softly Rest Her Head Onto Her Husband's Shoulder) Lies~ You were just as wonderful as well, my dear.

Kazuya: (Raises an Eyebrow) I really think so?

Jun: I really know so~ (Gives Kazuya a Kiss on the Cheek) Would you like to take a dancing class together one of these days? It could be fun.

Kazuya: (Sighs While Blushing a Little) If it saves me from second hand embarrassment, then sure.

Hades: (Chuckles a Bit) Oh-ho~ Speaking of which~ Looky there! (Points the Gang to Flirty Bowser Talking to an Already Irritated Peach)

Kazuya: ('Ugh') He never quits, does he?

Sephiroth: (Slowly Shakes his Head) That man is as persistent as they come. I'll give him four minutes before it all crashes down upon him.

Hades: (Forms an Evil Smirk) I'll give him a minute and a half tops.

Kazuya: Forty-Five seconds is all he'll need to call it quits.

Jun: (Pouts at the Others) Boys, enough! That's far too long and generous time to give him when it could happen in- (Looks at her Watch as She Counts) Three....Two......One.

Peach: (In the Distance) GO AWAY, YOU CREEP!

'SLAP'

Bowser: (Cries in Pain and Pathetic Misery)

Hades: Ooooh! Right in the face and pride!

Sephiroth: (Genuinely Surprised) And it happened right on time too.

Kazuya: (Forms a Proud, Evil Lime Smirk on his Face) Gentlemen- (Presents Hades and Sephiroth To.....) The love of my life.

Jun: (Giggles Once More While Blushing) Kazu, you sweetheart~

........................................................................................

Yoshi: (Sitting Alone at the Table, Eating One of the Many Cookies He Got From the Stand) ('Munch Munch') Mmmm~ I gotta say, these are getting a lot more tastier each year around.

????: ('Sighs Heavily') I swear you two are impossible sometimes......

Yoshi turns to see Dark Pit walking over to his table with his two girlfriends, Misako and Kyoko on one side.

Misako: (Forms a Playful Smirk on her Face While Gently Poking Pitto's Cheek) Oh don't be so dramatic, babe. You love every second of this~

Kyoko: (Happily Nodded) Mmhmm~ (Hugs Pitto's Arm) Where would you be without us showering you with our love and affection, hm?~

Dark Pit: (Shrugs) Probably sitting around, hating everything. (Use his Other Free Hand to Rub the Back of his Head Back and Forth) You guys made my life slightly more enjoyable by coming around these days, so......(Gives Both Misako and Kyoko Each a Kiss on Their Cherks Before Smiling a But While Blushing) Thanks...for that.

Kyoto: (Heart Begins to Melt in Pure Happiness Along With Misako) Awwwwww!~ (Starts Snuggling onto DP's Arm) HHonestly!

Misako: I told you we made our angel a big softie these days, babe~ (Starts Kissing On Pitto's Other Cheek)

Dark Pit: (Rolls his Eyes While Sighing) Yeah and I'm still choking over that fact to this day. Among other-

??????: Ohhhhh, Pitto-Kiiiiin!~

Dark Pit shakingly turns around in anger as he sees ViridI giving him the biggest smirk she could Muster while her boyfriend, Pit, snickers.

Virid: Who's the Lovestruck Idiot now!?~

Pit: Yeah!~ And a cupid to boot!~

Dark Pit: STILL THE BOTH OF YOU IDIOTS! (Angrily Flips Them Off).

Kyoko: (Pouts at Dark Pit) Pitto!

Misako: (Gently Slaps Dark Pit's Arm) Ignore them. Come on.

Dark Pit: (Sighs in Defeat as He Turns Away From the Now Laughing Couple) Fine. I'm turning.....

Yoshi chuckles lightly at the dark angel's dispense before hearing two sounds of genuine laughing as he then turns to see his Uncle King Dedede carrying his girlfriend, Morrigan Aensland in his arms, bridal style.

Dedede: Ahahaaa man! (Wiping a Tear From Off his Eyes) Y-Y-You're kiliin' me here, Morg~ Ain't no way!

Morrigan: (Happily Wiggles Her Legs Up and Down) It's true!~ His asre was like- (Uses her Hand to Make a Wide Spread) THIIIIIS big, much bigger than my sister and mines combined in fact, and he goes swinging it around town, grabbing peooooople!~ (Continues Giggling)

Dedede: Ohooo man!~ All this time I thought the princesses use their asses like ticking time bombs in fights were crazy enough, but this DEFINITELY takes the cake!

Morrigan: (Points her Finger Up in a Lecturing Type Fashion) It goes to show how truly terrifying the booty can be used in any kind of combat imaginable, my dear

Dedede: (Nodded in Agreement) Amen to that. (Smiles Brightly at his Girlfriend) You're cute when you get knowledgeable~

Morrigan: (Smiles Back While Snuggling Onto Dedede's Chest) And you're so adorable when you laugh, my dear king~

Dedede: (Chuckles Lightly) You sure you ain't talking about yourself, hon? (Forms a Seductive Smirk on his Face) Cuz that laugh of yours is just like your voice, soothing as honey~

Morrigan: (Let's Out More of her Cute Laugh While Blushing)

Kyoko: (Turns to Dedede Along with her Two Lovers) Oooh~ How romantic~

Dark Pit: Yeah, that was actually pretty smooth of you, Uncle De, not gonna lie.

Misako: (Smirks at DP Some More) You could learn a thing or two about smoothness from your old man, you know?

Dedede: (Smiles Brightly at Dark Pit) Hell yeah! I got pamphlet of smooth picks up lines I can lend ya that could totally be effective.

Dark Pit: ('Heh') I'll pass. I doubt any of them would be nearly as good as the one you just made.

Dedede: (Glares at Dark Pit) Oh you'll be singin' a different tune once you read through every one, I guarantee you that!

Yoshi: (Happily Waves Hello to the Gang Approaching in Front of his Table) Hey, guys!

Ladies: HI, Yoshi!~

Dedede: You got worn out from all that dancing already, boy?

Yoshi: (Casually Shrugs) Eh, kinda. I gotten hungry, so I came here, eating and sitting for a while now. It's nice to see you guys enjoying yourselves out there though. (Smirks at Dark Pit While Doing a Mocking Sound Voice) Especially Mr. I Ain't Gonna Be a Lovestruck Idiot Anytime Soon over here~

Dark Pit: (Sighs While Facepalming Himself') Don't even go there, man. I got enough crap over it already.........

Kyoko: (Smiles Brightly) He's starting to come to terms with his softness~

Dark Pit: (Scoffs While Crossing his Arms and Turning Away) As if. Still feel the sake as I've ever been.

Misako: True. (Smirks at Pitto Again) But it's only a matter of time before you get soft like that rest of us here~

Kyoko/Misako: (Starts Chanting) One of Us~ One of Us~

Dark Pit: Your chanting won't work on- Huh? (Starts Hearing More Chanting From the Rest of the Gang)

Yoshi/Dedede/Morrigan: One of us. One of us.

Dark Pit: (Turns to the Trio) Hey, why are you joining in- (Eyes Begins to Widened Once He Now Suddenly Hears Almost Everyone in the Entire Room Starts Chanting the Same Thing)

Everyone: One of Us! One of Us! One of Us!

Pit: No use fighting, bro!~

Viridi: You'll get there in the due time. (Starts Giggling Along with Pit)

Everyone continues on with the chant long enough for Dark Pit'to starts twitching his eyes in annoyance and...and..

Dark Pit: OH KNOCK IT OFF AND GO BACK TO PARTYING ALREADY, PEOPLE!!

Everyone cease their chanting and giggles before resuming back to their partying activities for the night.

Dark Pit: (Groans While Pinching the Bridge of his Nose) I swear, this entire family is a pain in all body areas......

Yoshi: Oh come on. You know you still love us.

Dark Pit: Reluctantly........And.....(Starts Blushing a Bit) Most definitely.

Hearts starts to melt as the gang group together to give their dark angel the group hug of the lifetime, causing him to blush even more than usual before sighing in defeat.

@bestpony666

@decibelcoatl

@caleb13frede

@albion-93

[synthville]

upon rewatch:

LOVED seeing raffi work. focused and a with a clear directive like that’s queenie. the only light in a season that’s really not in service of anything but ‘hey remember when’ (aka lowest form of conversation word to tony soprano!)

if i was a tng fan who’d waited all this time to see my faves reunite and was being fed this badly lit slop id riot. low effort stupid stakes and characters who are lacking facsimiles of themselves on a dull version on an ‘adventure’ that was done better decades ago? the pits.

originality has left the building. never even made it inside actually

like i know this ain’t the ‘greatest season of star trek picard’ the press and era stuck fans have been praising??? lmfao everything is so stupid

seven and raffi’s scene was even more diabolical the second time around because what do you actually mean this is the best you can do star trek picard don’t piss me off

three and a half conversations solely between women (the fact that saffis breakup convo counts helppp) that weren’t about men i think so. that’s the future :)

sevens whole voy family moment was bittersweet like it’s nice that they finally remembered that part of her life existed but also it left a bad taste in my mouth. maybe id feel differently if i thought it was actually going somewhere idk. with the brushing off of the lsc and the way things are playing all these references only come off as heavy handed reminders from the writers that the past is everything and looking forward is useless because why try to build and go on when everything you used to know is actually all there ever is (unless you’re giving up vital aspects of yourself to blend into and serve the institution in which case change is not only accepted but encouraged*) ik they did less than the bare minimum to cement la sirena as a group but they were still important to each other and the constant reiteration of the way things were is so bleak. *situation is a lot more nuanced than that blah blah im in my feelings lol

should definitely be used to it by now ik but it still blows me that they erased damn near everything. like just fuck the la sirenas huh. those two years was just lallygagging with randos ig

the endless disdain for the past seasons as if this season is anything to be proud of is ?

so much about how this show is written and presented (will someone turn on lights goddamn!!) is absolutely unbelievable. things just happen like there aren’t actual paid professionals in charge of making it good. nuts.

[fantasy-fields-rescue-unit]

Pit Rescue

Name: Brute

Species: Pit drake(Fantasy Fields)

Morph: No morph

Variant: No variant

Age: Adult

Size: 7 feet tall(average mini)

Personality: Warry, anxious, a little lazy,

Compatibility: Brute is very cautious and warry about aggressive bitties and can easily lash out from the stress! Please refrain from adopting him if you have aggressive bitties,

He is very worried about hurting smaller bitties due to his large size! He'd never do it on purpose but that doesn't mean they can see the best, especially on their blind side!

When introducing him to other drake bitties he needs a slow introduction since he was pinned against other drake bitties in the ring!

Due to being born into the ring basically he needs to be watched around other bitties and has trouble playing gently, and is a bit stronger than he looks, do he needs to be watched *closely*,

Brute is still very territorial and even more so now! He's super overprotective of anything he deems 'his', including yard space, food, items, and people/bitties, so doing things like introducing new bitties its best to do it where he hasn't laid his claim, and when taking items to clean or wash be sure to tell him what you are doing!

He is very food motivated and can easily be persuaded with food!

He has a lot of trouble communicating as they never really bothered teaching him how to speak, so he often has trouble finding the right words and can end up speaking in broken English a lot,

Feeding habits: He isn't very picky and will eat just about anything due to the odd slop he was fed in the fighting ring that was shoved through the bars at him,

Additional info: He still needs a lot of exercise like other drake bitties and can be ridden if you aren't to heavy! Though the weight on his back can trigger him so it's best to work with him for a lot time before ever trying to ride him! Epically down trails where other bitties may be!

Injuries: Cracked skull, blind in effected eye(left eye),

Special requirements: Needs an owner willing to talk with him and willing to answer a lot of questions,

Warnings: Jumpy and warry on blind side,

Reasons for rescue: Found in a bitty fighting ring,

Difficulty: Advanced - Expert

Color/Pattern: Normal color, normal pattern,

[peachetteprice]

27 Hawthorn Court | Simon "Ghost" Riley

Chapter 2 - The Sunk Cost Fallacy

Chapter Summary:

The Sunk Cost Fallacy: is the tendency for people to continue an endeavour or course of action even when abandoning it would be more beneficial. Because we have invested our time, energy, or other resources, we feel that it would all have been for nothing if we quit. (Source: Scribbr).

1.6K Words

Content warnings: none

God, she'd done it.

She'd really done it now.

If the previous interrogation hadn't sacrificed her job to the wolves, what she'd just done would have surely slathered it in blood and hung it from an iron hook for easy pickings. Being the man he seemed to be, Ghost would have said nothing about her butchering of the Greater Manchester Police - as if their reputation could get any worse - but if anyone (anyone, that is) found out about the insurance she'd just pinched for her own personal gain, the British monarchy itself might finally be torn apart.

All because of what she'd done.

There was no better place to confront the consequences of her actions than in a McDonald's car park, truly, staring blankly at her smudged lipstick in the driver's side overhanging mirror, pupils barely able to defy the open zipper of her purse.

"Can we go inside, now, mummy?"

George wanted chicken nuggets. He did; he made sure she knew. She did, too.

The lad wouldn't stop begging for them on the drive there, even with his chubby hand simultaneously stuck inside a Walker's crisp packet (ready-salted, he wasn't much of a fine diner), nibbling at the salty crumbs smushed alongside his saliva into the corners. Luckily, Ruth could spare a few quid, and she'd do just about anything to take her mind off the sacrilege she'd just committed against her country.

"Yeah, mate." She bleeped wearily, wiping the stain of lipstick from beneath her bottom lip. Brutally, it'd taught her not to apply makeup and drive, in tandem; she looked positively troll-like, and it only served to sour her good opinion of herself, which currently strung its head out of the window along an open motorway in the hopes that an oncoming four-by-four might lop it off entirely.

She hoped for some truth in that sentiment as she grabbed her keys.

The greasy food that arrived on their table eight (maybe, twelve; they had to visit the bathroom) minutes after entering the McDonald's was nothing like the drool-worthy scent that had infiltrated every rational thought of hunger. It never was; the bark was harsher than the bite, so to speak, and - as pellets of rain (again) began to dribble down the window pane - there was nothing less appetising than the slop inside two buns that called itself a 'hamburger', but it was sustenance, and sustenance she desperately needed after thirteen hours with nothing but a Lucozade and polo mints.

"Enjoyin' your meal?"

The unfamiliar voice and the man who'd accompanied it - who took the booth seat beside Ruth - had come not a few minutes after she'd shovelled half of the burger between her lips, saliva coating the gummy mush until it was just slick enough to slide down her gullet with an audible gulp.

Ruth didn't recognise him.

He was a tall fellow, adequately covered on the bottom half of his face by a thick beard. He didn't wear a suit, although the command of his voice certainly warranted it, but a slim knitted jumper, sky blue, hitched past the elbows to show off his lean, furry arms. And, though his eyes were seemingly kind and oddly bear cub-like, the pit of his voice was rough and hard, like a rolling tyre down a gravel path. It was an odd dichotomy that Ruth didn't want to think too much about, for fear it would consume the better half of her thoughts. What sort of a man was he?

Ruth didn't say anything at first. 'Enjoyin' was quite the overstatement, and she knew better than to engage a stranger in conversation in the restaurant-portion of a McDonald's at midnight. Yes, George had had a nap at the childminder's which might have satiated his ramblings but she'd rather he didn't mention anything about the contents of her purse beneath the table, something she lamented herself for telling him in the first place.

And she lamented herself, further, as the man swiftly introduced himself:

"John Price. Captain, but I won't force that on ya." He smiled. "Pleasure to meet ya, detective."

"John Price. From the... from the case," she voiced, utterly confused as he took her hand and shook it; tough grip. "You're the suspect's captain, is that right?"

A moment of doubt hit his throat in the form of a chuckle. The suspect's captain, that he was, but he wasn't from the 'case', he explained, he was simply from the files pertaining to the case, pertaining to Ghost, but his person had nothing to do with the case, as it stood. 'Water under the bridge', Ruth had shot back, though a worse-than-disgruntled expression took over the hollow of his face where the light - from the overhead McDonald's ceiling lamp - had cast its shadow.

Water under the bridge, it surely was not, because that was the difference between a 'guilty party' and an 'innocent bystander', he'd chastised.

"But, let's move on. It's never good to get hung up on the details, hey?"

It was as John - see, he'd said she could call him John, for the sake of nonchalance - was explaining that Ruth would no longer be working on the case as it had been leveraged from the GMPs mitts and put under special provision within the military paralegals, to be swept under the rug and forgotten entirely about, no doubt, and it was the very reason John had tracked her from the station all the way to McDonald's (it was such a passing statement that Ruth hardly put a moment's thought to its disturbing nature), when a look of horror swept the intricacies of her face.

Horror that, as he continued explaining that all resources henceforth would be passed along as property of Herefordshire Council and the overarching Constabulary, only settled further into the knot within her brow and the crinkle of disgusted skin beside her nose.

Horror that, unfortunately, he'd noticed and asked if everything was alright.

"Fine." She nodded, though John mightn't have thought it the least bit convincing. "A-are you sure this is the sort of case that should be passed across borough lines, let alone... through different constabularies?"

"It's a sensitive case--" he began, but was severely challenged as Ruth cut him off, noting,

"--But it has everything to do with a family who've been murdered, brutally, not some... Lieutenant in the bloody military, only unless he has something to do with the facts."

"Simon Riley does not have anything to do with the facts." John assured.

"How can you know that--?"

"--Detective Wyatt." Price thumbed the table, extending his sincerest of smiles, trying to hide the displeasure creeping into the outer corners of his eyes, "This is no longer an issue for you or your station. We will conduct our own investigation--"

"--And what do we tell the press when they come knockin', askin' for updates on the Riley case? Are we supposed to tell them that some bloke stopped me in a McDonald's in front of my son and took it right from my bloody hands?"

It wouldn't have been such an issue if she had rid her brain of that boy's face.

"You will tell them that it is a sensitive case and that it has been moved out of your domain to be dealt with properly," his plosives exploded across every word, and every phrase was punctuated with the tap of his dull fingertip on the table, "do I make myself clear?"

"Will it be dealt with properly?"

"Do I make myself clear," he was insistent, if nothing else, and it was brilliantly aggravating. "Detective--"

"--Will it truly be dealt with properly, John?" Her nostrils flared. "What are you gonna do about that little boy and his family?"

John's gaze petered to your own boy, George, munching mindlessly away on a bag of soggy, earthy-tasting carrots that, otherwise, to a kid who didn't yet know the taste of a medium-rare steak, must have been luxurious.

"Alright. " He growled. "You wanna get personal? I can get personal. Do you always equate the cases you work on with your family? Is that how you assign importance to 'em?"

"Scuse me?" She rummaged for any sense from his thoughts but came up null.

"You've been at the job for eleven-and-a-half years, you're never prone to insubordination, yet, I'm speakin' to you clearly and calmly about how this is not a civilian matter, and you're gettin' pissy with me."

"Don't you dare talk to me that way--"

"--No, no, no, Ruth." He wagged a finger disapprovingly with such arrogance that, for a moment, she thought herself a dog at the beg and call of his command. Her mouth clobbered shut like one as he continued, "I am not your boss. I am not your friend. " He was really punctuating now. "I'm here to explain to you that, with your chief's permission, you will be persuaded that this is not your case."

The insolence. The pure, vitriolic insolence from such an inane man. How dare he have the tact to say such a thing?

A sliver of her mouth barely lay exposed as she began to speak, but even that couldn't be let past his conviction.

"Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear ?" Dictated the man.

There was nothing left for her to say but, "Yes," no matter how terribly her mind shrieked 'no'.

Not a civilian matter? Even when matter was only a matter because of innocent civilians? Not her case? Despite the overwhelming fact that she was the first detective on scene as soon as the murder had been known to the police? She had run on a Lucozade and polo mints, for God's sake, for a case that was now not her liberty to investigate?!

It was all that concerned her mind as she sat before her rear view mirror, again, marvelling at the stain of lipstick that still hadn't come away from her damn skin.

All because of what she had done.

What she had done, in fact, was the very reason she'd tried to rejuvenate her appearance for the first time in five years. It was the reason she'd attempted to alter her makeup at one shifty traffic light, matching the crimson of her lips to the stop signal and giving her hair a tussle for good luck.

All because, sitting in her purse, were the blacked-out copies of the case files for a series of murders that were no longer under her investigation.

And Christ, she'd really done it now.

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[girltomboy]

The Torturous Tortured Poets Department - a 2/10 album

I finally listened to this slop knowing full well it would be beyond excruciating to try and sit through all the 31 "songs" on it, and all my expectations were confirmed. That lady can't do anything!

So I want to mention that only the first 10-ish songs are actually listenable, the rest of it is the same repetitive monotone slop that's ever present on her past ~4 releases (not including the re-recorded greedleases).

Fortnight (feat. Post Malone) - flat song, Post Malone fits well on it, but it doesn't have a peak, just goes straight into nowhere. I kind of forgot most of it because it feels like I've been trying to get through this tar pit of an album for a whole day. Forgettable is a good description for it.

The Tortured Poets Department - fake deep, heavily influenced by pretentious clichees, we can tell she had a fling with the racist from The 1975 because it made her even more annoying. Also forgettable.

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys - this one was better, has a bit of personality to it, some rhythm too, one of the only decent songs if you pay little attention to the lyrics.

Down Bad - the swearing makes it funny, lackluster production, quite flat, verbose & empty. I don't think she understands what "down bad" means.

So Long, London - the same as the previous one, empty production, verbose, flat singing, filler song.

But Daddy I Love Him - I feel compelled to point out she used a comma for the previous title, but not here. This one sounds a little bit like her older stuff, probably because of the lyrics. Still too wordy, and the production is too boring in contrast with her voice and the lyrics, a problem that's prevalent on most of her recent releases.

Fresh Out The Slammer - another song loaded with flat singing and lackluster production. A lot of these songs have long periods of silence, not drops or rests like in most other songs where it sounds nice, just straight up long silences.

Florida!!! (feat. Florence + The Machine) - stripped back production here and there very unnecessarily. Florence held back a lot, there's barely any singing, of course, to match her little song companion. It's barely a song, really, incohesive and peakless. The build-up, if you can call it that, is sudden and short and leads nowhere. Their voices also don't complement each other well at all.

Guilty as Sin? - this sounds a lot like many of her other songs with boring and empty productions. No peak or anything to make it stand out, just percussion and plain vocals with thesaurus lyrics.

Who's Afraid of Little Old Me - silence again; this one is at least richer in sounds. The lyrics are too edgy, reminiscent of Karma. There's a rhythm, but the random pauses kill all the momentum. Corny, high school lyrics.

I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can) - these long, cheesy titles are tiring me out. Production copied + pasted from the other songs. No peak, no singing, no music. It could have been an interlude with fewer words. Too many dog allegories for her boyfriends on this album.

loml - another empty ballad with many words and nothing said. Lullaby song, really boring, repetitive, bad lyrics.

I Can Do It With A Broken Heart - some build up only to sound like a monkey with cymbals song. Really corny lyrics and the same lackluster production.

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived - this is where the album, already pretty bad so far, takes a down turn and becomes the most unbearable collection of slop I've ever sat through since her Folklore/Evermore days. Those were peak unbearable, this was just disappointing and exhausting. One piano note for each syllable, bland production again, nothing song. Verbose and sleepy.

The Alchemy - I have already listened to this song 10 times on this album so far. It sounds like Halsey and would have probably been better with a trap instrumental rather than this silent 2014 nonsense.

Clara Bow - the same boring slop over and over. She's talking too much, not singing enough, and the elevator music just makes it exhausting. Nothing new, just recycled lyrics over the same bland production.

The Black Dog - here I was kinda starting to get pissed off. Not music. She really made the same song 20 times and said "yeah, it's an album. Release it." Wow my ears hurt.

imgonnagetyouback - Repetitive, heard it before, zero production. Some rhythm, but the backing vocals and empty melody kill it. Silence again.

The Albatross - a little more interesting, something to hear finally. But unfortunately it's just a mellow guitar song, so the novelty doesn't last long into it, since it's just as bland as her previous ones, it just puts you to sleep with different instruments.

Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus - no intro whatsoever, just a plain piano like the practice of a beginner child, repetitive singing, lullaby song. Nothing distinctive, the same stripped back production, drags on forever.

How Did It End? - piano ballad, boring, sleepy, thesaurus lyrics, repetitive, and yet it's not the worst one so far. But we're probably past that point.

So High School - is that... an instrument? Oh, because she "feels high school" (we know, we've heard the lyrics) she made a pop rock sounding song. She barely sings on it, though, so all the momentum is once again suffocated. A breath of fresh air to hear something a little bit different from the dead slime I've been wading through, and this is hardly a compliment for this song. Also, she CANNOT sing.

I Hate It Here - slow guitar song again stuffed with repetitive verbosity to the point where you can't tell what's going on with the production. But it's okay, because nothing is ever going on. Skipped through 2/3 of it.

thanK you aIMee - boring, repetitive nothing. Barely any singing again, every song sounds like she wanted an excuse to speak into a microphone in a monotone semblance of a melody that goes nowhere.

I Look In People's Windows - a song filled with silence again, absolutely zero production, skipped over 2/3 again.

The Prophecy - nothing song, too much singing - sorry, monotone speaking. Zero melody, skipping through it I land on the same plain low note every time.

Cassandra - silence song again, nonexistent production, verbose, stands out with nothing.

Peter - another ballad I can't get through. At least this one has some structure, but again too much aimless verbosity. Skipped the last minute.

The Bolter - how is this not the same auditory sludge I've been listening to for the last 2 hours? Lazy guitars, and boring production. Bland melody, monotone singing.

Robin - sounds the same as 20 other songs, the slow singing makes it even more painful. This song has NOTHING to redeem it. There's silence again and extremely monotone melody with barely any singing. Should have been an interlude, skipped half of it.

The Manuscript - another nothing song, I actually couldn't sit through more than 10 seconds. The only redeeming quality of it is that there's no more songs coming after it.

Overall this album is incohesive, full of incoherent monotone yapping. Her vocals are atrocious, I don't even want to go into that, the excruciatingly boring production was bad enough on its own. Luckily she barely tried to sing at all, every song was almost the same recycled flat note over an aimless elevator melody. However, the best part of it is that it's finally over. Special thanks to the people who provided the piracy link and made this unnecessarily long post possible. 🙏 Without you the world would be nothing.

[divinegrey]

𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 & 𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 / 𝐯𝐢𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

delivering on some downright tooth-rotting fluff! have a good day everybody!

prompt: May i please request femreader x viper wherein viper constantly gets flustered by femreader's sweet gestures? sabine needs a lot of love!! Thank you so much! [requested by anon]

words: 1400

warnings: tooth-rotting fluff

“Hurry up, eat your slop, kiddos!” You say, flipping pancakes on the griddle. “You’ve all got training in two hours and you gotta let yourself digest before working! Looking at you, Neon!” 

“I threw up one time!” Neon’s cry comes back as you transfer the golden pancakes onto a stack; you’ve made a lineup so far of different types! Cinnamon, chocolate chip, strawberry… there’s enough pancakes to choke Breach, and the man can eat a lot before tapping out. You chuckle, pouring some new batter onto the pan and watching it sizzle away. 

God, you love pancake Mondays. 

Looking over your shoulder, you look just in time to see Sabine walk in, bypassing all of the conversation and heading straight for the coffee maker. You drop your spatula down, whistling to catch the woman’s attention. 

“Hey! I got your breakfast, right here,” you say, waving your hand. Sabine raises her brow, but a flush sinks over her face when you produce a bowl of her usual morning meal, only amped up to the extreme; greek yogurt, sprinkled with granola, sliced strawberries, and a few kiwis too because you know she secretly likes them. You produce a protein smoothie as well. “Fuel up! Made your favorites.” 

Sabine blinks, then reaches out, accepting both of them. She looks up at you, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. You beam at her, retrieving your spatula to flip the pancakes and make a new batch for the people grabbing seconds. 

She passes by you, leaning down to whisper, “Thank you.” 

“Course! I know you’re gonna be hunched over your desk all day— want you to be eating well!” You lean in, a gossipy tone in your words, “I’ll save some pancakes for you later, don’t worry!” 

The pink on her cheeks is a nice look on her. Maybe if you were a little more bold, you’d say it out loud. Instead, you watch Sabine go with a smile on your cheeks. 

— — —

“Afternoon, Sarge!” You say, saluting to Brimstone as you walk past him in the hallway. You hear his chuckle, pleased to put a smile on his face as you go about your day. It’s an off-day for you, one you take gladly by staying active and checking up on your fellow Agents. Which is the reason why you’re carrying a thermos of tea toward what the others like to call the Viper’s Pit.

Sabine’s lab. 

You poke your head through the door first, scanning the premises. Then, you walk over to Sabine, who sits at her desk with her shoulders pinched back and her head hunched forward, the light of her screen illuminated across her face. She hasn’t even looked up; entrenched in her work. 

You spot the food you’d made her earlier, the bowl empty and the smoothie cup with hardly any left. Good timing!

“Hey, Bean,” you say, placing the cup onto Sabine’s desk. She jumps ever so slightly, flicking over to the thermos before glancing up to your gaze. You wave. “Brought you some tea.” 

Sabine lets out a small exhale. “Thank you, I appreciate that.” 

Walking around, you put your hands on the back of the chair. “You look tense, when was the last time you stretched? Got up and walked around a little bit? Here, stay still.” 

You lean, placing your palms on Sabine’s shoulders. You wait for any sign of discontent as you begin kneading your fingers into the muscle, but you find none. Instead, Sabine leans back into your hands, gripping the side of her desk chair as you seek out the small knots holding her shoulders taut like a bowstring. A soft groan of relief slips out of her mouth and you feel your neck start to burn. 

Yet, when you look at Sabine, her face is flushed with embarrassment. 

Clearing your throat, you say, “Feels that good, huh?” 

Sabine hums. “You’re got talented fingers.” 

“A lot of people say that,” you reply, wiggling your brows mostly to yourself. Sabine laughs, the sound soft, but it’s there, and your heart bursts in your chest. She’s so fucking cute and doesn’t even realize it. 

You work the knots out of her shoulders to the best of your ability before stepping away. 

“I’ll take these, and whenever you get peckish, there’s a plate in the fridge behind Sova’s goat milk that has your name on it. I will be watching if it’s gone, so go eat it soon, ‘kay? Great!” You sweep up the old plates before heading toward the door of the lab. “Bye!” 

Sabine has no time to say anything before you’re out the door, grinning to yourself like a kid who just got a bucket of candy from the store. 

— — —

“Hey,” you lean down to Cypher, sitting at his chess board amidst a game with Fade, sitting across from him with a prowler in her lap. “Did either of you see Viper during dinner? I was so busy I couldn’t catch whether she came in or not.” 

Cypher looks up. “She did not. The last time she came out of her lab was around four seventeen.” 

“Came in and grabbed a plate from the fridge, then went back to her lab,” Fade says, the tail of her cat-shaped prowler thwaps against her leg. “I think.” 

“She’s correct,” Cypher concurs. 

You straighten up, a frown on your face. “Thanks, guys. I’m gonna go find her.”

Walking away from the two, you head back down to the hall, pulling the sleeves of your jacket further down your arms. There’s a chill in the halls tonight, and it’s late. Nearly midnight, and you knew Cypher and Fade would be playing chess in the lounge room because they always play chess on Mondays. 

Heading back to Sabine’s lab, you’re cautious when entering the room. You hear the centrifuge going around, and the desk is empty. Your brows pinch together, but relax when you spot Sabine hunched over the work table, head resting on the metal. 

Is she… sleeping?

Shit, how long has she been working? Pulling off your zipper hoodie, you walk over to Sabine and throw it over her shoulders. You’re worried, but more importantly, Sabine hasn’t eaten since four. Has she even stepped out of this office for anything?

Damn it. 

You make a mad dash back to the kitchen, gathering a plate of the meal that was cooked for tonight, heating it up quickly in the fridge. When it dings, you grab the plate along with a fork and head back, entirely unaware of the watching (and smiling) gazes of the two chess players observing. 

Upon your arrival back to the lab, Sabine has stirred. 

“Good evening, sleepy head,” you say, ambling in. “You missed dinner, I got worried about you. Came lookin’ and found you sleeping.” Placing the plate down, you slide it toward her. “Please eat. You’ve gone too long without a break.” 

“I was taking a break,” Sabine grumbles, pushing herself upright. She looks down at the jacket around her shoulders, perplexed at its sudden appearance. When she sees the smile on your face, she sighs. “This is yours?” 

“Looked cold. You keep this place icy.” 

Sabine pulls the plate closer to herself, letting out a soft sound that you dare call curiosity. Then, she twists her body to you. “You do all these nice things… why?” 

“Because I…” you lick your lips, finding that they’ve gone dry. “I care a lot about you, Sabine, and I know how hard you work. You deserve to be taken care of too.” 

Sabine sizes you up, and the moment she stands up is the moment you remember how tall she is. Though, you’ve got little room to complain because Sabine effortlessly takes all of your attention by leaning down to steal a kiss. You’re breathless, a little shocked, but all too happy to press back into her mouth and hold her by her hips. 

“Is it weird to say that I’ve thought about that before?” You whisper, staring into her eyes with a stupid grin on your face. 

“No. Because I have too,” Sabine replies, then wraps her arm around your neck to coil you back in. 

Much like how a snake would, but you don’t mind. You smile into the kiss, your heart blooming. 

~~~~~ A/N: thank you to the anon that requested this! hope it's everything you wanted <3

[whirlybirbs]

❛ this is a good look for you. ❜ + din !

[ blurb ] —— din djarin / gn!reader ; sarlacc spit

a/n: i need to be better about showing everyone little pieces and not pouring out an entire 3k fic each time i get a request — anyways, exactly what it says on the tin :-)

pairing: din djarin / gn!reader, set mid-season 1 of tbobf

You're laughing.

He's covered in Sarlacc spit, and you're laughing.

Not even the sweet, chaste little snicker you usually muster up at something funny — no, this is a full blown howl. Tears, even, gather in the corners of your eyes as you split your sides in the sand.

The thick material of your mechanic gloves claps deeply as you double over, rooting your hands to your knees as you bark out a genre of laughter that's enough to get Fennec going.. of all people.

Boba — beneath his helmet — starts not long after.

This sort of laugh is one Din hasn't heard out of you since that time the kid tried to eat the gearshift back on the Razor Crest. Damn womp rat tried to down in one whole bite. Din knocked over half the cargo in the main hold diving for him.

"Really?" he says, voice tight with manufactured annoyance — it doesn't land, though. It only seems to act as a further catalyst to not only your laughter, but to Boba and Fennec's as well.

Din raises both arms. His cape, slick with mucus-like spit, clings to him. When he drops his arms, it makes a wet slop sound.

Someone raised concerns about a baby Sarlacc having been unearthed somewhere along the trade line between Mos Eisley and Mos Espa. Boba, ever the kind Daimyo, agreed to handle it. Din, with his persuasive sense of heroics, agreed to help.

Sure, when Din had been snatched by the waist and flung around like a rag-doll by the small, two foot wide Sarlacc, you'd been the first to swing your rifle from your back and take aim. But, the truth was that this Sarlacc was a youngling — barely a decade old — and seemed more intent on playing with its food. Hell, when Din was sucked in waist deep and prodded with it's still blunt baby incisors, you still worried.

Except, Din was simply shouting 'Please, cut it out' and 'That hurts, stop it' the entire time, like a man minorly inconvenienced by the creature that had in fact swallowed a local villager's dog whole just a day prior.

In the end, Din handled it — one boot lost to the snapping beak that was only interested enough to get a taste. He hauled himself out of the little pit in the sand after successfully setting not only the Sarlacc on fire, but himself.

So, here he is. Down a boot, covered in spit, and singed.

"Th-This," you bark, "This is a really good look for you—"

"You're being childish."

Even Din can't hide the smile in his words.

"No, no, really, really, I mean it, Din," you can hardly get the sentence out, your breathless laughs punctuated by the wave of your hand, "Seriously, you handled that phenomenally—"

Din's own laugh surprises him.

But, then it rolls on like a thunder storm.

And so, the four of you stand in the dunes, laughing.

He's covered in Sarlacc spit, and you're all laughing.

[baecvlt]

please...dom Peko....

Dom!Peko x Reader

a/n: i love peko sm ofc i can write this its so fitting. also fem reader as well. Also READER IS FEM UNLESS SPECIFIED.

warnings: none, but she uses a strap here so go figure

“It’s getting late”

You turned around, Peko behind you as you stood at the end of the yacht. “I know. It’s just pretty tonight”. She smiled warmly as she got closer to you. “How’s Kuzuryu?,” you asked, but all she did was sigh. “He’s inside with the others. I don’t think he likes me very much,” she answered,“But that’s fine. My eyes are already on someone else”. You were confused. She had liked him for so long, why change now?

“Who is it?”

“It’s not worth mentioning. I don’t think they feel the same. They might not even feel the same way about women”

A homosexual man? “Is it Kazuichi?,” you asked,“He has a boyfriend—”. She looked almost appalled. “What? God, no!,” she shook her head,“I’m referring to another woman”. Oh. You looked at her, noticing she was deep in thought about it. “Well, you’ll never know unless you try,” you said, rubbing her shoulder,“I say you confess. It could lead to something”. She nodded, smiling a little.

“Are you into other women?”

“Uh- Yeah, I am”

“How does it feel?”

You were confused: was she asking you about how it feels to love a woman or how it feels to fuck another woman? “I just want to be certain of my feelings,” she added, so maybe she meant the former. You thought of a way to explain it to her.

“Well, when a woman loves another woman, even lusts over another woman, there’s a much deeper connection between them. Sure a man can love another woman, but when he simply lusts over her, that connection isn’t there. Plus, it takes longer to build that connection with another man,” You explained,“Cis women, trans women. It doesn’t matter who. Any woman that shares love with another woman will already have such a deeper level of connectivity compared to that of a man”

“So, if that’s the case, how does it feel?”

“It feels beautiful”

“Oh. Well, she makes me feel beautiful”

You were happy for her. “Then that means something,” you told her. There was a small silence where you both smiled. “You, uh”. She stumbled on her words, your attention: now facing her. “Yeah? Wh-”. Then, she kissed you. Her hands were on your shoulders, but they slowly moved up to your face. She held you ever so softly, her lips taste sweet. You couldn’t help but kiss her back. You were so tense and caught off-guard, but her kiss made you feel safe and you relaxed into it. Your hands went on her hips, moaning when hers went to grab your boobs. It was so cold out, but her hands were warm.

“They’re so nice”

She gave your boobs a squeeze, snickering. “May I take you to bed?,” she asked. You were already so turned on, you nodded on instinct. She took you to her room, stripping your clothes off the minute you entered. She pulled your skirt all the way down and your shirt over your head. All she could do not was stare at your body in silent awe.

“I want to see all of you,” she said, almost demanding you. You turned around and bent over. Peko was blushing so hard, you could cook an egg on her cheek. You were putting on a show for her and you were so hot to her. She got on the bed and behind your ass. Her hand suddenly strikes against your bare skin. You gasped, confused as to why it felt so good. She rubbed your skin, smacking it again.

She repeated this about 19 more times, enjoying every single one of your moans. You could feel your pussy throbbing when she rubbed your skin and shushing you. “Very nice,” she whispered,“Now, stay just like that”.

“I will”

“Address me how I am to be addressed”

“Yes, ma’am”

“See? I didn’t even need to tell you. Good girl”

You waited for what she was going to do next, antsy from the anticipation. You felt her get back on the bed, suddenly feeling an object press against your hole. “Ah!~ Wait, Pek- Ma’am,” you cried,“What is that?”. She shushed you, telling you she’d be slow and that’s when you knew. “Tell me when it’s too much, understood?”.

“Yes, ma’am”

“Good. Take a deep breath in”

You did as you were told, your inhale sounding more like a reverse wheeze. “Exhale”. As you exhaled, she pushed her hips forward, pushing the toy in. “O-Oh, please!,” you whined. She grabbed your hips, thrusting at a steady pace. Your stomach felt as if it could collapse. The toy she was using was definitely not small either, but it felt so good.

You took it easily, your cunt slopping over it.

“How’s this feel?”

She didn’t stop when asking, thrusting only a little harder. “Nghhh!~ S-S-So...good...”. “Good”. She reached both her hands to your chest, grabbing your tits and lifting you up. You stood on your knees still, screaming from the thrill and from the small shocks in the nerves of your lower half that were caused by Peko repeatedly thrusting up into you. She pinched your nipples a few times, making you cry out louder. Her arm then moved to your waist, the other took her hand to your throat. Now, she had a firm grip, thrusting softer as she whispered into your ear.

“It brings me such joy that you’re enjoying yourself. I never would’ve imagined you’d be this good in bed”

She stopped thrusting into you, still inside you as she kissed behind your right ear and down to your neck. Then, she hungrily kissed your shoulders, slowly rebuilding her pace, thrusting into you faster than before. You collapsed forward, making her slide out of you. You couldn’t take it much longer, yet you wanted so much more. “I’m not through with you yet, sweetheart,” she near growled. You turned around onto your back, but she followed. She pried your legs open, her head between them after she snaked her way down to your thighs. There was such a menacing look on her face.

She was going to ruin you, softly.

She looked into your eyes as she licked between your slit. You arched your back, but it was no use as she locked her arms around your thighs. This held you in place. “You taste amazing,” it was almost as if she moaned this out. Her mouth became more desperate. Hungry sounds spilled from the brim of her lips and you knew she meant it. Your moans were softer as you were on the verge of climax. She didn’t miss a fold, lapping up your juices. You whined as she stuck two fingers into you. They moved inside you, almost as if they were telling you “come, come”. Your stomach pit.

“P-Peko, I can’t-!”

You cursed, feeling your skin sting and seeing white behind your closed eyes. Suddenly, you hit a point of release and her fingers were still in you. She took them out slowly, you prayed she’d do it faster. She inserted them into her mouth and you blushed as she tasted you off her fingers. “Mmmmh..”. You looked away and she laughed. Her arms wrapped around you as she kissed you.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?”

“Yes”

“Good. Kiss me”

You kissed her, trying to catch your breath. It was a slow makeout, eventually tiring you both out to sleeping in each other’s arms, sharing each other’s warmth.

[zhaozaipalooza]

Your (Also Hopefully) Weekly Drabble! - Red Thread, Blue Spirit

HALLO, Ray again! A ficlet to tie together the week’s theme along with the piece of SA culture discussed yesterday, I present... Hakozai + the Blue Spirit!

Specially inspired by this GOLDEN post which wonders, hmm, what if Ozai’s punishment after the war was to hunt down the Blue Spirit to restore his honor? PFFT.

- - -

He didn’t sight the whole spirit himself - itself - for years.

Years trawling through dampness, plugging his nose and drawing his hood tighter over his ears through marshlands and seedy towns stripped of red-bannered occupation… Attempting to bridge his mind with the sort of scourge that hid himself in shadow, no doubt itinerant like his pursuer… Ozai searched, and he stumbled, and he came up empty.

The swamplands, out of all refuge in the world, came to be the spot on his map looped with the most red thread - pinned with the most sharp points, saying here. Return to here, and look again.

So Ozai returned to the strange land of whispering voices and dripping trees that bled over a dank, spongy ground (please, end him), and this time, he was followed. Years on the hunt introduced grey streaks to his hair, harder lines in his face, a visible step-and-swing when he hiked with a firm support - the gait of someone who couldn’t part with their cane. His pack wasn’t heavy; provisions were few when he wouldn’t lower himself to bargain in cities where Firelord Zuko’s immunity was his only protection… a long story. If it was exile, even a king’s exile, he would restore his standing alone. The last time he tripped into enemy hands, well… Ozai narrowly managed to keep his head on his shoulders.

His faculties had somewhat dulled, too; after all, the swamplands were so frequented they were almost his abode. The place was wreathed in a warm fog that seemed, alive. Ironic, that his fate and the only Fire Nation officer who knew the Blue Spirit’s identity ended up sharing common ground. Not that Ozai knew - if so, he would have begged for guidance, and Zhao would have burst into laughter, or passed away twice. Probably the former.

Not that Ozai knew he was being followed, either, until a voice descended from the treetops.

“You seek me?” It boomed, causing his head to fling around with such suddenness that it was seized by a crick. “Fool - you’ve searched, you’ve toiled… and you’re doomed to fail.”

Knee-jerk reactions had lost their reserve, too - when he boiled over, Ozai struck out. He flung the weapon at his side, was barely able to catch it when it sheared through mossy growth and came sailing back. The assailant dropped from the heights, clothed in all-black, the same mask clamped to their face as the object of his desperation… and once, if he could recall, a role in one of Ursa’s adored plays. Ozai abandoned the cane and leapt into chase, the tall, wiry figure of the spirit weaving in between leafy thickets, long hair braided behind their shoulders. “What’s honor to you, old man - king of, what was it? The king of fools?”

You’ve grown, he surmised, and Ozai was forced to surmise many things. But your defeat is at hand. The boomerang sailed again, and came within a hair’s width of slamming into his temple instead of theirs. Capture the damned man, not kill him - but did he have to?

“Try going for the legs!” They were thrown into a clearing. Ozai heard hooting laughter in the haunted trees, vague enough to arouse suspicion and stagger his steps - it was an all too mortal sound. At the sight of a massive creature congealed from vines and brackish water, and Water Tribe men peppered around it, the ex-Firelord skidded too late to a stop, and planted his face in the mud.

He roused to consciousness, fuzzily, gathering enough of a conversation to realize his mistake.

“Bato, you were supposed to keep an eye on them, not be a part of their nonsense!”

“Can you blame them? You should have been there. You should have seen- oh, he really thought…”

“We’re here for the swamp tribe, not to harass a man on a fool’s errand…” A pause. “Even if it isn’t any old fool.”

Sitting up in slop, and crimson with rage, Ozai waited until a strong arm grasped his, and after righting himself, met the impossibly blue eyes of the chieftain. A troublesome record at the Boiling Rock, he remembered - even more nefarious outside of prison. The once-Firelord felt a snarl build in his throat; when the man reached for his non-lethal weapon and unclipped it without forethought, he nearly pounced.

“This… is the same design as my son’s boomerang.” A quizzical, superior look - though curdled behind it was a sliver of concern. “Who gave this to you?”

He breathed in, deeply, noticing the men circled around their leader, ones that stifled a snort and ones that stared, cold and hard. “... A gift from my son, supposedly to aid me on my travels. Though I have no doubt the suggestion was yours.”

“Mine?”

“Your son.” He grit his teeth, tasting salt and slickness. “Ambassador of the Southern Water Tribe.”

“Ah.” A soft laugh, with a hint of pride, and the man returned his possession. “I hope it serves you well. Your throw is a little off - need to aim against the wind, and at a tighter angle.”

Ozai grumbled a small pah sound, and the man lifted a rigid, yet firm hand to his shoulder. “Chief Hakoda. Here, come with me. Ingesting swamp water, especially here is… a bad thing to let happen, to say the least.” To anyone, was the unsaid.

It was the unsaid that kept him at the chieftain's side, made their trust wary, but there. Even until late that night after meeting with a Huu, surrounding a campfire - younger, blue-eyed warriors jostling ribs while meat was roasted, plated, and passed around. Their elders conversing, hands rife with movements that Ozai knew from experience weren’t plans for combat.

Strange. Peace.

“Your hair.” Hakoda nodded at him, while the former firebender downed a steaming soup. The first sip had uncurled warm, blossoming heat in the pit of his stomach - an old sensation that almost pricked his eyes with tears. “It’s better off cut down a little. If it gets in your face whenever you’re-”

“No.” He simmered, ignoring the steely eyes on him whenever he twitched a muscle. Seems the rest of the group would prefer he was stone.

“I get, I get it. It’s nice. It means a lot. But just in case, here.” Hakoda withdrew a knife, his thumb skimming the words imprinted on the blade. Never give up without a fight.

“Zuko told me this found its way back to him from an old friend. He gave it to Sokka - and Sokka gave it to me. It was after…” Kanna. The chieftain sighed, with a smaller, sadder smile. “I’ve been told it belonged to Iroh first. And if it’s my turn to pass this on,” he reached out, and Ozai found his hand opening like a moonflower, fingers spread.

“-then I think his brother ought to have it next. It’s helped a great many people, some of who’ve walked the same mile as you.”

He was silent, appraising it in his lap - the soft gleam, the weathered hilt. It went unsaid, but not unheard. Thank you.

“No big deal, cutting your hair.” Hakoda smiled, and it oh-so-stupidly held starlight. “Keeps it out of the way during hunts. And we have other ways of keeping its meaning. The warrior’s wolf tail. Beads, braids. And best part is, it grows back!”

“A lot of things can grow back.” He told him. “But you have to be brave enough to let go first.”

When the tribe left the next morning, and Ozai was returned to his fruitless hunt… he found himself kneeling beside a stream, only days later.

The water was clear. Blue. Reminded him of eyes; eyes he’d never seen before the war.

Ignoring the childish sentiment scribbled down the side of the blade, he lifted it to the side of his ear, and clutched the grey-black ribbons of hair tight.

[ask-them-bois]

Blood of My Blood

TW: Needles, lots of blood, animal death and gore.

TLDR: Vornik gets his happy ending.

***

Vornik sat in the small hive of the village medic, twisting his claws around the hem of his cloak as said medic bustled about in front of him.

“Alright, guardian, after this one, I think we’ll be able to stop these sessions. Blood transfusions are a nasty business as it is, and for someone like you… well, they can be borderline dangerous.” She turned around, a bag of jade-hued ichor and its attached needle in hand. “Necessary as they may be, after you nearly lost your arm, but still- we should be careful all the same.” She added.

“Jade?” Vornik asked quietly, surprised, “Don’t I usually get olive, since it’s the closest-”

“Mhm. Unfortunately, Mr. Andrin- the fellow who usually donates the blood- broke a wrist last week when he was working on his hive’s roof. Fell off, shattered a horn on the way- nasty business.”

“Oh.”

“This time, the blood’s been donated from a passer-through. Heard we had a wriggler in need of some, and when we told her about our dear guardian, she happily offered some of her own.”

“I’m not a wriggler.” Vornik mumbled as the healer took his arm and began to rub an ointment on the juncture of his elbow. “I’m eight sweeps old.”

The elderly bronzeblood smiled and pat his shoulder. “I know, dear, but you’re a wriggler to me, guardian of our village or not.”

Vornik made no comment, turning his head away as the needle punctured his skin. The healer hung the bag on a hook above his head, and pat his shoulder again.

“Just sit tight, dear.” She hummed, before she turned away.

Vornik did as he was told, watching the emerald blood slide down the tube and into his arm. Even through the thin plastic casing, he could smell the coppery scent of blood. He suddenly sat up slightly, frowning, and took another sniff of the air.

There was something off about the blood, he thought; it smelled… strange, yet familiar at the same time.

“Are you sure this blood is clean?” He asked, squinting at the bag.

“Mhm! I checked the jadeblood for any abnormalities.”

“And?”

“And there was only one, but the jade assured me it was normal for her caste. I had to take her word for it, I’m not an expert on jades.”

Vornik nodded slowly and tried to relax, but his gaze kept drifting back to the bag.

Two hours later, the bag was drained, and the needle was pulled from his skin. The healer tenderly wrapped his elbow in gauze, then passed him a caramel candy.

“These are your favorites, yes?”

Vornik happily took it, nodding as he popped the sweet into his mouth with a mumbled, “Thank you.”

“Anytime, dear. Go on, now- best get home before the sun rises.”

Vornik bid the healer goodbye and slipped out of her hive. He made his way through the village, sucking on the candy. The night was cloudy, only a handful of stars visible through the mounting cloud cover.

Vornik made it to the edge of the village without being stopped, for which he was grateful; as much as he loved the villagers, he felt nauseated and tired, as he often did after transfusions.

After his mountain came down, his arm had been nearly shorn from his body. The muscle had been severely damaged, and the bone cracked. The giant scar he bore now was a giant callous of pinched skin, where his flesh had mended over the lost muscle. After the heavy loss of blood that accompanied the wound, Vornik had been made to undergo blood transfusions to aid in the healing process.

The first bags had been from Innocent, his ancestor’s generosity boundless. But after giving too much at once, the healer had shooed Innocent away so he could recover, and had gotten the blood from other greenbloods in the village. Olive was the closest match, and Vornik’s body had been receptive of it, so every two weeks, Vornik had found himself back in the healer’s hive to receive another dose.

Now, with jade in his veins, he just hoped his body wouldn’t reject the ichor. He’d been healing well- physically, at least- and it didn’t hurt to lift his arm anymore.

Even so…

Alphadad leaped to his feet at the sight of him as he reached the edge of the village, six ears standing alert and three noses nuzzling against his torso.

“I’m okay, alpha. I’m all done, let’s go home.” Vornik smiled softly, petting each howl-beast muzzle in turn. He clambered onto the giant beast’s back, and Alphadad turned, bounding for their mountain.

Vornik shut his eyes and turned his face into the wind as they galloped past his old home, trying to ignore the wrenching of his blood-pumper.

By the time they reached the mountain, the horizon was growing light. Vornik quickly dismounted and hurried inside, with Alphadad just behind him. His pace didn’t slow until he stepped out onto the ledge, and saw his hidden forest spread out below him.

Tension unraveled from his shoulders as he descended the slope, entering the blue-shining trees. The sound of birdsong and insect chirps wreathed around him, buzzing in his ears pleasantly. A stag was drinking from the pool when he passed; it paused and raised its head, but Vornik paid it no mind; the creatures in his mountain were comfortable with his presence now, and he with theirs. He’d forbid his howl-beast brethren from harming any of them, unable to stomach the thought of the near-mystical creatures being harmed.

Ascending the slop on the far side, he entered his den.

Since moving into it some perigrees ago, it had slowly become more and more like his old den; like home.

He had a new pile of furs and blankets and pillows to sleep in, only now they were cradled in a half-egg-shaped frame, to keep them from getting dirty. Barrels of water stood against one wall; back then, he’d set the barrels out on the cliff during storms to gather rain water, but now he just dragged them to the pool when they were emptied.

Above them, with the help of Innocent, Vornik had mounted some shelves into the stone. Utensils, food, tools, knickknacks, paint cans and brushes- all neatly organized on said shelves.

He’d dug himself a proper fire pit, where the embers of the early evening’s flame still smoldered.

At the back of the den, next to his bed and on a small pedestal, was the painted stone from his original home, surrounded by pretty crystals and shells.

Finally, there were the walls; he no longer had miles of mountain tunnels to paint, but he did have blank slates, and luminescent paint. In the flickering light of the embers, glowing howl-beasts and antler-beasts and faceless trolls danced among swirling designs and stars.

Vornik tossed a log and a few sticks onto the embers, coaxing them back into a warm flame. He glanced at the provisions waiting him on the shelf, but he still felt queasy after his treatment. He retreated to his bed, carefully removing his cloak and laying it aside before he curled up among the furs and pillows. Alphadad settled at the mouth of the cave, keeping watch on the trees.

It was as Vornik buried his nose in a howl-beast pelt, already half asleep, that he distantly realized why the jade blood had smelled familiar.

By morning, he’d forgotten. As soon as he was conscious that he was awake, his stomach was gripped with pain. He sat up with a bark of surprise, clutching his torso. Alphadad grunted, concerned, two heads rising to look at their charge.

Vornik panted, his eyes wide with alarm; he’d never felt this hungry, even after going without meals in winter, when food was scarce. He was dizzy, his mouth flooded with drool as he caught sight of the food waiting on the shelves. He scrambled out of his bed and lunged across the cave.

He ripped a loaf of bread from the shelf, barely pausing to unwrap the wax paper as he devoured bite after bite.

Halfway through the loaf, he dropped it, stumbled to the mouth of his den, and emptied his stomach of bread. He moaned in pain, eyes rolling back as he was gripped with more hunger pangs.

Stumbling back to the shelves, he pulled everything down, sniffing them for proof of rot or mold, but it all seemed fine. As his nose passed over a bundle of dried meat, he thought he might pass out again as a new wave of dizziness and drool washed over him.

He didn’t hesitate, ripping the twine off and shoving the meat into his mouth. He threw back his head and groaned in delight; that was what he needed, it seemed, and in what felt like moments, the meat was gone. He tore through the rest of his food, looking for more.

Raw beef slid down his throat next, followed by grilled chicken and smoked fish. Sniffing around desperately, he realized he was out of meat; only fruits and vegetables and bread remained, and his gastric-sack did unpleasant flips at their smell.

“More… alpha, I need- I need more!” He whimpered, turning to look at his lusus. Alphadad didn’t hesitate, leaping to his feet and bounding out of the mountain.

Vornik groaned again, dragging himself to the water barrels. He dunked his head in one, fears be damned, gulping down water in an attempt to stifle the hunger. He pulled his head back out, hair spraying water everywhere, and stood, clutching the edges.

He panted, staring down at his warped reflection; what was wrong with him? He’d never reacted this way to blood before- it was the only reason he could come up with for the sudden hunger. Maybe he *had* rejected the jade blood, and his body was trying to purge it.

He should see the healer, he decided. He spun about to fetch his cloak, stumbled over his own feet, and collapsed.

He groaned, stars exploding behind his eyes; he felt too weak, his temples and stomach pulsing in harmonious pain. It seemed to be moving, too, the pain rolling down each limb until it reached his fingers and toes, making them twitch. Even his horns felt electrified; he reached up to touched one, and cried out as a jolt shot through him.

He dropped his head, pressing his cheek to the cold stone. He tried to focus on breathing, shudders wracking his body as he dug his claws into the floor. There was a whine in his ears, distant and shrill like a broken radio.

He wasn’t sure how long he laid there; he was going in and out of consciousness. But when he managed to lift his head again, it was in response to the sound of a body hitting the ground.

Blinking blearily, he found his lusus standing before him, a dead antler-beast on the ground at his paws, blood oozing sluggishly from a tear in its throat.

The coppery tang hit the back of Vornik’s throat, and he was moving before he was even aware of doing so. With his claws, he rend open the carcass, and was tearing out flesh.

He ate like a frenzied beast, blood coating his hands and mouth as he devoured flesh and muscle and organs. His knees became sticky and hot as the blood pooled around the rip in the belly. He was snarling, snorting, and panting, like his howl-beast siblings did when they devoured meals. He paused to lick away the blood that ran down his arm, before gouging out the liver and tearing into it.

He didn’t stop until he physically could eat no more; the carcass was in shambles, nearly half of it now in Vornik’s stomach. Finally sated, he slumped over to stare at the deer’s head, reaching up with bloody fingers to pet its ear.

“I’m sorry. Thank you for sustaining me.” He rasped, throat thick with blood; it was something he said at every kill, before he and his siblings ate. It was the closest he ever came to prayer- yet this time, all civility and grace he usually held during the meal had vanished until he was quenched.

Vornik laid for a while, eyes closed and breathing deep; sanity seemed to have come back to him, as did a warm strength that filled out his limbs and chest.

He felt… good. Content. Suddenly exhausted, he passed out right there on the ground.

It went on like that for several nights. He’d wake, eat, drink, and pass back out, to be consumed by fitful sleep and nightmares. He’d toss and turn, wake with a jolt, and devour more meat. Alphadad doted on him diligently, bringing fresh kills nearly every night. The cave was filled with carrion and bones, but Vornik didn’t have the strength to remove them.

Then all at once, he felt like he’d woken up; he was clear headed, able to breathe fully. He had the strength to get up and make his way to the pool, where he drank and cleaned the blood that caked his face and claws.

He sat back, looking up at the giant crystals that hung from the ceiling; through the cracks in the stone, he could see purple and green-tinged light; the moons were out and full. He didn’t feel sick anymore. Didn’t feel thirsty or hungry. His skin itched, but other than that, he felt fine.

Looking back down, he jumped in surprise as he caught sight of his reflection. Leaning over the surface, his eyebrows shot up; was the really him? He looked… bad. Haunted.

His eyes were empty, shadowed below by dark circles. His mouth was set in a grimace, the scar over his eye vivid. That wasn’t him, he thought; that was the shell of a troll he’d become. That wasn’t who he wanted to be.

He reached up with shaky claws and ran a finger down the mark. The smell of sea salt, blood, and a flash of fuchsia filled his mind for a moment, before he shook his head and dropped his hand. When he looked back at his reflection, he saw his eyes were glowing. He frowned; they only ever did that when he used his powers, why were they-

Agony tore through him once more, rocketing up his spine and bursting into his thinkpan like a firework. He screamed, the sound echoing through the chasm and causing birds to take flight.

He clutched his head, falling forward, into the shallows as he writhed. The ground shook, and Alphadad was at his side, barking and whining in alarm.

Vornik couldn’t breathe; his body was refusing to listen to him, pain buzzing down into his teeth. He snapped his jaws in the air, clawing at his mouth. His eyes suddenly shot open.

“Out!” He shouted, “I need out! Outside! Alpha!”

Alphadad didn’t argue. He shoved his muzzle under Vornik’s body, and the boy grabbed on, clambering over his lusus’ center head to clutch at his scruff as the monster hounded for the exit. Pressed flat against his lusus’ neck, the roof of the tunnel scraped against Vornik’s back and made him wail.

They burst out onto the mountainside, and Alphadad bound down to the forest, where he lowered himself to the ground. Vornik slid from his back and hit the dirt, pain pulsing through his very veins.

Everything was overwhelming; the forest was quiet, yet he could hear every insect chirp, every rustle of the leaves and the footfalls of deer. The smells of the woods, once pleasant, were rancid in his lungs, until he was heaving, trying to cough them back out. The moonlight stung his eyes, the wind slicing at his skin like knives.

From among the trees, he heard the near silent padding of his fellow howl-beast’s approach. A dozen of them appeared, sniffing the air as concerned grunts and growls rolled in their throats.

“What’s- happening- to me?” Vornik croaked, staring at his siblings pleadingly. They paused, turning to snuffle at one another. A knowing look seemed to dawn on all of them at the same time, and they suddenly retreated- all but one of them.

Vornik recognized her; he knew nearly every howl-beast in the mountains. This particular one was a she-wolf with red fur; Vornik had named her Russet, and had pup-sat for several of her litters when she went hunting.

Russet stepped forward, brushing her nose along his jaw comfortingly, before she stepped back, only to lunge forward and slam her head into him.

Vornik fell back with a yelp, pain skirting up his back like electricity. “Russet-?!” He gasped.

She leaped back, bowing in a play stance.

“No, Russet, I don’t-”

She barked, knocking into him again. She turned and vanished into the trees, before she came back and barked again, her tail wagging.

Run!

The word exploded in his head, a painful energy surging through him like a wave. He scrambled to his feet, looking around wildly.

Run!

He took off.

Vornik wasn’t sure if it was terror or excitement that made him move, but he was suddenly tearing through the trees, his lusus and packmate at his sides. Other howl-beasts bled from between the trees to join them in their race.

Vornik didn’t know where they were going, but he was a man consumed; run, his body told him, the pain fading to a background feeling. Run. Run!

He vaulted over a log, lost his footing, fell, and leaped back up, racing on.

They burst out of the woods and onto the plains, where a heard of mega-fauna antler-beasts were grazing. The beasts startled, bellowed, and wheeled about to flee. Vornik bellowed right back, and his vision went red.

He screeched to a stop, throwing back his head as his muscles seized.

He screamed, screamed, screamed- and his skin rent open as he was transformed.

He fell forward, his body shaking and jerking from side to side as he convulsed. He thrashed his head, snarling, his claws digging into the dirt. His lusus and howl-beast siblings watched, silently circling around him to wait.

The base of his spine burned in a white hot, needling pain. His every fang pulsed and throbbed, his eyes squeezed shut as his thinkpan scattered to the wind.

His jaw was stretching, his bones snapping and reforming, his fangs growing as he snarled at the moons. His form doubled, tripled in size, new muscles and flesh rippling into being across his limbs.

His hair turned white from the roots, as bright white fur burst into being along the rest of his body. He heaved with a great shudder, and his spine elongated into a tail with a flourish. His ears grew longer, the tips sharper, as he tossed his head. His hands and feet became broad and thick, his fingers and toes into heavy, sharp claws.

His clothes were suddenly too constricting as his chest broadened, expanded, and he tore them off with a snarl.

With a final burst of pain, he threw back his head and screamed, only for it to change into a roaring howl, before he collapsed.

Vornik lay in the moonlight, heaving for breath as he tried to figure out what just happened. Terror and pain faded away until they were barely echoes. He whimpered, peeling open his eyes and sitting up slowly to look down at himself.

He… He was a howl-beast.

Or partially one, at least. A monster, caught between troll and howl-beast. He reached up, patting his head, and was relieved to feel his horns still remained. He stood on wobbly feet and twisted about, looking at himself. He was huge! He must have been nearly seven feet tall, at least! He was covered in thick white fur that made him look even bigger, and he had a tail! He focused, and managed to make it wag a little. He looked down his arm, and saw his scar still remained, but it was mostly covered by his fur.

Dropping back down, he finally looked up at his family. Alphadad was regarding him, with only warmth and pride in all his eyes.

“Alpha?” Vornik tried to say, but it didn’t come out in his voice. His body spoke for him, his ears pressing back and head cocking to the side.

“Little Omega.” His lusus responded warmly, all six ears pricking up and middle head tossing back and forth as his tail wagged.

“I’m… a howl-beast.” Vornik’s tail thumped and he bowed his head.

“Always been a howl-beast.” His lusus leaned down and nuzzled each muzzle against Vornik’s head. “Only now you look like one.” He chuffed affectionately, nipping Vornik’s ear gently.

Vornik nuzzled his nose along one jaw, before he looked at his siblings. Each one of them had their ears pressed back, tails tucked, and were respectfully looking away from him. Vornik whined at them, assuring them it was okay.

“What do I do now?” He whimpered, his own ears falling flat and tail tucking half-way between his legs.

Alphadad pulled away to regard him. “What do you want to do?” He asked, all three heads cocking to the right at the same time.

In response, Vornik’s stomach gave a mighty rumble, and he heard amused chuffs from his siblings.

“Hunt.” Vornik bared his teeth, his muzzle wrinkling and eyes beginning to glow as energy surged through him.

Alphadad stamped his feet, tail high as he barked with excitement. “Then we hunt!” He snarled, tossing a heads.

Vornik slammed his claws against the ground as a sudden, ferocious elation- borderline bloodthirst- filled his chest. He threw back his head and let out another roaring howl that echoed through the mountains.

Above him, the sky lights burst to life, as if called by his song. Greens and blues and pinks and yellows snaked across the sky, stretching across the canvas of midnight and stars. The other howl-beasts reacted, throwing back their heads to howl, too.

“Ancestors! The ancestors join us!” Jawbreaker- a male with black fur- howled.

Vornik couldn’t sit still another moment; he thought if he did, he might explode. He shot off across the plains, reveling in his new power; he had questions, lots of them, but for the moment he let them go, all but throwing himself, willingly, into the nature he’d denied himself the past sweep.

He could feel his blood-pumper beating against his ribs like a caged animal. He felt every ripple of his muscles as they bunched and released as he thundered forward, his claws tearing into the grass.

Every sense was heightened, but it was no longer painful; he could hear his brothers, his sisters, and his father racing along behind him, but none of them seemed able to keep up with his speed. He could smell the earthy musk of his prey, somewhere ahead in the hills, so strongly that he could taste it on his tongue. His vision was sharpened, so much so that every blade of grass was distinct, even as he ran by.

With a leap full of lupine grace, his form changed again.

He nearly lost his footing in surprise, but managed to stay upright as his body morphed, painlessly and seamlessly, into a full-blown howl-beast body. He wanted to stop and check it out, but to pause meant he had to stop running. He could still feel his horns atop his head. Adrenaline was pouring through him, churning through his veins until he could barely contain it. He threw back his head and howled again, and heard the answering cry from his pack.

The mountains came alive as the other packs responded, too, reveling in the glee their brother had found once more. Vornik crested a hill and finally slowed as he spotted the prey up ahead. His flanks heaved as he fought for breath, his head was spinning with hunger and euphoria, and drool dripped from his jaw. His muscles ached from the sudden growth and use, but it was dull. Satisfying.

Finally, he thought, his tail wagging behind him as he eyed the herd.

Finally, he was himself again.

He was Vornik again.

[kforourke]

"You don’t know to treat the customer! You don’t know how to treat the Crypt Keeper!”

On the language of I Think You Should Leave (and how it’s not far from poetry, really, just bear with me)

The Tim Robinson-starring Netflix show I Think You Should Leave is frequently hilarious and just as frequently deeply strange; the show wouldn’t be frequently hilarious, or at least not as hilarious as frequently as it is, if it wasn’t frequently strange. And while the show’s sketches’ situations can be strange, more often it’s the language used in the sketches that’s what makes the sketches strange and hilarious.

Here’s an example from the show of language being used oddly. Emphasis mine.

“Are you Meredith’s mom?”

“I am.”

“I’m reeaallly worried about her...she’s been acting so weird lately. Like, did you just see that thing where she thinks I give a rat’s ass that her baby cried because it knows I used to be a piece of shit?”

“Did you used to be a piece of shit?”

“OH yeah! Slicked-back hair, white bathing suit, sloppy steaks, white couch...you would not have liked me back then!”

The final line is odd because the reasons Robinson’s character lists why he used to be a piece of shit make little sense both alone or together. Instead, they read like a list of random nouns and/or a word salad. And what exactly is a “sloppy steak”?*

I Think You Should Leave is full of examples like this, where language is used to odd and hilarious effect. And not simply language (i.e., words) itself, but also how language is used; there’s lots of shouting, frequently inappropriate shouting, on ITYSL. Such as the word “tables,” a lot, in the below sketch. “I CAN’T KNOW HOW TO HEAR ANYMORE ABOUT TABLES!”

But perhaps the most word-salady and absurd ITYSL sketch is the one below, where one woman’s attempt to post an adorably self-depreciating Instagram post goes poorly. Briefly, and you should just watch the thing, her repeated attempts to write a cute caption for her picture lead to ever-worse results. That Vanessa Bayer’s delivery is unfailingly cheery makes the gross nonsense she says even sillier.

“Eating crap with these sacks of shit, if they died tomorrow no one would shed a tear. So cute!”

“Slopping down some pig shit with these fat fucks and I’m the fattest of them all. If I died tomorrow, no one would shed a tear. Load my friggin’ lard carcass into the mud, no coffin please, just wet, wet mud. Bae!”

“Gulping down some pig dicks with these bags of meat, sunday funday with these pig dicks. Hope nobody gulps us!”

“Slurping down fish pits with these wet chodes, total tuna cans, put a bullet in their fucking brains and leave their wet bodies on the side of the road, boo caught me sleeping!”

“Sitting here with two bona fide pieces of hog shit...they’re mad because I won best hog at the hog shit snarfing contest, but I’m not mad because we’re all loads of beef, sitting on the side of the highway, getting our butts sucked by flies!”

So what, per the subtitle way above, do sketches about dirty tables and Instagram posts (and also how, in the universe of I Think You Should Leave, “pieces” of toilet paper are referred to as “slices” on more than one occasion, i.e., “too small a slice” which...isn’t...something people do) have to do with poetry?

It’s the abstraction, see. Language in ITYSL is often used ways divorced from its standard meaning and/or context, the effect of which is both bewildering and frequently hilarious in how discombobulating that bewilderment is. Laughter is a response to feeling uncomfortable, and vice versa.

The degree to which I, its audience, have felt bewildered by ITYSL’s language, and being so bewildered forced to make what sense of it I could of it, feels much like the bewilderment and pleasure experienced when reading (good) abstract poetry. Such as Ashbery’s Flow Chart, which made my head float several inches above my body, and the Language poet Lyn Hejinian’s My Life.

The latter book is written in “prose” but is decidedly not prose; Hejinian uses the form of prose to subvert prose’s usual job (and our expectation that it perform that job) of conveying information clearly. Here’s a section from My Life’s “Reason looks for two, then arranges it from there”:

It seemed that I didn’t, after all, want a birthday empty of sentimentality. It’s on the compulsive buyer’s rack up front. The real adversary of my determination was determinism, regulating and limiting the range and degree of difference between things of one day and things of the next. I got it from Darwin, Freud, and Marx. Not fragments but metonymy. Duration. Language makes tracks.

Then there’s Diane Seuss, whose unrhymed sonnets (”sonnets”) remind me of Hejinian but with fewer digressions. Here, in closing, is the first stanza of a sonnet from her most recent book, frank: sonnets. Notice how long it takes for the final (and only!) period to appear.

Poetry, the only father, landscape, moon, food, the bowl of clam chowder in Nahcotta, was I happy, mountains of oyster shells gleaming silver, poetry, the only gold, or is it, my breasts, feet, my hands, index finger, fingernail, hangnail, paper cut, what is divine, I drove to the sea, wandered aimlessly, I stared at my tree, I said in my mind there’s my tree, there’s my tree I said in my mind, I remember myself before words, thrilled at my parents’ touch, opened milkweed with no agenda, blew the fluff, no reaching for comparison, to be free of signification, wriggle out of the figurative itchy sweater, body, breasts, vulva, little cave of the uterus, clit, need, touch, come, I came before I knew what coming was, iambic pentameter, did I feel it, does language eclipse feeling, does it eclipse the eclipse.

...

Header screenshot via Netflix’s YouTube channel

*A sloppy steak = "It’s a steak with water dumped on it. It’s REALLY, REALLY good.”

[thephantomofthe-internet]

Read Into Me Chapter 3: The Scarlet Letter

Steve Harrington x Reader

CATCH UP ON THE SERIES HERE

Word Count: 4,420

Warnings: Bad grades, swearing, anxiety, bullying

Tag List: @divinity-deos @thecaptainsgingersnap @wolfish-willow @scoopsohboi @herre-gud-nej @clockworkballerina​ @maddie1504​ @i-am-trash-so-much-its-scary​ @bajino-in-the-hole @buckysarge​ @wildcvltre​ @stanleyyelnatsiii​ @t0rmenta0​ @10blurredsmoke10 @unusuallchildd @n3wtscaseofniffler5​ @alwaysstressedout @peterparxour @linkispink1995​ @asharpknife @a-big-ball-of-idk​ @used-avocado​ @mochminnie​ @sledgy14​ @the-creative-lie​

Steve arrived first to Mr. Lawrence’s homeroom, his paper shoved to the back of his notebook. He was happy to have the distraction of Vicki and Tina jabbering at him. He didn’t want to think about his paper. English wasn’t his best subject, but he could hide it from his peers when it was just the teacher and him going back and forth on essays, him writing and them marking. Now, somebody was going to know that he wasn’t good at this. Nancy knew, of course, and while she didn’t say it she always seemed a bit judgemental over his lack of essay writing skill. She was good at everything; it made him feel like he was in good hands when they were together, like they both had something to offer. Apart, it made him feel stupid and secondary, like he was awful at everything. Truth be told, he didn’t exactly know what he had even offered to that relationship, looking back he couldn’t understand why he thought he was worth anything in a relationship at all.

When he sat down, the desk next to him was empty. Steve wasn’t usually early to class, so he was a bit relieved to not see you there. Maybe he could avoid the eminent roasting of his work.

You got to school late. You were absolutely drenched from head to toe. You had walked to school that day, and a sudden rainstorm hit you halfway through, soaking you before you could make it to the building. To make it worse, you’d decided to wear white for the first time in forever. You rushed to your locker in the hopes to change and luckily you’d left a stained sweatshirt there from the previous semester. You’d pushed your wet hair up and away from your face and rubbed away the bits of black eyeliner that had flaked down you cheeks. You looked like shit and you knew it. It was turning into a less than successful morning. You hadn’t even had a chance to look in your locker mirror once you’d changed. You were already late enough for class and didn’t need the write up. You rushed to your English class.

Everyone turned their attention to the doorway when you opened it. You hurried to your desk, keeping your head down and ignoring as Vicki and Tina laughed. You heard Tina say “She looks like a drowned rat.” But you chose to pretend that you didn’t. You were freezing; Hawkins High turned off the heating system mid-March and left the school to stew in whatever weather the state was dealing with to save the county a few bucks a month.

Steve slid his paper onto your desk, keeping his eye on the front of the room as Mr. Lawrence took up attendance. He’d written on the board in chalk ‘how to peer edit’ in thick block letters. You weren’t exactly enthused by the topic, but you were glad to have the dull class to doodle instead of actually listening. You flipped the paper in front of you, looking over Steve’s chicken scratch without really taking in any of the information. You slid it into your trapper keeper, passing Steve your own typed copy of the assignment. You’d made sure to keep the original at home, edited just in case Steve didn’t give you any edits. You left in some mistakes so he could get a grade, but you didn’t want to have to rely solely on him.

You flipped open your sketchpad slowly, keeping your eye on Tracy Lords curly mess of hair piled high on the top of her head like Medusa’s snakes trapped in a golden laurel, or in this case a braided headband. You pulled your graphite pencil from the pink pencil bag you’d sewn in freshman year home-ec. You started with the shape, trying to capture the exact strangeness pile, making little tight curls in the centre of the oval and spiralling in all directions. You felt a pair of eyes on your neck and you turned to see Steve staring over your shoulder. You pulled yourself and the pad inward, trying not to blush. You didn’t like people looking at your art; you hardly showed your work to anyone, even Samantha. All of your drawings sat in their pads, which piled up as the years went by, untouched and forgotten. If Samantha wasn’t allowed to see the pictures of her, Steve Harrington was certainly not allowed a peak.

“Alright, today if you and your partner are ready to begin, we’ll start editing our papers. If you aren’t ready, that’s fine but today is the only day that we’re doing in class editing so I would spend today trying to finish up so you can at least pass your papers on.” Mr. Lawrence explained. You sighed, closing your pad and pulling Steve’s essay from your trapper keeper.

“Now, we want to look for not only spelling and grammar problems, but also sentences that don’t make sense and confusing details within the essay. It’s not about how many big words you can use, it’s if you can accurately and dynamically give your reader information.” Mr. Lawrence explained. He took to the board, writing key points for his marking, specifically to edit in pen and give a letter grade for the paper.

Tina’s hand shot up “You want us to grade the paper? Isn’t that your job?” she asked, smacking her gum violently. Vicki snickered into her palm, reddish brown hair away from her face.

Mr. Lawrence shook his head “No no, I’m not taking your grade on the papers into consideration for my grade, instead I want us to give each other grades to mark the progress of an essay, to give your partner an idea of what the paper might be worth. It’ll be up to them as to whether or not they are comfortable with the grade or if they want to improve.”

You didn’t like that. Who the hell wanted their classmate grading their paper? This was a recipe for disaster. You uncapped your red pen with your teeth, chewing on the lid nervously. You looked over the page. You had made up your mind that you’d be nice. You’d want Steve to be nice to you. It was the least you could do.

But it only took a few lines to understand that this was not a good paper. Spelling and grammar mistakes galore, run on, confusing sentences, no clear subject. It wasn’t even a good story, hell it wasn’t even an essay it came off more like a point form list. As you added more and more red ink to the black, white, and blue it started as. The paper started to become a Jackson Pollack more than a lame essay for an English class, it almost felt beautiful instead of shitty to destroy his essay. It was as though you were turning into art.

Out of curiosity, you looked over at your paper to see how it was fairing. Steve was, as expected, chatting up Vicki from across the aisle, and he’d made two corrections on your page, both small mistakes you’d left in. You rolled your eyes, a pit of annoyance making itself known in the centre of your stomach, as bitter as the cyanide in a peach pit. You made your last two corrects before scrawling a large ‘D’ at the top of the page and initialling next to it.  

You flipped the paper over and pulled back out your sketchpad and brought it close to your chest, pulling your knee up to your chest and adding more curls to the back of Tracy Lords’ head, then focusing in on the braided headband until the bell rang. You flipped your pad closed and slid Steve’s essay back to him, quickly putting your stuff away.

“You mind if I take this home and give it to you tomorrow?” Steve asked, waving your essay in front of your face, nearly giving you a paper cut on the bridge of your nose.

You pushed the paper away, squinting up at him. “Yeah, whatever…” you replied, turning away from. You didn’t feel bad for giving him a bad grade now. He was still a dick head. “Don’t forget your paper.” You added, quickly making your way into the halls. You didn’t usually have the confidence to be snarky with anyone you didn’t trust, but something told you that you could handle Steve Harrington. Maybe it was just how awful his essay was, you felt like you could talk your way out of a fight.

Samantha grabbed your arm as you left the room, the pair of you thankful to have the same lunch period every other day. You hurried into the cafeteria. You knew well enough that she was on the prowl, eyes scanning the room for a certain figure.

“I think the band’s practising today, dude.” You said, taking an extra tray for Samantha and getting her serving of lumpy mashed potatoes and chicken surprise slopped on the plate. Samantha was looking for Robin Buckley, a junior on her soccer team who had drawn her attention as of late, and had been trying to get closer to her as of late, inviting her to join them for lunch every time she saw her and leaving you to third wheel.

“Yeah, probably.” She replied, taking the tray you held out for her and paid for her meal. “So, how’d talking sweet, sexy assignments with King Harrington?” Samantha crooned, batting her eyelashes up at you.

You rolled your eyes “Well, for one, we don’t talk period, and for another it’s fucking awful.” Taking your places at the table closest to the emergency exit, you settled into your routine of trying to choke down the awful cafeteria food. You grabbed your trays and had them filled with whatever horrific concoction the lunch ladies had come up with that day. You carried your grey and brown mushy mess to your table, a small four seater near the edge of the room, out of view from the popular assholes who liked the throw food.

“Oh? Is that what makes it awful? Not getting to enjoy the charming conversations he has to offer?” Samantha was trying hard not to laugh. Watching you squirm was hilarious.

“More like because I have to read his writing…” you replied. You jabbed your fork into what was supposed to be pot roast, but seemed to be ninety percent instant gravy and ten percent meat from an undetermined animal.

“Since when are you such a snob?” Samantha’s mouth was full of mashed potatoes, but the words rang clear.

“Since I spent my morning reading absolute dog shit about a vacation to Miami beach. It was pathetic! I mean, and I’m no critic, but if you’re going to write me an essay on your vacation, can you at least make it interesting?” you ranted. The more you talked about how awful it was the angrier you got about it. You spent so long on art and creating, you spent your time working hard and for someone to slide through life made your blood boil.

Steve didn’t usually spend his free time searching through the cafeteria for people, people usually found him. Tommy and Carol had already motioned him over, their new friend Billy already gone somewhere else, and Vicki and Tina had called for him to join them, but Steve had to handle something first. He didn’t really know what he was looking for, he wasn’t certain he’d find it in there, but there wasn’t any shame in searching. He would ask someone for directions, but it seemed that nobody knew or cared where you were at any time.

You gave him a ‘D’. A god damned ‘D’! He was flummoxed, he thought his essay was shit, he wouldn’t pretend that he didn’t, but he had expected you to be a bit kinder. That was like the unexpected rule of everyone in the class, to grade on the curve. But you went in hard. All he wanted was some answers.

He saw first a flash of pencil stained hands in the air, then the shine of your hair under the florescent lights. You were talking with your hands, making Samantha Cameron laugh hard. He’d never seen you that animated, it made him smile for reasons he didn’t quite understand.

He chuckled, coming up behind you in the hopes that your ease would stick around if he didn’t announce his presence. “You really gave me a D on my paper? What did I do to deserve that?” he asked.

Apparently, you really couldn’t smile when he was around. Both you and Samantha’s smiles dropped, your punky friend dropping her gaze as you were forced to turn around. “Oh…um…well I mean it…maybe I need to look it over again, I was probably being too harsh…” you stuttered, unable to keep yourself from burning up.  You prayed that he hadn’t heard what you were saying. That would’ve been awful.

“Hey, it’s cool, the paper’s no good, it’s no big deal.” That was a lie of sorts, when Steve saw the big red ‘D’, his heart dropped. And he really didn’t believe that you were as innocent as you seemed. You seemed guilty over something.

“Well…I’m sorry anyway. I didn’t mean to bother you…” you apologized. You hoped he’d go away; you’d never been more uncomfortable around a person than Steve Harrington. You didn’t know why, but something about him made gave you more butterflies than other people did, he scared you for reasons you couldn’t quite understand.

“You didn’t bother me, don’t worry.” Steve chuckled awkwardly. You wouldn’t look him in the eye, it was throwing him off. “So, listen, I don’t want to fail this class,” he huffed out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck “Could you maybe help me rewrite this thing?”

You looked to Samantha, unsure if you could even speak words anymore, but she was smirking into her pot roast. Absolutely no help at all. You tried to smile “Um…sure, I can’t promise I’ll be much help though…” your voice was hoarse and unsure of itself. You hated that you’d said yes, but you couldn’t bring yourself to refuse. What if he got mad? Or yelled at you? You couldn’t handle being ridiculed or yelled at, you’d die.

Steve chuckled “Any help I can get is good enough. I can meet you in the library after school, okay?” he said, turning his gaze to Tommy’s hollering from across the cafeteria. He waved him over with both hands, like a sailor on a sinking ship, trying to beckon Steve back to where he belonged. Steve nodded, holding up his index finger, he only needed one minute.

“Sure, yeah that’ll work.” You said, fiddling with a thread hanging from the edge of your grey sweatshirt. You’d painted a little pink flower on the inside of the sleeve. When Steve saw it, he couldn’t help but smile at it; it looked so sweet and earnest.

“Alright, I’ll see you then.” He left after that, heading over to Tommy, who was frustrated beyond belief. He took his seat easily, stealing the pudding cup off of Carol’s tray wordlessly.

“What did that freak want?” Tommy asked loudly, his eyes blown wide. Carol was painting her nails, not even bothering to look up from her work. Tommy made no attempts to hide his dislike of you. He’d expected his best friend since the second grade to feel the same.

“She’s nice, we’re doing an assignment together.” Steve replied with a shrug, pulling the plastic covering off the cup, sticking the plastic spoon into the vanilla pudding.

Across the room, Samantha grabbed onto your hands with a giddy grin. “Look at my little girl! She’s got plans, with a boy!” she squealed, swinging your arms back and forth over the table.

“Jesus, can you please stop acting so straight? You’re gonna scare Robin off.” You yanked your hands away, watching with a grin as she turned her attention back to looking around the room excitedly. You let your eyes find Steve in the cafeteria, the buzz of fear filling your ears. You couldn’t believe that you agreed to meet him anywhere. You wanted to disappear.

You couldn’t focus on anything for the rest of the day. Your mind had gone into a feral sort of panic mode, pumping fear through your veins and turning your palms cold. When the final bell rang, it took all your strength and courage to not run all the way home. You knew that if you didn’t show, the problem wouldn’t go away. You’d just have to deal with the results of ditching the next day, and if not done now, then you’d have to deal with it another day. You clutched your books tight to your chest, sitting on the bench outside the library, trying to keep the butterflies from bursting out of your mouth. Your hands kept coming to your hair, trying to fix it or keep it away from your ears, maybe just to comfort yourself. It had dried weird and you worried that it looked ridiculous.

You saw his shoes come up to yours before you saw his face, royal blue Adidas with white and red details and dirty laces. You noted your own dirty white Converse, marked with mud and lyrics to songs that Samantha wrote on the toes. “Hey, you ready to do this?” Steve asked. You looked up and nodded, swallowing hard.

You wouldn’t make eye contact with him again. It was really starting to freak him out. He didn’t know what he did wrong, but it seemed like you really didn’t like him. Still, you’d agreed to help him and he wouldn’t take that for granted. He’d read your essay twice and it was good. He didn’t know much about good writing, but he knew that Mr. Lawrence would like it, that it would get a good grade. And he wanted decent grades too, so he could get into college and get his dad off his back.

The Hawkins High library was fairly quiet after school, most students headed back home or to after school clubs.  Only a few stragglers remained, mostly using electric typewriters and returning books to poor Mrs. Mueller, who always kept the library open till four, waiting for her husband, the head of custodial staff, to finish his work. She smiled at you when you walked in. Mrs. Mueller was a nice woman who let you sit in the library during lunch and always checked in on you when you seemed alone. She was your favourite teacher, despite never having a class taught by her.

Steve chose a table in the dead centre of the room, dropping his blue bag on the wooden chair next to him and pulling out his papers. You carefully followed suite, folding your hands in your lap, unsure what to do with them. Steve smiled at you, sliding the essay towards you “So, what am I doing wrong?” he asked.

You narrowed your eyes, unsure where to begin. You picked up the paper, and then open your notebook, writing down everything the story seemed to be about. Steve watched you, utterly confused.  Once you had every down, you set down your pen. “Okay,” you didn’t look up from your paper, sliding the essay to the middle of the table. “Tell me what your paper is about.”

“What? You read it, you should know.” Steve laughed awkwardly.

“Humour me.” You replied, looking up slowly to meet his eye. Steve’s smiled dropped, looking at you for a second. You broke eye contact first, but he wished he had been able to hold it for a moment longer.

“Okay, well,” he took a deep breath “I wrote about my family’s trip to our cottage on Miami Beach, and I talked about what I did. Nothing much.”

“Okay, because what you actually wrote isn’t really about that. What you told me is that you went to Miami Beach, your parents own a dirty beach house that was your grandparent’s house and that they’re both dead, that your grandfather fought in World War Two and that the medals were framed in the house, that you met a girl on the beach but she didn’t like you, and that the flight was long.” You explained. You still couldn’t believe that he’d fit all of that into a page of work.

“So?” Steve asked. That was all true of his last trip. Mind you, that was way back in middle school and the details were hazy.

“So, that’s a lot of information that I don’t care about. You can cut all of the stuff about your grandparents, which takes up like half of it. And when you cut that, all I know is that the beach house is in Miami Beach and you met a girl and the flight was long. That’s not bad, but I’d like to know a bit more about it.” You said, taking back the essay from the middle of the page and crossed out every line about his grandparents.

“What do I say instead then?” Steve asked, watching as you crossed out half his page, trying not to sound defeated. You were basically saying that he had to start all over again.

“Well, tell me about the beach? Pretend like I’ve never been. What’s there to do, what’d you like about it?” you shrugged. You found yourself feeling a tad bit calmer; the butterflies had calmed their intense flapping and had let you breathe.

Steve sighed “I don’t know, I’m just bullshitting.”

“What’d you mean?” you asked.

“I mean, I didn’t go on there, I haven’t been to our beach house since I was a kid.” Steve looked away. He was embarrassed to have been caught in a lie, even more knowing that now he’d have to rewrite his whole paper.

“Oh…what’d you actually do on your break?” you hadn’t expected him to be lying about anything, a snow bird spring break trip sounded about right for his family, they were always bragging about their money.

Steve chuckled “Oh no, nothing worth writing an essay on.” You looked up at him again. He seemed a bit sad. You pulled another sheet of paper from your trapper keeper, setting it overtop the last one.

“Tell me about it.” You smiled at him despite yourself. He was bit easier to talk to than you’d imagined.

Steve swallowed, nodding despite himself. “Well, I mean my parents went to the beach house and I tried to throw a party, you probably heard about how that went.” He rubbed at the back of his neck.

“No…” you shook your head. Steve wasn’t expecting that. Everyone had heard about the failed party, he’d gotten shit about it for weeks.

“Well, I couldn’t get any supplies, so I cancelled and hung out with Tommy and Carol instead. We got drunk in my backyard and Carol fell in the pool. She was so pissed. Then, I pretty much just hung about town, helped my buddy Dustin beat Dragon’s Lair at the arcade.” Steve didn’t really like admitting how lame his life was, he purposefully left out how Tommy and Carol only hung out with him when he went to pick up some weed from his older brother and they wanted a hit off it. Admitting that his life wasn’t that great made him feel small and like it was out of his control, which was not exactly a good feeling.

“Okay, tell me about the little party you had with Tommy and Carol. What was the night like? Was it fun? Did you jump in the pool too or did you watch her fall and laugh?” You had written down the few details in a bubble tree and added more details as he explained his time more thoroughly. You managed to get a bit more information on both events, learning more about his friend Dustin and the game they played.

When he was finished, you slid the page over to him. He took it, eyebrow raised in confusion, but you spoke before he could ask any questions. “This is your blue print. I wrote down everything you told me; now just turn it into an essay. The whole trick about these assignments is that you’re telling a story, and to make it interesting you have to give us details, and not about your grandparents or other things that don’t add to the story at hand, about what actually was happening.” You explained, checking the plastic watch on your wrist. It was almost four and Mrs. Mueller had already passed your table twice, her silent warning to leave. Everyone else who had been there had long left and you became very aware of how alone you were with him. The butterflies started their flapping again, churning tides in your stomach.

Steve smiled “Okay, I promise it’ll be interesting though.” He chuckled.

You shrugged “I promise that it’s more interesting than what you had before.” You shoved your papers into your bag, standing quickly “If you want me to look at it again before you hand it in, just bring it to me in class, alright? The library’s closing so I should go.”

“You want a ride home?” you spun around to look at him, crossing your arms over your paint splattered sweatshirt. The rain storm of the morning was long forgotten and you didn’t know what the weather looked like now. A part of you wanted to take the ride, but a much bigger part of you told you to run away.

You shook your head “No, um my friend Samantha said she’d drive me after her soccer practise, she’s probably waiting for me.” You lied straight through your teeth, adjusting your backpack straps on your shoulders.

“Oh…sure, yeah, I’ll see you around.” Steve stood slowly, tucking in his chair. You waved politely and headed out. The rain had stopped, thank god, and you rushed to your locker, grabbing your wet clothes from your locker before making your way outside. The field was muddy, practise was probably cancelled. You took the long way home that afternoon, cutting through the woods and the muddy park to avoid being spotted by Harrington on the way and getting caught in a lie.

The afternoon had gone well. And that scared the shit out of you.