#mousy mechanic

[willow-boop]

-MOUSY DISCO QUEEN

(Better quality upload)

Little mouse Gabs doesn't go dancing often but when she is sure to pick out some groovy threads.

She loves to groove and vibrate on the dance floor.

She is a funky mechanic by day, dancer by night.

She loves aerial silk dancing, belly dancing and vibing with her friends.

In dnd lore, she is a shy but skilled artficer who makes mech animals.

Her proudest achievement is a mech turtle named Pancake.

(Reupload because I didn't realize the other one was potato quality, I am so sorry! XD).

[nimilla]

I love all your Farmers :)

Give you and your OCs some cookies because y'all deserve it! 🍪🍪🍪 Have a great day, Nim! 💕

Aaaaa, thank you so muchhh, Mousy! And also, for the cookies! :D May you have a good day, too, Mousy!! <33

————————————————————————

Eat the cookie?

————————————————————————

➤ || Yes || ☆ || No ||

*crunch* YUM! I'm sure my creations all would love the cookies as well! Right, guys?

🍪🍪🍪

➷ Sweet cookies for everyone!

Well, almost... everyone. I apologise for that. Aelfdene does not like sweets including cookies because he will throw up if he consumes one, but at least Roo loves the extra cookie, hehe. No cookie is wasted!

Again, thank you so, so much for liking my Farmers/OCs, Mousy! 🥹❤️ It means a lot to me, aaahhh!!! 🤧🫰🏼💕

🍪🍪🍪

I have six babies now, skksksskk-

[cheriladycl01]

I cant do this anymore - George Russell x Wolff! Reader P3

Plot: You are the daughter of Toto Wolff team principle of Mercedes-AMG Petronas, you've worked your whole life to become an engineer. However, your dad has other ideas for you and doesn't want you to become a race engineer. You start to confide more in the Red Bull Racing Team Principle to help you get an engineering job, and see him as your present father figure.

Credit to russellius for the GIF

"You ready for our first Grand Prix together Max?" you ask, testing with Max had gone really well and Christian was happy with the dynamic the both of you had. Max as gentle and kind as he was, he was very ambitious and that ambition when it didn't prevail often turned into anger.

Christian saw, in FP1 and FP2 when he didn't think he was performing that well, you just completely calm Max down and talk him through each component of what he needed to improve. He listened to her on took on board when to conserve his tires, when do take turns wider or more sharply etc. And testing couldn't have gone better for Red Bull.

"You know it, lead me to Victory Y/N" he grinned before hopping into the car. You walk over to your station making sure all of the data on the car is looking as good as it did yesterday in qualifying and to check for any errors that could mess Max up in his first few laps. Nothing stuck out, and you could tell that both the car and Max would perform well today.

"Is Y/N here i need to talk to her before the race" you heard through your headphones, you turn seeing George in his racing suit and helmet in hand talking to some of the mechanics.

"Mate, you are a driver. You should be getting in your car for radio check. You cant be in the Red Bull area okay?" he advises, making George look around quickly before huffing and walking away in dissatisfaction.

"Max, Radio Check can you hear me" you ask and get a response immediately.

"Yes, loud and clear! Today will be good!" he exclaims.

And how true he was, you guided him into P1, it was an amazing start to you helping Max win the Championship, Mexico had been an amazing drive for him. He shared a podium with Lewis and Charles. There were a few cameras that caught you and Lewis looking at each other and you giving him a thumbs up.

Media teams were about to have a field day.

"You are amazing Y/N! You know the car so well I bet YOU could be the driver! Those strategies were insane" Max complimented you as he'd taken his helmet off and pulled you into an insanely sweaty hug of thanks for a great first race.

"Oh god, I'm definitely not driver material! Don't tell anyone, but I don't actually have my drivers license" you cringe giggling at him, it was something you'd never needed. Your mum or dad normally drove you around before uni, and once you were there everything was within walking distance. It had just felt pointless.

"No way, you've got to be lying to me" Max laughs, wondering how you'd survived so long without something like that.

"Honestly George or Lewis used to drive me around a lot, when i had to go to the Mercedes HQ back home he'd take me if my parents couldn't! You say a light smile on your face before it turned sour thinking of the mousy brown haired man that had completely lost any trust you had placed in him.

"Lets not think about them. Lets talk about you coming with me, Christian, Geri, Kelly, Sergio, Hugh and Carola?" he asks and a massive grin comes onto your face.

"I'm invited to the Horner dinner, huh? That sounds kinda important and fancy. I might just have to decline" you joke making Max roll his eyes.

"No, you are joining us and are having fun and getting your mind off Thing one and Thing two" he jokes, you tried to keep a serious face but you really couldn't.

"Anyway, considering the Princess cant drive do you want me to take you back to the hotel?" he asks smiling.

"If that's okay with you!" you smile happily, he nods slinging an arm around your shoulder guiding you to the car.

"So when do I finally get to meet P!" you exclaim, even though you'd only been working with Max for a week, you'd gotten to know him very well. You had to considering he had to trust listening to you while he was driving round a track a 200 miles an hour.

"Hmmmm I think Kelly said she'd be bringing her to the race next week. It's Brazil so its an important one for her!" he admits. The conversation flew between you and Max, it was strange really it felt like you'd been friends with him for ages. You had to grovel when it came to any of the Mercedes Drivers in the past, so this easiness to making friends felt good.

That was one thing you'd struggled with. You had a love for F1 straight away considering who you parents were and where you were constantly travelling from race to race until you got to university age. So you didn't actually have many friends who stuck around.

You both eventually ended up at the hotel, you waved at Kelly who was waiting for the both of you and she pulled you into a big hug as she walked over to you.

"You both did amazing today! So proud of you! Y/N, did Max end up inviting you to dinner tonight!" she exclaims, wanting you to be there as well.

"Yes, I'll be there" you smile and say your goodbye's before dashing into your room to get ready for the dinner.

You struggled on what to wear and ended up calling Max to get Kelly to help you on what the dinner vibe was for tonight. You ended up showing her half the stuff you'd brought to Mexico with you and ended up picking one of your nicer dresses from Versace.

You took some pictures before a knock was heard at your door that had you confused as you were meeting up with Kelly and Max outside theirs in 30 minutes.

You opened the door, and looked up to see who had come to the door.

"Omg" you both said at the same time, you tried to slam the door shit. George wouldn't ruin your night, he didn't deserve too.

However, a foot and arm in the door and his general athletic body that made him stronger than you prevented all of that. He practically barged his way in.

You both stood there in awkward silence. George couldn't get over how beautiful you looked. I mean, you were always beautiful to him. But tonight in the black dress that he swore Donatella had personalized just for you, and the way your hair fell around you face in an effortless fashion. He couldn't look away from you.

"If you've come here to accuse me some more, then just leave. I'm about to have a really good night with friends, people who actually care for me and want me to succeed and if I'm being honest I do not need your negativity" you say, turning around to check yourself in the mirror.

"You look gorgeous tonight. So i wont do this tonight, but please meet me in between the Mercedes and Williams garage next week in Brazil. We need to talk. We've been friends for years and I don't want my stupidity to come between us" he says, stepping towards you going to reach out his hand. You step back, it took a lot especially with this ocean blue puppy eyes looking at you with that sad expression that would make anyone fold.

"Please, After Qually, I'm only asking for five minutes Y/N please" he begs trying to catch your eyes but you were doing your best not to look at them too often, knowing you would probably cave.

"I'll think about it. If I'm there we can talk, if not then its up to you if our friendship is really worth waiting for" you admit, walking to the door and opening it up for him as a sign that he should leave.

"I've waited long enough" he mumbles before walking out the door himself and leaving towards the lift that was down the corridor from your room.

The night had gone so well, you were really beginning to feel comfortable around those in Red Bull. The people at the table were being so kind to you as the newbie, Christian pouring you the water, recommending you dishes he liked whilst arguing with the actual Mexican in the room who knew the cuisine of the restaurant like the back of his hand, to offering you the salt and proceeding to do it for you had your heart melting.

It was stupid, really. You shouldn't be this emotional over an older man doing small silly little tasks that you could tackle alone but just was nice to have the offered help. Help that you hadn't received in recent years.

"I really want to thank you all for tonight, its been really nice to hang out with you. And i cant wait for a double podium in Brazil next week!" you exclaim clinking you glass with everyone around the table.

However, George still managed to creep into your mind thanks to his earlier disturbance.

Would he actually apologise?

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @stupidandunnecessary @clayra-g @daemyratwst @honey-belden @moonypixel @lauralarsen @vader-is-hot @ironcowboycopnickel @itsjustkhaos @the-untamed-soul @beebo86 @happylittlereader @ziejustme @lou-larcher5 @thewulf @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @chillyleclerc @chanthereader @annoyingmoonballoon @summissss @evieepepi08 @havaneseoger08 @celesteblack08 @gulphulp @fandom1ruined2me @celebstories @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhh @georgeparisole @dakotatankbig @youcannotcancelquidditch @zzonsbeek @tallbrownhairsarcastic @mellowarcadefun @ourteenagetragedy @otako5811 @countingstacksandpanicattacks @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @hopexcroc @mirrorball-6 @spilled-coffee-cup @urdad-hot

Hey guys, so i've noticed some people in the taglist aren't getting tagged, I'm not sure if this is username changes or what... but i will start to take of one that don't link to an actual page, so if you see your account name and its not working please feel free to message me, or comment her or on my masterlist of taglist so i can see your knew username!

[ystrike1]

How To Refuse the Route - By Saessak (8/10)

This yaoi/harem/isekai/otome mess is relentlessly adorable. Super sweet, slow, and full of dread. The very careful protagonist accidentally sets off the worst red flag by...being friendly and choosing to have a normal childhood. Yup. He didn’t go around seducing everyone. He made a bunch of friends instead. Too bad about the secret yandere character. Better stop running, or the country will drown in a bloody revolt!

Jerry Route is a pretty nice guy who gets reincarnated into a really weak body. He's got a loving family. He's a Counts son....but he quickly figures out that he's in some sort of dating game. Everybody spoils him a bit too much, and there's game mechanic symbols about love everywhere.

The love stuff immediately takes a backseat, because Jerry is in love with magic! His new life is awesome, and he doesn’t wanna worry about love yet. He's not even old enough to go to school! Plus, his health really is awful. He enjoys his new life, and he puts some work into his health. The love and romance premise isn't his priority for many years.

Some of the love hints absolutely disgust him to the core. He starts to suspect there is a "twin brother" route. He tries to have a healthy relationship with all of his family members, and he remains calm. He actually starts to love his game family. AS A FAMILY nothing more. Dating his twin brothers, or his elder brother, would be a nightmare.

He absolutely rejects those routes.

The next route is with the pretty crown prince, Karyan. Jerry mistakes him for a girl at first. Their relationship is tense in the beginning, because Karyan doesn't trust very many people. Jerry gets poisoned though, and they become close friends.

Jerry becomes very close friends with the unwanted fourth prince. A mousy and nervous boy named Ilya. Jerry wasn't supposed to meet Ilya until later. They only meet because Jerry always actively avoids romance. They kinda have a cat together it's really adorable.

Everything is sooo sweet I wouldn’t have known about the yandere part if it wasn't in the promo art.

Karyan is definitely the good prince. He's supportive and kind and he's burdened by all of the manipulative people around him. Jerry has a refreshing personality and a childish love for magic that makes Karyan smile.

Jerry isn't interested in picking a route though. He wants to stay friends with all of his friends, and obviously his brothers.

He starts searching for The Guide Book. A cheat item that can help him avoid the games plot. He wants a certain ending. The Mage Ending. Where Jerry graduates single and he quietly lives inside The Magic Tower.

He enters school with hope. Both princes are incredibly kind, even though they don't get along too well as brothers. Jerry makes other friends too, and he does well in school. Being kind and honest has rewarded him with trusted friends and a happy future....

Raven.

Raven is a catalyst character that seemingly appears out of nowhere. He's not some random guy. He's Ilya's "friend". Things start to get dark immediately. Karyan and Ilya don't have friends??? They only have followers and it's actually really sad??? There's a royal power struggle because both princes are strong and capable???

Karyan is kinda depressed because he has followers instead of friends. Jerry is his solace and his love seems quite innocent.

Ilya's followers are absolutely terrified of him. Jerry is in shock because remember...Ilya is the cat dad/quiet/nervous guy.

Raven is an extremely rude awakening. When Jerry chose to befriend Ilya AND Karyan he set off a huge red flag. Ilya wants Jerry to like him the most, and Ilya has freakishly strong magic. Ilya has been hiding his magic so he can attend basic classes with Jerry, but it's an open secret.

Raven tries to bully Ilya, to force him to pick one of the princes before Ilya truly goes insane

....but it's far too late.

Raven barely manages to avoid being maimed. Ilya chops an arm off, and it gets swept under the rug. Ilya is absolutely obsessed with Jerry's safety and more importantly his health. Jerry has been working on his health, that's true, but he's really only functioning because of Ilya. Ilya constantly casts stamina spells on Jerry so he can have a somewhat normal life.

The situation gets even worse when Jerry finally finds The Guide Book. Ilya is an evil boss character. There are no good endings with him.

The two options are.

- Ilya raises a revolutionary army against his brother, and he kills everyone Jerry knows.

- Ilya wipes Jerry's memory to make him "happy forever", leaving him soulless.

In the current story Ilya is still playing nice, because the plot has been twisted. Most of the original love interests no longer see Jerry in a romantic light. He has healthy relationships with everybody....including Ilya.

Jerry decides to continue pushing towards The Magic Tower Ending. He's frightened, but he doesn't believe Ilya will hurt anyone if the love route isn't activated.

He decides to distance himself from Ilya a little bit, so the love route doesn't activate. If he avoids Ilya's love route everything will be fine! Everybody can stay friends and live happily ever after!!!!!!

I'm sure you've guessed the plot twist.

Jerry has been on Ilya's route the whole time.

There was never any room for anyone else.

[foreverdolly]

𝐈 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐄 pt 2 | 80's mechanic!austin x best friend!reader

summary: it's starting to look like he might never make it out of the friend zone. austin has been in love with you for as long as he can remember, and he's terrified that you'll never see him as anything more than a best friend and protector. with the fear of you one day outgrowing him fresh on his mind, he's now hell bent on getting you to view him in a different light. madly in love and terrified to lose you, austin butler is playing for keeps.

pairings: 80s mechanic! austin x childhood best friend!reader

word count: 3.8k

notes/warnings: SMUT! in part three, virgin!austin. . . need i say more?, i love pining and this fic is testament to that, shaky/hurried hands, who doesn't love a good best friends to lovers fic, he has a deep southern accent, austin is the small town's metalhead and he's swelteringly hot without even trying. (this is going to have to be three parts because it turned out too long after editing. the smut alone is like. . . five pages on google docs.)

Austin could tell that you were fighting off the urge to plug your ears as the band continued to pound away at their instruments. It wasn’t that you weren’t a fan of metal music- he was pleased to know that you enjoyed a lot of the bands that he loved- but while this might be metal, Austin wasn’t sure it could really be categorized as music. The drummer, Mark, was okay at best. He couldn’t say the same for the other member’s. Dave had picked up a guitar and decided that he wanted to start a band just a year ago. It was more of a “this sounds like a fun thing to do with my time” and less of a “this is my passion in life” sort of thing. 

The wavy haired blonde tried to show support where he could, like tonight for example. He had dragged you all the way out here just to add to the small crowd. You were sweet enough not to complain though. 

“Do ya want another drink?” Austin called down to you, pointing to the empty can of beer in your hand. 

You squint your eyes up at him, trying to read his lips. He repeated himself, smiling fondly when you nodded your head. You were kind enough to let him drag you an hour out of town to see this show, so the least he could do was make sure you were taken care of. Not only that, but it was something that he enjoyed immensely. Austin knew just how strong you were, but it felt nice to know that he was needed. Taking care of you made him feel like a necessary part of your life. It made it easier for him to delude himself into thinking that you couldn’t be without him. 

“I’m not drunk enough for this.” You called back to him, motioning towards the stage. 

He heard your sly little comment and laughed all the way back up to the bar, maneuvering his tall body this way and that so that he wouldn’t bump into anyone in the packed crowd. Austin was surprised that so many people showed up to the bar tonight, the turnout usually being much smaller. 

He finally made it over to the bar, the toes of his sneakers swiping one of the bar stools. He grimaced, mumbling a quick apology to the man who had been jostled around by Austin’s uncharacteristic clumsiness. He was just about to try and grab the bartender’s attention when he felt a sudden pressure on his elbow.

 Samuel’s familiar face grinned back at him, his mousy brown hair cropped short. Austin gaped when he noticed the new hairstyle, eyebrows pinching together in confusion. He didn’t have to vocalize the question, Sam already pointing at his head with a comically dramatic frown.

“Work,” The other man stated simply, shrugging his shoulders with a “what can you do” attitude. “I’ll get another beer.” He reached around Austin so that he could hand the empty beer bottle to the bartender and then pointed towards the blonde. “And then put whatever he orders for him and his lady on my tab too.” 

The blonde whirled, quickly shaking his head. He wasn’t the type of person to take handouts. Ever. Even if they are as a gesture of kindness. Austin hated the feeling of owing people anything. He’d learned from a young age that most people, even the ones that seemed to have the purest intentions, expected favors in return for nice gestures. Maybe it was due to growing up on “the wrong side of the tracks”, but good deeds always meant that someone wanted something from you. 

“Nah, man. Ya don’t have to do that.” He tried, but the beers were already being placed down in front of him. 

Sam smiled at the bartender, giving her a flirtatious wink before clapping his old friend on the back. “You’re the one that got me my current gig. Two beers is nowhere near enough to pay you back for that.” 

The regional manager of the local electric company had all of their work trucks maintained at the shop where Austin worked. All the mechanic did was tell the head honcho that he knew a guy that was going to school to become an electrician. Thanks to Austin’s meddling, Sam had a job the second he got his certificates. Even though Austin was the one that set up the interview, it was the brunette’s skill and personable attitude that landed him the job in the first place. He didn’t want to take credit for the other boy’s undeniable skill. Instead of pushing the subject and denying the other man’s kindness, Austin- although slightly begrudgingly- took the beers with a small smile, nudging his elbow into Sam’s side. 

“Well thank ya for that. It’s weird seein’ your hair short though. Ya look good.” Austin took a sip of his beer, then stared down at yours, raising that can to his lips so that he could give it a taste. 

“You’re lucky that you get to keep your long hair. I mean- it gets more and more majestic by the day, Butler.” Sam teased, reaching a hand over to rustle his wavy blonde hair. It was past his shoulders now, and though you often teased him about getting a haircut, he knew that you’d be upset if he chopped it all off. He’d had long hair since high school, only trimming it when it became too much of a bother to maintain. 

Austin could see the way Sam’s eyes slowly searched the crowd, his smile slow and wide once he found exactly who he was looking for: you. The blonde knew that the questions were sure to come, and so he was quick to change the subject. 

“I’m glad ya came all the way out here to support Dave. I didn’t know ya were still close with him.” The dark dive bar’s doors opened, more metalheads pouring in through the front door. Austin steered them away from the bar, making more room for others who were waiting behind them for a drink.

“I love Davie- but Mark is my new roommate.” Mark was the aforementioned drummer. . . and the wildest of the band. Just two months ago at a bonfire the twenty four year old had set his hair on fire- hence the fact that he was newly bald.

You had been there with the group when it had happened, and thankfully were sober enough to pour your drink over his head to extinguish the flames. Only after you knew that he was safe did you double over with laughter. Austin hadn’t been so kind. He had nearly pissed himself the second that the idiot tried to jump over the giant flames. 

“That must be. . . fun.” Austin chose his words carefully, but Sam was quick to laugh. 

“It’s never dull, that’s for sure.” He agreed, lifting his beer up to take a swig.

The song that the band was playing ended, Dave walking up to the mic so that he could loudly thank the crowd and call out the shitty title of their next terrible song. The amp's feedback was piercing, causing the entire bar to wince and cry out in pain. 

Austin started to walk off in your direction, hoping that he’d been successful in steering clear of any questioning- but a grip on his shoulder stopped him. Every single one of his friends had given him “the talk” at one time or another. It was always awkward and hard to stomach. Nobody in their right mind would pine after a girl for even a fraction of the time that Austin had with you. None of his friends could ever begin to understand exactly what he could lose in the process of vocalizing his feelings though.

“So is this a date. . . or?” Sam asked under his breath, motioning as subtly over towards you as he could. 

You had looked over in Austin’s direction a few times, wondering where he was and what might be taking him so long. You’d stopped searching for him after seeing who he was talking to though, not wanting to interrupt. Sam was the only one in Austin’s male friend group that actually had a “real” job, and you knew that the two of them had more in common than the rest of the boys because of it. You turned back to the stage, giving Dave a quick thumbs up as a form of encouragement to pump him up after the amp malfunction. The blonde clenched his teeth for a couple of seconds, knowing that he shouldn’t lie (but wishing that he could), before turning to face Sam again. 

“No- not a date. She’s friends with the group. . . and Davie wanted her to be here tonight.” 

Sam’s face hardened as he looked up at the stage, glaring after the guitarist. Austin was quick to shake his head, backpedaling. 

“It’s not like that. Just as friends. He knows that I-” Am in love with her. 

Of course he didn’t need to finish the sentence. Anyone with eyes knew how he felt about you. Thankfully, none of his friends had ever even tried their hand at flirting with you, because they understood Austin’s feelings. It wasn’t a childhood yearning or an adult ache that plagued him. It was more complex than that. It was the sort of love that often destroyed adult’s lives. The kind of love that didn’t go away, no matter how much you wished that they would. He’d been in love with you before he could even add two plus two or write his full name in cursive. That love was just as much a part of him as his own soul was. 

Which was why it always bothered Austin when people looked at him with eyes filled with pity. Just like Sam was doing now. 

“Do you think. . . do you think she knows? Maybe she doesn’t want to turn you down because she doesn’t want to lose you.” Sam was trying to help. Austin knew that. He was just sick and tired of people constantly putting their two cents in. 

These sort of comments just added to the self doubt that crippled him. The years of anxiety over his unrequited feelings kept him awake at night, and he didn’t need tonight to be ruined. Despite the shitty music, the two of you had been having fun. Wake up calls like the one Sam was currently tried to give him often put him in a rotten mood, and you’d pick up on that immediately.

“She doesn’t know. Ya know how she is- she’s sweet, trustin’, and a lil’ bit naive. We’ve always been this close, so in her mind this is all we are.” And all that we’re going to be most likely. He took a swig of his beer, wishing that he could get drunk off of his ass. He hadn’t made any sleeping arrangements with his friends though, and the last thing he wanted was for you to be sleeping on some random guys floor because he got too drunk to drive home. 

Austin cleared his throat, gave Sam one last pat on the shoulder, and started to make his way through the thrashing crowd. Behind Austin, Sam opened his mouth to say something. The shift in mood was obvious, and he needed to apologize for bringing it up, but it was too late now. Austin was gone and in a solemn mood. 

The melancholy that threatened to eat away at him for the rest of his night was swiftly replaced with rage. 

There was a man standing beside you that he hadn’t ever seen before. He wasn’t a friend. . . or even a friend of a friend, for that matter. Austin watched as the male moved his hands excitedly as he spoke, dark brown bangs hanging into his eyes, his hair almost as long as Austin’s. 

Your childhood friend stood back and watched the interaction for as long as he could stomach, wondering what the two of you were talking about to have the male in such high spirits. Were you making him feel like he stood a chance with you? Had he been too late walking back to the bar, the two of you having already exchanged contact information? He was attractive enough- though as he smiled Austin noticed that his bottom row of teeth was rather crooked. Knowing you, you’d probably find the imperfection “cute”, which further enraged the blonde. 

Austin hated getting angry over things like this. Watching you talk to other boys had been something he hadn’t had to deal with in almost two years, which he had considered to be a godsend. It was just as painful every time. It was unfair of him to feel this way, and he knew that. He should have hung back and let you talk to the guy. If he was a real friend he would have done just that. 

Except Austin had staked his claim on you far before you’d been able to fully comprehend what dating really was.

 No matter how nice of a guy Austin was, he was territorial and easily made jealous. He had his faults. He was selfish with you, and he’d willingly admit that to whoever questioned him. So he swiftly walked up beside you, sliding your beer into your hand with a smile that was too sweet. 

“Sorry that took so long. Sam wanted to show me his new haircut.” That wasn’t a complete lie. Just a little ‘half truth’. 

You smiled widely up at him, then gestured to your “new friend”. The boy straightened his back, having noticed how large Austin was in comparison to his own gangly frame. He towered above almost everybody else in the room, his shoulders broad and muscular. The blonde smiled at the boy, making sure to show off his perfect, white smile. He was being petty. He was being rude and horrible and. . . and he didn’t care. Not really, anyway. Austin could feel bad about his behavior later, but for now he had to make sure nothing happened between the two of you. 

“Austin, this is Robin. He works at the local record store.” You introduced, motioning between the two men. 

Bless your sweet little soul. You probably thought that the two of them, having similar taste in style and music, would be fast friends. Maybe Austin would have liked the guy if he wasn’t trying to steal his girl. Maybe being the keyword. 

The stage lights flashed dully beside your little group, the thick clouds of cigarette smoke drowning out most of the light. You let out a pleased hum as Austin took Robin’s hand into his own, watching him shake it firmly. 

“Nice to meet ya, man.” Though it wasn’t very nice at all. “Robin. . . that’s an interestin’ name for a guy.” That was a childish jab, but Austin wasn’t above laying the guy out right here and now. That is, if you weren’t standing between them. 

You tensed beside your best friend, giving his arm a quick swat, as if reminding the giant to play nice. 

Austin barely felt it, your tiny hands doing nothing to deter him. Instead he placed a large hand on the top of your head, dragging you into his side and tucking you in tightly. Robin was about to say something- a rude remark to fire back at Austin’s insult- but froze as he took in the sight before him. Understanding flickered into his eyes, his mouth parting slightly. 

“Oh,” He whispered softly, then held his hands up in defense. “Oh, I had no idea. Really. No harm done at all. We were just talking about music. Strictly casual.” 

You were standing as still as a statue, muscles taught as you tried your hardest to feel out the situation. Was Austin pretending to be your boyfriend because he thought Robin looked suspicious? You chewed on the inside of your cheek, fighting off the urge to shrug his arm off of you. You’d hate yourself later for embarrassing him in public, and you were positive that your best friend’s intentions were good. Still, it annoyed you that he still treated you like a child. Sure, you could be a bit too optimistic at times, but you were fully capable of protecting yourself. 

The hatred in Austin’s chest fizzled out, and suddenly he felt like the biggest douche on the planet. You might be blinded by your sense of innocence, but you were often a good judge of character. Robin was a nice enough guy, and he had just been an asshole for no reason. Austin’s shoulders slumped and he quickly shook his head. 

“No- you’re fine. I’m just protective over her, especially in places like this. Ya can never be too careful… There’s a lot’a creeps out there.” Austin offered as an excuse, moving a tad closer to him so that he could shake his hand- anything to alleviate some of the awkward tension. Robin started to shuffle back, obviously scared of a potential fight, but Austin shook his head. 

He’d traumatized the poor guy. 

“So ya work at a record store? Do ya have a good thrash collection?” Something. Austin needed to think of something that might change the direction of this conversation. He could feel how antsy you were getting at his side. He didn’t have to look down to know that you were disappointed in him for his reaction. Knowing that he had upset you absolutely gutted him. He’d let his jealousy get the best of him, and because of that he’d acted like. . . well, like a complete dick to someone that didn’t deserve it. 

Robin’s grim expression softened, brown eyes pinching at the corners as he smiled- albeit a bit nervously. 

“Yeah, at the record store down the street,” Robin yelled over the music, pointing off in the direction. 

You and Austin had dropped by the place a few times, but it was usually for record signings. It was the largest store in the entire area, so any time there were any “obscure” new releases the male would have to drive an hour out just to pick it up. It was a pain in the ass, but the store owner was pretty nice and knew a handful of influential people in the music industry. 

Back when you and Austin were in highschool you had all but begged on your hands and knees to skip school so that you could get one of your “The Police” cassette signed. Much to his absolute horror you had insisted on blasting it the entire way home. Of course he put up with it. Why? Because you looked cute screaming the lyrics. 

“Ya must have just gotten the job. I was up there about two months ago and didn’t see ya.” Austin offered Robin another smile, and that was all it took for the guy to warm up to the blonde. 

Just as you thought, Robin and Austin hit it off. The two ended up talking for the rest of the night, even earning a few glares from other people in the crowd whenever their laughter got too boisterous to be considered polite. After closing out your tabs Robin parted ways with the two of you, quickly slipping his home phone number into Austin’s palm, which had been scribbled on the back of his receipt. 

You had wanted to congratulate the boys for putting on a good show, but everyone had jumped off the stage and headed straight to the overcrowded bar for drinks after their set. Everyone aside from Davie, who was busying himself with a group of cute girls that had been eying him all night. 

“Come on. It’s gettin’ late. . . let’s get ya home.” 

Austin was acting weirder than usual tonight. Sure, this particular bar wasn’t the safest place to frequent, but his earlier treatment of Robin was an overreaction. Your best friend had a bad habit of babying you far too often. He made excuses for it- telling you that the world was a rotten place and that he didn’t mind looking out for you. It had been something that you appreciated through high school, but now that you were an adult it made you feel. . . a bit too spoiled. It also blurred certain boundaries, which further confused your already suffering heart. If only Austin knew how you felt towards him, then maybe he’d start acting a bit differently with you. 

Yet here he was, opening up the door to his van for you with a broad smile that made your heart do somersaults. You wanted to blame the heat that was pooling in the pit of your stomach on the five beers you’d drank that night. You wanted so badly to blame all of this on your recent drought in romance. . . but it’s Austin. 

No one has ever treated you as gently as he has.

Men, your father included, had always acted like your wants and needs were an inconvenience. You were too “high maintenance” because you enjoyed spending quality time with your partners. Relationships have always been short lived for you. Austin had set an impossible standard for how you wanted to be treated. Even now he was chatting your head off, one hand on the wheel and the other hand mindlessly checking to see if your seatbelt was buckled, his fingers brushing against your hip as he gave it a testing tug. 

Being around him right now was dangerous. You weren’t drunk enough to make a fool of yourself, but tipsy to the point of possibly ruining everything. Because he looked beautiful in the dim lighting of the car's display. His jawline was even more defined due to the shadows, and his blonde hair looked even lighter in comparison than usual. It was longer than you’d ever seen it, falling in slight waves because of the spring humidity. 

And you really wanted to kiss him. 

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[eagerbby]

Inspired by this picture, dedicated to @hellfirehoe since she blessed my eyes with this man and his horny little stache tonight. 18+

"Such a bad girl." He hisses in your ear, fat cock sliding desperately through your weeping core. "Fucking a stranger in this dirty place? Fuck, who would have thought?" 

A hard thrust forces a ragged gasp from your lips. "I didn't even have to try, you little slut, didn't even need to convince you." His hands are tight on your hips, the hairs of his 70s style pornstache tickling the lobe of your ear as he breathes hot and heavy with every thrust.

You whine into the humid air of the mechanic shop office, thighs tightening around his slim waist. You'd stopped for gas on your way through some small town in Indiana, hoping to find a bite to eat and something to quench your rabid thirst and boy had you found it. 

"G-god, you're so fucking tight." He lays his fingers against the damp length of your neck, applying enough pressure to make your ears fuzzy, turning every filthy word that spilled through his pink lips just a distant vibration.  

His cock was better than you ever had, fat in girth and surprisingly long. Silky to the touch, the velveteen head felt like heaven on your tongue when you'd sucked him off, your knees aching against the dirty tiled floor of his office. Or what you assumed was his office, considering he was the only one here. 

You hadn't even noticed the shop next to the little convenience store when you'd drove up to the pump. But you had noticed the way the guy - in his red collared mechanic shirt, a tight black tee, and dusty blue jeans- leaned against the garage door with a spark in his eyes, slowly dragging a towel over the grease on his fingers. 

What you hadn't expected was for him to be waiting at your car when you stepped out of the store. You hadn't expected to agree to have him look at your breaks. Apparently they were squeaking. You hadn't expected when he leaned his forehead against yours before pushing his pillowy lips against your own. When he spun you around in his arms, pressed you flat against the hood of your car so he could rut his fat bulge against the soft heat under your dress. 

He fucks you so good; easily hitting that spot inside that makes your knees weak, could make you forget your own name. 

"What would you do if I came in this tight pussy? Huh, bad girl? Would you let me?" His voice is wreaked, completely pussy drunk in his own right, but he speaks with such confidence in his tone you couldn't even tell he was holding himself back from spilling inside you.

"Answer me." He grits into your ear, hands coming up to push the hair out of your face as his thrusts grow faster, more harsh.

"Come in me, please mister." You crash your lips against his, cheeks hot with embarrassment even as you cum, body exploding in bliss, mind reeling at the intensity of your orgasm. He cums a second behind you, whispering 'thank you's' like a chant as your hand tightens in his mousy brown waves while your body is still wracked with shudders.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you."

He's gentle when he pulls out a few minutes after, shushing you gently when you whine at the loss of his beautiful cock. 

He helps you redress in a comfortable silence. As he's tying your worn Converse he gazes up at you with a boyish grin, something like excitement sparkling in his honey eyes. 

"My name's Steve, by the way." 

[snail-squasher]

Stars-Aligning

'boys suck, and girls I've never tried' - chappell roan

word ct. - 1113

warnings - a small panic attack(?), mostly fluff, fem!reader is implied but anyone can read :)

You've never been one to have crushes. Sleepover gossip times would always make you pick at your skin for 5 minutes trying to remember all the boys in your grade so you can blurt a name out when asked who you like. But when you got into college something changed. Something that goes by the name of Kiyoko Shimizu. You first heard about her when in a group project with Yachi, she had suggested that Kiyoko tag along to the cafe meet up that you guys had planned - a simple 3rd person to keep conversation flowing so there’s no random awkward silence. 

Wrong; you were incredibly wrong. In the entire 2 hours you guys were there, you got 2 things done: writing your name and finding out Kiyoko was the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen and that the way her lips move when she talks is mesmerizing; maybe that’s why everything she said you completely agreed with - is this what your friends talk about at sleepovers? Is this what movie scenes are made from? Is this normal? 

Obviously you know what being gay meant, you’ve seen gay couples in movies and even around campus, so why was this the worst whiplash you’ve ever experienced? And why are you getting so nervous and sweating when she asks for your number? Why do you only let out a shaky - mousy - ‘yeah’ 

The only information you absorbed is that the prettiest girl you've ever seen is in your contacts and that she likes peaches and ice cream. There’s only one reasonable response to this information - type out 4 draft messages asking her to the local ice cream parlor. Who would know better how to ask her out on a completely platonic and friendly ice cream date? Yachi. 

You’ve never felt more awkward in your entire life; you could smell the tension before the conversion even started. “Well… I say just ask in the friendliest way possible… this one right there,” she points to the 2nd message, “seems like you're rambling a lot, and the one below that sounds like you're demanding she go.” Yachi explains - a little concerned by how concentrated you are after explaining how this is a ‘totally friendly and chill meet up because she seems cool’ for about 10 minutes. “Okay…so like… the last one? Or are the emojis too much?” “The last one is perfect, she actually texts with a lot of emojis too.” “Okay perfect…” both of you sit in silence for 20 seconds before you blurt “can you please send the message for me.” 

It was set, you're very casual friend hangout, was the next day at 2pm. Although the state of your room said that you were evacuating by 2pm tomorrow; clothes thrown from your closet had basically made it out of your room, forgotten t-shirts now seeing the light of day, even pants that you’ve been meaning to return to a friend had found its way onto the outfit roster. But after what felt like the zombie apocalypse, you put together an outfit that had one inspiration - Kiyoko Shimizu. 

It was just to seem cool right? To hope that she'll want to be good friends right? And maybe kiss? Do good friends do that? 

This was a bad idea. This was a bad idea. This was the worst idea you’ve ever had. Gripping the steering wheel so hard you make a mental reminder to call a mechanic and breathing so hard you reach for a non-existent inhaler. You’ve never had a worse timed star- aligning ever. You can see her in the window, occasionally glancing out the window waiting for any sign of you, but you’re too busy having second doubts because your gay awakening is waiting for a obviously, for sure, ‘no wonder Yachi was awkward’ date. You try to quickly regain yourself after seeing Kiyoko start to look down at her watch every 6 seconds. Checking your face in the mirror and fixing your hair in the shop’s window reflection, you finally open the doors and come face-to-face with the most attractive cause for your midlife crisis. You're not even 25.

“Hey, sorry I’m a little late, I was picking up my room a little and lost track of time,” well that's not a complete lie, you had folded about 4 shirts and then rethought your entire outfit and started from scratch. And then she did the smile, the little lift up that makes her beauty mark move 3 cm from its resting place, “It’s really no problem, just glad I wasn’t stood up.” Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god. Being stood up means a date. This is for sure a date. You're glad you didn’t over analyze but also panicking because you just processed what a lesbian is in the car you’ve had since 17.

“Yeah, sorry again, I didn’t mean to leave someone like you waiting,” are you actually stupid. ‘Someone like you?’ You’ve been homosexual for 5 minutes and already messed up. “Hope that’s a good thing,” she says sarcastically before walking up to order. “I’ll get the peach please, and what would you want?” She looks at you. She focuses on you. “I’ll just get the same thing” a smile. She smiles at you. “Sounds good, do you want to find a table while I pay?” “Oh you don’t have to pay f-” “No no, it’s okay.” You're starting to understand why your friends freak out when a guy offers to pay. 

“Okay- so- wait. He asked you to marry him after only seeing you?” you ask holding back a laugh, “Yes! I still give him a hard time for it too,” Kiyo - she insisted you call her that - was laughing telling you about her time in high school, while checking her watch, “Oh! It’s already late! Sorry for non-stop talking, I feel like that’s all I did.” You quickly try to recover as you both stand up and throw your trash away, “oh no it’s okay, I loved hearing about you.” After making it through the front doors, she turns to you and smiles before leaning in and giving a small kiss, “Well maybe you can tell me about you next time.” “Yeah! Of course,” you reply too quickly for you not to cringe when thinking about it later. She does the smile again, the same smile, “Make sure you text me when you get home… I’ll see you soon.” “Yeah of course, have a goodnight…” You watch as she walks away to her car before slowly sitting getting into your own. You're surprised the shop owners didn’t come running out after the excited scream you let out.

I hope you guys like it!!! the divider(s) is from @cafekitsune

STREAM CHAPPELL ROAN!!!!

[fumiku]

Chloe as Ladybug and Nath as Chat Noir - chlonath AU

Ok so I know this concept isn’t revolutionary or whatever, but strap in I have a lot of thoughts-

So in this, where for Marinette and Adrien getting a miraculous and becoming a superhero helps them through their issues, for Chloe and Nathaniel they instead enable unhealthy coping mechanisms. Let me explain:

Where in canon, becoming Ladybug helped Marinette grow into herself more, build self-confidence and assurance when in her citizen life she’s clumsy and the mousy classmate, for Chloé it’d be her gateway to getting the attention and validation she craves. But the thing is that seeking this sort of attention to fill a void never actually does that, you’re always only left wanting more.

Where for Adrien, having the chance to become Chat Noir made him be able to drop his perfect son model persona and be wild and free and laidback, get some freedom, for Nath it’d become a power fantasy, being able to be strong and respected like he’s always dreamed, but it’d also make him adopt a fake persona. Becoming one, instead of shedding one.

In short, instead of truly being all in it to help other people and/or doing the best job they can, it’s all bad coping with their citizen lifestyle & focused on their own self.

And you’re going to say; Well that doesn’t sound so bad. Oh no, oh no trust me it is. Being superheroes and feeling important for a bit will not in any way sort their issues out.

Chloe indeed getting positive attention from being Ladybug will def not act like therapy with her and won’t solve the shit ton of issues she has, and ultimately what she needs isn’t fame at all, or support relying on how much she does (aka transactional support), that’ll only shift her world view from "to be important(aka respected and "good") I need to be like my mother 24/7" to "to be important(aka liked) I need to excel as a superhero 24/7". What she needs is to allow herself to be imperfect and vulnerable and getting a good support system.

And Nath is so much worse oh no my boy. Imo he’s very much the sort of bully victim to fantasize about suddenly growing incredible strength or magical powers and slamdunking on their bullies with it, I see him as having some anger issues, mostly bc of the ep where he’s quick to assume Marc is ill intentioned and snaps at him + his Evillustrator episode. Of course though, like with Chloe, their issues stem from trauma. But all this to say that as a superhero? It would be the biggest ego trip for him. He’d put on this act of what he thinks the "cool, appreciated" jokester superhero behaves like and ultimately, like with Chloe, the validation he gets from being a superhero won’t truly feel like validation for him. His service to the city would (like Chloe, yeah they do have similarities ngl) make him feel entitled to more recognition and things in his citizen life. He’d want to randomly use his powers to get attention from citizens, etc etc, and fighting and being in a situation of power would enable him to let out his anger and resentment in unhealthy ways.

Yayy say hi to our heroes!! They do seek to defeat akumas and protect the city & citizens tho.

On the first meeting as superheroes they wouldn’t like each other, but after that Nath would become smitten with Ladybug, and not out of idealism either. It’ll be so ironic that he’s so in love with her as Ladybug but absolutely loathes her as Chloe. I think Chloe might have tried one of her flashy tricks like endangering the train for attention, but then she’d get demolished by the akuma, and then when she ultimately wins and defeats it, the saved citizens cheer for her so much more than they did when she faked a problem. So, she thought, here actions actually matter instead of pretenses and appearances like in high society and politics? Wild. And getting demolished actually gives her a wake up call that this isn’t play-pretending, it’s serious, and so in my AU as ladybug she’d be pretty no nonsense and straight to the point, liking to be valued by her merits because she does put in efforts.

Tikki’s adherance to rules and moral righteousness does rub off on her, but honestly Chloe doesn’t see future consequences all that much. Her reason for rejecting Chat Noir’s advances (besides her not liking him that much, no love square bc I don’t think in this AU Chloe would have a crush on Nath, at least not until he gives her a chance ) and request to know each other’s identities isn’t because of rules or safety at all, but because she’s terrified that he’ll reject her if he knows who she is. And she’s right to be, because when the identity reveal does happen, Nath is pissed and refuses to see her for like one or two weeks. But yes Tikki does imprint in her the importance of rules and plans of action, and that… Ends up making her more bossy in her citizen life. Akuma attacks? Chloe will be telling her classmates how to act as she gets a special free pass to leave because of her father, pissing everyone off.

Now where it’d get fun is that Chloe would slander the shit out of the Akuma’s costumes, and Hawkmoth’s if she ever sees it. Like Marinette doesn’t does that in canon and she’s an aspiring fashion designer hello??! I guess that comedic potential will have to go to our meanest girl critic then. Also she def does banter with Chat Noir. Like, the nickname chaton? She tries it once condescendingly, saying and Chat Noir goes "Don’t call me kitten" understandably peeved, and she goes "Well, what am I going to call you then? Chat Noir is so alleyway tomcat, ew. Hmm, how about tiger?" Pointing to his hair, and that makes him feel kinda fierce and badass so he agrees lol

But also, I think he’d start giving more chances to Chloe in citizen life and in turn it’d surprise Chooe and encourage her to be more vulnerable with him and in general. They form a tense but non-hostile acquaintanceship. When asked why, Nath just goes "Someone taught me that giving second chances can surprise you." aka Ladybug because he disliked her at first (she reminded him of Chloe lol). Chloe would be super curious about and interested in the superhero comics Nath makes, centered around Ladybug and Chat Noir’s adventures, some suspiciously accurate and some very obviously made up. When poiting at his comics, she calls Chat Noir ‘tiger’ and Nath is SO disturbed about it, but Chloe’s like "?? Well it’s know Ladybug calls hom that, so um, like, everyone calls him that now you know? Get in with the times"

The relationship between the miraculous holders and their kwamis would be crucial.

Like, we know that Chloe admires Ladybug in canon a bunch, but I don’t remember why exactly, so I don’t think Chloe would necessarily be overjoyed at first to get such a huge responsibility dropped on her. But all that Tikki would need to say is "I chose you, no one else can do it", aka, "you’re special" and Chloe is instantaneously sold. Once she realizes it’s not a game she’d feel a lot of pressure on her shoulders, but ultimately she’ll end up feeling like it’s her duty and hers alone and she can’t give it to anyone else, because she’s special. But as time goes on, Tikki becomes someone Chloe really leans on. She sort of replaces Mr. Cuddly for her: Tikki is a supportive presence that offers unconditional advice and affection. Of course Tikki will scold her on a bunch of things, helping her see the errors of her way and acting as a sort of moral compass, BUT! Tikki will also be the only person that she can truly just be with, even Jean can’t do that fully because ultimately he’s a hired worker and doesn’t want to be fired, or be super attached only for his contract to end y’know. With everyone, even Adrien imo, she has some expectations to uphold or effects she wants to have, but Tikki? Tikki’s seen her bawling her eyes out, saying ugly things out of anger, covered in mud, she’s seen everything. Tikki knows everything about her and her situation in both halves of her life, and she hasn’t left, and that just means that Chloe can truly have no filter with her. And Tikki takes care of her holder.

Needless to say Nath jumps onto the opportunity as soon as Plagg so much as utters a word. I think it’s often forgotten or undermined, but while Plagg is generally laidback, he also has a strong sense of morals and he 100% will bluntly confront Nath if he tries or does anything shitty or anything for the wrong reasons. He will 100% call out Nath on it if he’s not taking being a superhero seriously enough (I know, god forbid Plagg to be the pne to do that lmao). Plagg is that type of influence that will encourage Nath to stand up for himself and become more self-confident (in a healthy and genuine way) in his citizen life. He’ll tell him to stand up to his bullies, and he’ll hype him up like "You’re epic! Yeah!! You can do this!! YEAH!!!" which will be SO good for Nath. But, if Nath is thinking of getting revenge on, say, Chloe, in a cruel way, Plagg will def be the first to say it’s wrong and will only make everything worse for everyone. He’s a sort of firm but incredibly warm older brother. In a similar way to Chloe, Plagg’s seen how Nath is and doesn’t mind it at all, is still the same supportive way, and that helps Nath with his insecurities, that maybe if Plagg still likes him then that how he really is isn’t lame or plain or boring.

Tikki is the supportive and present parental figure she needs. Plagg is the emotionally & socially intelligent and encouraging friend he needs.

So in the end, the true remedy for shit self-esteem isn’t superhero powers but the friends we made along the way.

Chloe and Nath are such good mirrors of one another fr fr 😭😭💕

I hope y’all like this! I’d write it, but I’m awfuuul at writing longfics. Maybee one day. I do have another miraculous holder chlonath AU that I’d like to get to first though.

[upontherisers]

oc introduction: straighten up and fly right

masters of the air has unfortunately woven itself into the very fiber of my being and the girls are writing themselves at this point. i’m not going to call it a fic yet, but i will be writing for my mota OCs under the title of Straighten Up and Fly Right. i’d like y’all to meet the women of thorpe abbotts (and beyond) circa 1943. more are on their way.

The Air

1st Lt. May Vera West, 23, of Upper Marlborough, MD - bombardier, Gin’s Joint

Please, call her Vera. Klutzy in a way that makes the fact that she’s still alive a miracle. It’s a wonder she got through training. Gets caught in a lot of awkward moments. Nervous but not anxious. Mousy, energetic. A quick thinker and a rule follower—not an insubordinate bone in her body.

Cpt. Virginia “Ginny” Franklin, 25, of Seattle, WA - command pilot, Gin’s Joint

Sly talking, suave blonde bombshell with a face for the pictures. Chews gum in a way that’ll make your heart pound. Hell of a pilot. College girl. Loves her “sisters” (her crew) and every woman under her command. Quite friendly but not to the British. Can and will charm every CO out of worrying about the competency of her crew. Very laid back, a little (a lot) messy.

1st Lt. Mahalia Summerton, 24, of Ypsilanti, MI - pilot, Blue Baby

Eldest daughter of two sharecroppers who started flying planes to help crop dust nearby farms. Worked her way through college and into a pilot’s license. Chooses fighter planes over the big birds once she joins up and leads her own squadron of Red Tails in Italy. No-nonsense and aloof to strangers, protective once she opens up. Bold.

The Ground

Lola Rosales-Mooreland, 19, of McAllen, TX - Clubmobile hostess

Small town banker’s daughter making her way into the wide world, wielding her miraculous medal against temptation and tragedy with less and less efficiency. Tries not to be a goody two shoes but can’t quite break the habit of trusting blindly in authority. Loves to dance. Sweet tooth.

Roberta “Bobbie” Chambers, 24, of Arlington, VA - Clubmobile hostess

An Army brat who runs her Clubmobile like a world-class regiment. Doesn’t accept any less than the best and doesn’t accept excuses. Tries to instill a sense of purpose into her girls beyond quaint patriotism; donuts can win the war and by God it’ll be hers that will. Will never admit how much she likes dancing. A morning person. And it's Bobbie, not Roberta.

Sgt. Dellarose Williamson, 21, Detroit, MI - mechanic 

Knows machinery better than most people know themselves. There’s no such thing as a lost cause, just a thing that needs a little love. Brushes off every slight about her height with a bright smile and dimples that make you feel bad about razzing her. Has a busy mind that can run away from itself sometimes. Runs on three hours of sleep and a strong black coffee.

[snarkythewoecrow]

WIP Wednesday

oh, thank you @kingofdarkness00 for the tag! And for once, I got some stuff to share, so that's pretty cool

This is from my hob/dream angst-fest that i'm writing, which is heavily laden with misunderstandings and miscommunications and knee jerk reactions that leave everyone more hurt than before, all the good things you know (the OC known as Calvin does not have good intentions and is both obsessive and delusional and serves the plot, or basically, serves as a mechanism that will allow for the hurt/comfort I want, this story will include Dream incorrectly assuming that Hob cheated and his poor reaction to that i.e icing him out and getting angry rather than admit his feelings were hurt)

Calvin greeted him with a smile, mousy brown hair floppy down into his eyes. The kid blew it out of the way with a puff of air, then hoisted the paper sack in his hands that smelled deliciously of spice. “I ordered from the Thai place you’d mentioned the other day, back at your office.” Hob’s smile faltered a bit, but he pushed down the twinge of guilt under his ribs. He’d mentioned absently in conversation that he’d wanted to eat there soon with his partner, as it had been a place he’d thought Dream would enjoy, even if the man didn’t enjoy the act of eating, he did seem to find the sensations and smells interesting—very often taking on an oddly cat-like personality with how appraise it, as if deciding its worth as an offering. The man, not-man, whatever, could be ridiculous, but that was why Hob loved him, all the ways he’d still do the strangest things that would just make laughter bubble inside his chest. But, oh yes, food had always a near guaranteed laugh, and possibly a delightful precursor to a tumble in the hay. He still smiled at the memory of Dream combing his fingers through the linguine on his plate, seeming to be silently enthralled with the sensation, and of course, Hob had no qualms about licking those delightful fingers clean for him after. Hob stepped back, allowing Calvin inside. “Yes, yes, I can’t wait to try it—come in and have a seat.” Then upon seeing how stiff the boy moved, clearly uncertain, he placed a hand on Calvin’s back and nudged him toward the sitting area. “I’m far too old to be formal,” he laughed, “so just find a comfortable spot, both those chairs might be older than dirt but are softer than they look, and the couch is downright cozy, if you ask me.” “T-thanks,” the kid stuttered, then glanced around before choosing a spot on the couch and setting the food on the coffee table.

[amywritesthings]

ownership of mine. (2/4)

Pairing: Kino Loy x F!Reader

Word Count: 4.7K

Summary: You have been in Narkina 5 for four months. The unit believes you are in a secret relationship with Kino Loy. (Are you?)

Warnings: Rated M / Prison, Implied Power Imbalance, Age Difference, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Sensuality, Eating, 'Oh No There's Only One Bed!' trope

A/N: I am overwhelmed by the support this little fic received this week. I'm so glad we're on the USS Loy thirst ship together.

                          PART ONE / PART TWO / PART THREE / PART FOUR

( Read on AO3 )

They don’t bother you.

All morning, the thought lays at the pit of your stomach. Standing in Winshaw’s former position, you pass your finished part to Gris in the assembly line. No one looks you in the eye. No one brings their head up. It’s hard work, through and through, with productivity off the charts.

Not if they think you’re mine.

Maybe you have subconsciously played into this narrative without meaning to do so. The first (and only) person to swear to your safety was Kino — it was only natural that you gravitated towards his light, his dedication, to make sure everyone in this unit stays healthy, fed and ready.

Now you know the truth of it all: when you entered the fifth floor, Kino greeted you not only with his name, but one very specific sentiment: I own you now.

Perhaps he said the same to every inmate under his care, but this? This was different — he claimed you, marked you, the minute you set foot on the factory floor in a way that set you apart from the rest.

Last night, Kino seemed to gain little to no pleasure from admitting the rumor. The look on his face wasn’t gleeful, nor was the truth spoken as an opportunity.

He sounded embarrassed about entertaining an archaic sentiment to keep his unit civil.

For the remaining week, you silently work yourself to the bone to produce as many mechanical behemoths your body will allow. Sweat and blood mixes with cracked skin, pained knuckles, and newborn calluses.

Worst of all is that you feel Kino’s eyes on you when he stalks past Table Four in his rounds. You only look up when you’re passing a part to Gris. 

Across the table, Trem is the first to voice his concern — the mousy inmate murmurs your name every kriffing day at the end of every kriffing shift like he’s scared of a woman possessed, hoping one time he’ll catch your attention and talk you off a ledge.

You ignore him.

You ignore all of them.

You have to prove your worth is more than the rumors, even if these men mean little to you.

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        Sixteen days later, Table Four secures first place.

The call is down to the wire, but when Kino shouts for time’s up, it’s Table Four that reigns victorious for the most amount of finished items on their cart. 

Gris and Pusl cheer like they’ve won the credits lottery, hugging everyone down the table line as they whoop and holler — and purposefully avoid you, because they’ve learned their lesson the first time and don’t intend to repeat mistakes when he is within earshot.

Trem is the only man willing to take the leap of faith. His baby-fat face sports a wide, appreciative smile as he rounds the table and ducks into your downcast view. Trem bumps you with his shoulder, a nudge at best, with an endearing timidness.

He mouths a thank you, because he’s well aware why this worked in the first place.

Because of you. 

Because you made it work.

Yet you don’t feel the joy that should come with this win. In fact, you don’t feel much of anything beyond anger. Hatred, perhaps, that they reap the benefits of your negotiated success. 

Negating the celebration to enter the barracks early, you stalk to the elevator alone and wait in the back as each table files in. You are the last to leave the elevator, but the first to enter your cell.

Like clockwork — like his promise — Kino arrives minutes later to find you trying the coveted flavored tube food for the first time.

Within a fortnight, his post-shift visits have soured. What once was a breath of relief now hangs with an expectation. For the past two weeks, he's visited yet nothing is said. What can you say when the rest of Unit Five-Two-D watches, waits, to see if he'll take you himself? 

Ignorant to the passing stares, Kino leans his forearm against the trim of your cell, observing from the main floor rather than inviting himself in.

“Flavoring makes a difference, yeah?”

He looks a few years younger, almost… happy? If you’re so bold as to think he has the capacity not to scowl. A ghost of a smile lingers on his lips while he quirks a brow to you.

Carefully removing the tube from your mouth, you let the words marinate for a second before pulling more of the tube from the wall. “Do you want some?”

He chuckles under his breath. “I’m not allowed any.” 

“But we’re swapping spit anyway.”

Albeit a cruel gesture, you extend your arm and offer the tube to him, expression blank. The smile on Kino’s face fades, dropping the raised arm to his side. His broad chest puffs and falls with a tired exhale.

However instead of walking away, Kino takes the bait and steps into your cell. His hand raises, outstretched to take the tube, but his fingers fall over your fist. He says nothing at first, allowing the moment to play in silence, only to push the tube back to you.

Then he calls your bluff: the day shift manager drops in height slowly, inch by inch, until he kneels right in front of your cot.

The others can — and with your shotty luck, will — see.

“Don’t let them take this from you,” he murmurs with an earnest sense of pride. You let him manipulate your limb, guiding your hand over and up to your lips. “You earned this.”

You hate him.

You hate that you wish you hated him.

Your jaw clenches, head shaking. “I don’t feel like—”

“Stop.” Unwarranted kindness to your cruelty; he interrupts and raises the tube again, urging you to take a sip of the flavored liquid. “You did. Do I make myself clear?” His tone bubbles an intense emotion in the middle of your throat, almost causing your dreary eyes to water. “Say it.”

“Kino—”

“Say it.”

You earned this.

Your lower lip trembles as you lean in, taking the tube from his fingers. “I earned it.”

Kino frowns, following you as you take the tube into your mouth. “Wouldn’t lie to you, love.”

Love.

The absent term of endearment has you sucking in, sharp and fast, so you don’t have to overthink the slip of his tongue. Flavorful food fills your mouth — it’s lukewarm, but deceivingly delicious after spending months feeding on nothing but gel.

The image before you — Kino kneeling and holding the tube to your mouth as you hollow your cheeks, sucking the liquid down your throat — brings a heat to your face.

It must finally click for him, too, what he’s said — what he’s doing — because Kino blinks in rapid succession and releases the tube, clearing a tickle in his throat.

“Congratulations,” he finishes, standing once again to leave. You say nothing, can’t protest even if you want to, and follow with your eyes as he beelines straight for his cell across the way. 

He drops to a thud to his cot, head bowed and hands clasped tighter between his separate knees, and stays like that until the minute warning chimes.

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        That night is plagued with restlessness. 

It must be close to two in the morning when you stir, annoyed that you can’t catch sleep. Tossing and turning to find a comfortable place, you shift towards the open mouth of your cell and open your eyes to find that Kino Loy is also not asleep.

He lays on his side, one hand flattened as a makeshift pillow, staring at you.

If it were Trem or Melshi, then perhaps you’d be unsettled, but because it’s Kino, the sight is… comforting. You swallow thickly and stare back, saying nothing.

And for a few minutes, it’s only this. Watching. Waiting. Being in the company of another in the stillness of Narkina 5.

You’re not sure what possesses you to lift your hand, absently dragging fingertips down the side of your neck, but the touch is pleasant. In the dim light of the electrified floor you can see something flicker in his eyes; he’s following the movement.

Your fingers circle back and run along the same path a second time, but your breath hitches when his free hand rises to his neck, gingerly traveling up to the scruff of his jaw.

Mirroring you.

(Is he mirroring you?)

Testing the twilight theory, you change course to drag higher and along the edge of your jaw. Kino follows, rustling the salt and pepper facial hair covering the lower half of his face.

There’s something wholly erotic about the sight of his hand grazing his scruffy cheek when you touch the smooth planes of yours.

This feels forbidden.

(But why doesn’t this feel wrong? )

Nothing stops you from gliding your index finger along the seam of your lips. Kino’s hand pauses and you think maybe, just maybe, the game is over, but the older man takes his thumb and mimics the draw. Heat consumes your body, pooling between your legs as you squirm against your cot.

You want to call out to him.

You can’t.

Drunk on the power it takes to keep going, your index finger slips between your lips and Kino stops moving. His own lips part in awe, body frozen, and you wonder if he’ll groan if you hollow your cheeks.

Then Trem coughs above you.

You startle, flying to lay flat on your back, eyes to the ceiling and hands pressed to your sternum.

(What the fuck are you two doing?)

Seconds feel like hours for the room to go back to snores and nonsense babbling. And when you roll your head to look at Kino Loy, he’s turned his back to you to sleep.

Kriff.

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        This week Kino stops visiting your cell after shifts, but the game after dark continues.

In his absence, you’re met with surprisingly pleasant visits from Trem. The scrawny man is eager to chat your ear off about what being in a women’s prison was like, if you’ve seen the outside world in your transport, what food can’t you wait to wait once you get out of here — not if, never a doubt — before he climbs the ladder to his cell for the evening.

Kino remains nowhere to be found. Discussing productivity with Melshi, talking others out of taking the plunge to the damn floor, but never once coming to see how you’re doing.

He purposefully visits Table Four, however, during factory hours to shout at your team to push harder. 

You’re certain he’s only doing it so that he can catch your eye on the other end of the table.

His line of sight makes you burn.

You would say you miss talking to him, the nearness of him, but when you turn in your sleep and find Kino watching you from across the hall, you catch yourself missing him most like this: at the ready on the other side of the electrified barrier after an agonizing day, avoiding the unit’s watchful eye.

He waits, perfectly still, until you start with a hand on your cheek. Within a few beats, he will follow — tracing his jaw, his neck, his collarbone; you’ve thought about dipping your hand lower, to your chest or the waistband of your uniform, but you chicken out and roll to your back every time.

This sudden illicit affair consumes your thoughts so completely that your team slips from a steady second place to fourth by the tail end of the month, but you can’t find a way to care.

Unit Five-Two-D believes you are his.

You’re beginning to wonder if maybe they’re right.

In what little sleep you earn, you’re stuck fantasizing on a loop of what this could have been like. Who he might have been before his sentencing, before Narkina. Would you have met in a seedy cantina on the Outer Rim? Would you have entertained his company, bought him a drink, taken him home? Surely those arms can pick you up — you’ve seen him work, to help the tables that struggle, how misleading the Narkina uniform can be on a body. A man of little words, maybe, but another version of him whispers the filthiest of promises to a woman he barely knows against a sink, within a shower stall, at the threshold of the home you’ve left behind.

There are very few things you can focus on while serving a bullshit prison sentence.

Kino Loy just happens to become your only thing.

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        After today’s grueling shift, you’re one of the last people to shower. When you first stepped foot into the stall, the time ticked on: twenty minutes until light’s out. By the time you’re finished grooming and changing, you have about a minute and a half to get settled in your cell.

Except that isn’t what you’re going to do.

The shrill chimes of a minute’s warning sound above you when you’re only three cells from yours. Kino has already retired to his cot, freshly washed and fed. He doesn’t regard you because the lights are still on.

You stop in the middle of the floor, contemplating on impulse.

(You shouldn’t.)

Maybe the rumors of your situationship with Kino have died down, but that doesn’t explain whatever the fuck this past week has been.

You can’t do the same again, not tonight.

(Thirty seconds.)

Rather than turning right towards your cell, you casually step up and to the left — right into Kino Loy’s cell.

The wall is deceiving; at first your hand slips, forcing you to press both to maintain your balance.

That gets his attention on impact. Kino’s attention snaps from the ceiling to you, eyes widened like oversized factory floor bolts, and he leaps clear off the cot with his arms gesturing wide.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he snaps in that familiar drill sergeant tone. “Minute’s nearly done.”

“I’m staying here tonight.”

“You’re what?” 

His surprise bursts, voice louder than anticipated. It causes a few men in the surrounding cells to peek their heads out, observing the commotion. Kino’s face gradually turns several shades of red with each passing, precious second.

“Go back to your cell. Now. That’s an order,” he hisses. You wait at the edge of his cell, shaking your head. “You’ve only twenty seconds.”

“Fifteen,” you correct, half-convinced he’ll shove you onto the hardwired floor to make a point.

“Are you insane?” He’s never stood so close before, practically nose to nose. You can smell the scent of his toothpaste and body soap.

The chime signals that ten seconds remain, and the electrified ring around the prison floor twinkles in its prepped glow. Kino looks stricken, caught between rock and a hard place to find a way to push you the hell out without frying you outright. 

You boldly duck your attention to catch him.

“They think I’m yours, remember?” you murmur. 

His forehead smooths, the realization catching up a moment too late.

Three. Two. One. 

The floor turns a brilliant red and simmers to a deathly off-white, and in a panic Kino wraps an arm around your waist to drag you to him and away from the cell’s edge.

His grip remains harsh on your body, and it’s here you truly see the strength hidden under prison uniform. Taut muscles press into you, locking you in place, and you can’t help but feel a little dizzy from the proximity.

Trapped. 

You’re trapped in his cell until the morning alarms, and Kino is beyond irate.

“You’re out of fucking line, kid,” he growls into your face, candid in his fury.

“Everyone will ignore us in a minute,” you reply, observing the aging crow’s feet around his eyes. “If they think you’ve stuck some arbitrary claim on me, then it doesn’t make sense—”

“You could have been bloody killed. ” 

“—if I never sneak over here at night.”

Puffs of his breath tickle your lips as the plan registers, slowly then all at once. Keeping up appearances for the sake of your safety in the midst of your table disliking you — you want to tell yourself over and over again that that’s why you’ve crossed this burning bridge, but you would go mad if you spent another night on the other side of the firewall watching him touch his face as if it were you.

Because that’s what it was, right? He was imagining not a past lover or someone else, but you.

Kino swings you both around as he brings you flush against the wall and out of sight of the open space. For the most part, your theory proves correct — someone on the far side cat-call whistles, causing a few men to chuckle, but the floor quiets until it’s just Kino Loy holding you hostage with your back to a wall and his arm around your waist.

“There isn’t enough room for us to both sleep on a cot,” he finally says under his breath, and you breathlessly laugh. 

“I plan to sleep on the floor, Kino.”

“Like hell you are.”

“Well you’re not sleeping on your own floor.”

A beat passes. Something darkens his expression. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

Your brows knit. “Why?”

He leans in to speak low in your ear. “Because they would expect me to happily climb into a cot with you.”

The way he says it brings back the familiar nighttime warmth that radiates through your body, your uniform, and you’re stuck staring back with a sheepishness so unlike you. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’ is right,” Kino sours, turning to look at the cot with a grimace. “Next time, tell me when you’re about to do something stupid.”

“I thought of it in the shower.”

“Yeah, well, shower’s never a good place to make concrete decisions, is it?”

Can’t argue with that. Only now does he realize the proximity, but he doesn’t pull away like you’ve electrocuted him. Instead he observes the space between you, or lack thereof.

“Heart’s about to beat out of your chest, love,” he mumbles. The privacy of his head blocking you from the barrack’s view (and his) allows you a moment to close your eyes, to simply be, when you’re not sure what to do.

“I was going to say that I thought it was your heartbeat, but you never get nervous.”

He snorts. “Why d’you think I yell so fucking loud all the time if you don’t think I get nervous?”

You smile, catching his cheek with yours. 

“I didn’t want to be over there,” you finally confess.

Kino stirs, but he doesn’t pull away. “Why not?”

“Because if I see you touch yourself one more time, I’m going to go insane.”

The statement in your head is innocent enough, but when spoken out loud it dissolves to something dirty. Kino starts to groan but suppresses the noise with a mumbled fucking hell under his breath.

When the lights of the barracks fade, shrouding you both in what little hue emits from the colored buttons on the prison cell walls, he drops his forehead against your shoulder to search for his composure.

Then he speaks, and it’s the softest his voice has ever been:

“You don’t want to start this.” 

A long pause passes. Your jaw sets. “Start what?”

You hold your breath when Kino lifts his chin, stubble tickling your cheek as he wets his lips by your ear. 

“Letting me be as much of a man as the rest of them.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lie.

“I know you’re stubborn, but you’re not stupid.” He talks to the wall supporting your head, unable to look you in the eye at this confession. “You know exactly what it is I’m talking about.”

And you do. 

He speaks of the dreams your brain has plagued you with, desires you’ve barely scratched the surface of understanding.

“You’re nothing like the rest of them,” you whisper in his ear, and Kino shivers.

“I am.”

“You’re not,” you argue with more force. “Just because they forced a rumor on you—”

“Forced?” he muses humorlessly. “Look at where we are. I didn’t deny it. I didn’t tell you, not until months already passed. I let them think of you in that way. How does any of that make me less of a threat to you?”

How are you not afraid of me, is what he wants to ask. 

You say nothing, mesmerized by a blinking red light on the far wall as you tumble through your brain for a reason why you trust him over everyone else.

Why you’re drawn to this, more than anyone else.

You know why — saying so just makes it true.

“I don’t regret much of what’s happened in my life, but I’ll be damned if I’m part of why you could regret something in yours,” he concludes, disappointment lacing through his growl of a murmur.

“And did you ask me?” Finally he pulls back at your question to study you, brows furrowed. You stand your ground, forcibly staring at his face. “I’m sorry to report, sir, but you only own me on that factory floor. You do not own my decisions, or what I want, when I’m not working, so don’t act like I didn’t wait for you, too.”

Kino contemplates on this, hard, before swiping a hand down his face.

“...floor’s not gonna be the thing to kill me. You are.”

Neither of you move in the small alcove of his cell, finally face-to-face for longer than a twenty minute conversation. If you stood a fraction of an inch higher, you could kiss him. You could ruin everything and kiss him while Taga, Gris, and the rest of the floor witnesses.

(Rumors to reality. Let them see.)

“I looked forward to it,” you finally say, reaching between you to take his scruffy chin in your fingers. “Whatever the fuck we were doing. And if you’re forgetting I’m the one that started the other night, then the next — and I would’ve done the same tonight.”

Kino blinks twice, tensing at the contact before deflating. “It’s only because I told you about the—”

“I miss feeling human,” you admit, cutting him off. You chew on your lower lip, betraying your resolve and earning his undivided attention. “I miss feeling like a person, Kino. You don’t look at me like I’m a piece of meat, like I am a mistake, and it makes me feel human. This has nothing to do with what the rest of the unit thinks, so stop minimizing yourself on my behalf.”

His brows knit with concern and soon he’s moving, walking backwards and pulling you along with him. Step by opposite step, your torsos remain pressed together until the back of your knees hit his cot.

Sucking in a sharp breath, the older man slides his arm away from your waist to cup either side of your face. Kino visibly swallows when his thumb runs along your skin, so focused. (So careful.) The touch feels heavenly; something otherworldly, like you don’t deserve something so kind, something so gentile, but you lean into it like a lifeline and close your eyes.

Overcome with bliss, you bring your own hand to press against one of his, keeping his calloused fingers in place.

“Look at me.” Lazily you obey his quiet command, eyelids fluttering sluggishly to come back to him. Kino waits, determined. “If there’s one thing I can promise you, it’s that I won’t let you lose who you are in here.”

“It’s not your responsibility.”

“It is,” he decides. “You are. Have been since you came to my unit and will be until you leave it.”

Don’t make me sound noble. His words of warning echo through your head, and gradually you lower yourself to sit at the edge of his cot. Kino hovers, forever a protective statue, before sighing from his soul.

“Lie down. Turn around.”

When you whip your attention to him, he rolls his eyes.

“So we can get ready to turn in. Not sleeping with your morning breath in my bloody face.”

Scrunching your nose, you listen and slide as close to the inner wall of the prison cell as you can. You lower your body onto the surface, arm angled as a pillow while you anticipate Kino to join. His body weight shifts behind you, one knee on the cot then a hand before he molds himself to you, chest pressed tightly to your back.

You can’t — won’t — think about how your hips slot perfectly against his. 

A timid arm snakes around your middle, solidifying your place for the evening. “Is this alright?” he murmurs into the back of your neck, baritone vibrating your entire body. 

Afraid of what you may sound like, you nod and say nothing more.

You overlap your arms to get comfortable, and the world becomes impossibly too small. He grunts, woefully attempting to move without pressing his hips to yours. Your mind searches for something, anything, to say in this vulnerable state.

“I didn’t do it, you know.” The words blurt, and Kino stops moving. Go on. “What I was sentenced for.”

The arm around your middle tenses. “What do you mean?”

“I got set up. Said I committed petty theft. I had no idea the thing was ever in my pocket until a K-unit stopped me in the middle of the road, and that’s the truth.”

The day shift manager grows impossibly quiet. You wonder if it was the wrong confession to make.

“How long did they give you?” he asks, lips dangerously close to the apex of your neck and shoulder.

“600 days,” you answer. “By the time I got to Narkina, it was 523.”

“For petty theft?”

“Do you expect anything less from them?” you say, bitter, and he hums. 

“Lot of stories like that come through here.”

“What about yours?”

“My sentence?”

“Yeah,” you breathe to the white wall in front of you. “Did they make it up?”

“No, I earned my sentence.”

“What did you do?”

“Things I would do again,” he answers. “Wouldn't change a damn thing.”

“And how many days do you have left?”

Kino grows quiet, nose accidentally nuzzling your hair.

“Three hundred and forty-five.”

Your eyes round with recognition. “Less than a year.”

Being in the unit without him sounds like a death sentence. Your stomach turns.

“Yeah.” The syllable is barely spoken. “Something like that.”

“Maybe you can wait for me the other two-hundred odd days it takes me to meet you on the other side,” you tease, unwilling and unable to face the reality set ahead.

Kino laughs under his breath and it’s full of warmth. “Yeah? You wanna meet this old man at the platform?”

“Only if you have a bouquet of Queen’s Heart at the ready.”

“Flowers?” he mocks, squeezing you closer to his torso. You bring your lips into your mouth to avoid laughing. “Didn’t take you for a bouquet type.”

“I’m not, but I could try to be.”

He sighs heavily into your neck, allowing his lips to rest there as he speaks. “Tell you what: you go to sleep, we serve our sentences, get the hell out of this shitehole, and I’ll bring you flowers and buy you whatever drink fits your fancy at the nearest cantina. Deal?”

You reach down, squeezing his hand with yours. 

“Only if you have a bouquet of Queen’s Heart at the ready.”

“Deal.”

Your hands stay together for the remainder of the night.

Sleep comes to you faster than anticipated. Within minutes, you’re adrift to a state of dreaming of sunrays and sparkling lake water and real, solid food — all while sharing it with a free man, a good man, with Narkina 5 far behind from the both for you.

Admittedly, it may be the best sleep you’ve had in a long, long time.

When you wake, Kino stands at the cell’s edge, waiting to start another day.

[willow-boop]

MOUSY DISCO QUEEN

Little mouse Gabs doesn't go dancing often but when she is sure to pick out some groovy threads.

In the dnd verse, she is a silly little artificer who loves making robotic snakes!

[jokesterino]

Here's Ike Spike, my Welcome Home OC! He's an urchin who lived in the sea before moving into Home! He runs a toy store that sells the toys he crafts

more information under the cut! I tried to mimic the information given about each neighbor so this is quite long!

"Ike Spike is Welcome Home's most inventive and versatile toymaker. Give him a slab of wood and a short while later you'll receive a whole set of intricate figurines- painted and polished! Despite his prickly appearance and mousy nature, show some interest in his work and he'll talk your ears off for hours. He absolutely loves talking about his craft to a dear friend!"

Ike was an urchin who moved away from his home at the reef to chase his dreams of becoming a renowned toymaker. Throughout the show, Ike's personality remained skittish and timid, yet visibly comfortable around his neighbors. After setting up shop in the neighborhood, he chose to live in Home as the few neighbors and moderately quiet area were easy on his nerves. Ike was also shown to have many abilities unique to his species. One of these abilities was curling into his "head" to roll away. He could control the movement in his spines, which he often did when in close contact with someone else.

In a segment featuring Howdy and Julie, Ike was said to have thousands of other siblings, all of which he's never grown up with. He mentioned he was one of the youngest out of all of them and that many of his younger siblings, including those who remained unhatched throughout the show, lived with his mothers. Ike's family has only been featured in the illustrated book, "Family and Friends," alongside Julie's siblings and Barnaby's mother. Aside from the book, recent scripts show an episode wherein Stubby visited Ike, giving him a cameo on the show. 

Many of Ike's segments showed him building toys in his workshop, primarily using wood. Other times he'd resort to clay, paper mache, or any easy-to-use craft materials. Some segments had Ike accompanied by a fellow neighbor or two, usually crafting a toy relating to the occupation or hobbies of his companion. On rarer occasions, the item he'd build would break by the end of the segment, whether due to an error in its design or the restlessness of his accompanied neighbor.

Ike's puppet was rotated between a live-hand puppet and a spiked ball that resembled an urchin, where the latter was used to show when Ike would roll away. An old VHS tape regarding the mechanics of Ike's puppets revealed that in scenes where Ike left the area, a magnet was placed inside the spike ball as another was held under the desk to roll Ike away from the set. Though illustrations of Ike portrayed him to have the ability to control movement in his spines, he is never seen doing so in the show.

[imaginedreamwrite]

For Thursday maybe biker!curtis and mousy rebuild a bike but a mini bike for the boys

Love your writing 💕

Curtis gripped the tie rod end in his left hand, his eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the part giving him the most trouble and the tool that should have helped. He was feeling himself growing far more agitated than not, his teeth grinding the longer he stared at the piece of metal that alluded him.

“Curtis,” he heard your voice and your soft footsteps as you crossed into the garage, “Theo and James went with Scott and Osita-“

“Little bear,” Curtis threw the tool down and stood, cracking his knuckles and his back simultaneously, “Scott calls her little bear.”

“That’s so cute!” He was mystified by your soft giggle, the way your lips quirked and your eyes brightened with amusement had endeared him. “Little bear-“

“Come here, baby.” Curtis drew you over to him and the mini-bikes he was rebuilding for the twins. “I want to teach you how to fix these.”

“For the boys? Curtis, they’re going to love these!” You beamed, his ray of sunshine and slowly inched forward, studying the mechanics under the seat. “You really want my help?”

“Come on Mousey,” Curtis nudged you, more lightness within him now than ever, “I’ll teach you. I’ll reward you for every right move you make.”

“Sounds fun, but what’s the punishment?”

“I’ll spank you, you like being spanked.” Curtis bent down and grabbed his tool, handing it over to you. “Either way you win.”

“I win.”

[bluecoolr]

Creeping Death

Episode 4: Stained Scarlet [Part 2]

Warnings: MINORS DNI! Threats of violence, intimidation tactics, use/mention of firearms, swearing, gore, and body horror

Featuring Percy, Skulk @probably-a-plant-thing, Red @damien-mlm, and Scarlet @kalid-raven

The next morning was welcomed by birdsong. Percy stretched in bed and got dressed. Darrell was awake. She could hear him singing, his voice masked by the spitting of food in oil and the music coming from the TV.

Passing by the open bathroom door, she felt her heart beat erratically. There were scarlet stained towels in the sink. Percy got a hold of herself and continued toward the kitchen. Certainly Darrell wouldn't be in such a good mood if he was hurt.

"This movie is literally so stupid," complained an unfamiliar voice.

"The theme song's great, though," Darrell pointed out. On the screen, a scruffy looking Nicolas Cage in a wig was embracing his pretend wife and daughter. "Everything else is a bit cheesy honestly."

There was a bottle of nasal spray on the table, and Percy finally breathed easy. So, it was just a nosebleed.

"Morning, Momma," he greeted.

"Morning, darling!" She turned to the young man lying in the unmade sofa bed. He was dressed in all black, the hood of his jacket riding low and obscuring most of his face. "Good morning," she said sweetly.

The reply was a small smile and a wave. It pleased Percy to know that she had just met Skulk. The three ate breakfast and later that day, Percy decided she should head home. "If I know Bo, he didn't get a wink of sleep because I wasn't there with him," she explained. "If I go now I'll be home in time for dinner."

"Thanks again, Momma. Be careful on the road." Darrell was conscious of the 8 ball, sitting idly among the clutter on the table.

Before Percy left, Skulk bumped his forehead against her arm, like a kitty. She fondly bid him goodbye and planted a kiss on the top of his head.

Once they were alone, Darrell got dressed and echoed, "If we go now, we'll be home in time for dinner."

He pulled the large kabar from the sheath affixed to his boot. The metallic shlick! was such a welcome sound, and the pair made their way down the mountain.

The forest receded and they arrived in the yard in front of Earl's cabin. Dan waved from the askew porch. "E-evenin'!"

"Evenin'." Darrell reached up and ruffled his mousy hair. "Where's your brother at?"

The screen door swung open before Dan could reply. "M'right here. Don't get yer panties in a knot." Earl turned to Dan as he was halfway down the steps. "Left a casserole in the oven. G'head and poke it now then. See if it's done."

He gestured for the two men to get in the truck with him. "Y'sure you got the right place?" he asked, looking at Skulk through the rearview mirror.

Skulk nodded vigorously.

"Pleasant Nights Motel," supplied Darrell.

Earl let out an amused chuckle. "That flea-ridden hooker joint?" he cried. "I know where that's at."

The nights were getting longer and the world ever colder. It was almost pitch black by the time the pickup crawled into a parking space. They got out. Darrell cracked his frozen knuckles.

Earl lifted the bedcover and the two stood at either side of him. He recovered a lumpy rag and passed it to Darrell. "Careful with my darlin'. It's her first time."

The spotless handgun gleamed in the light of the flickering neon signs when Darrell pulled it out. He checked the magazine and pulled back the mechanism.

"You hold the gas can," said Earl to Skulk, who looked a little panicked. Sensing, his discomfort, Earl said, "We won't burn the whole place down, s'alright. The only thing that's scares people more than gettin' burned to death is gettin' eaten alive."

A weak grunt rumbled in Darrell's throat as he agreed. Earl took a cigarette between his lips and lit it. He took a puff and reached into the bed to grab his shotgun. "Alright, let's go."

Earl took the lead, swaggering to the room Skulk indicated like the hero of a Spaghetti Western - gun resting on his shoulder and all. Darrell followed close behind, taking wide deliberate strides - gun pointed to the ground. Skulk, quiet as a cat, took the rear.

The people out on the patio ran indoors when they saw Earl cock the shotgun. The good thing about the hookers and the junkies at that part of town was that they didn't snitch.

"Five-O!" Earl yelled. "Y'all better hide the fuckin' crack or we'll be draggin' some asses down to the county office!"

The amount of scrambling they heard behind closed doors made Earl giggle. He stopped at the door hung with the plastic 18.

"Police!" Earl yelled.

Darrell wove past him and kicked the door open. "Don't move!" he shouted, aiming his gun at the man with the pockmarked face. The bedheaded lady under the covers screamed.

"What the fuck is going on?!" the man demanded. "What the hell do y'all want? You ain't no fucking cops!"

Earl pushed him back and he fell into an armchair. "Sit down and shut the fuck up!"

"Ma'am, go!" Darrell gestured with his gun. "Go on, get out!"

The woman slipped past Skulk, who exchanged the gas can for Darrell's gun.

"What the hell are you doin'? Hey!" The man squirmed as Darrell doused him in gasoline. The smell was sharp and alarming.

Darrell took the rag in his pocket and stuffed it into the man's mouth. "Shut up!"

The man did not obey, but his words were stifled by the rag

"Listen! D'You know who I am?"

Earl prodded him in the head with the shotgun. "Answer the fucking question!"

A pause. Then, a nod.

"Why the fuck are you following me? Who sent you?"

The words struggled against the rag. Reaching up to take Earl's cigarette, Darrell stared into his captive's bulging eyes. "You're gonna tell me what I wanna know or I'm gonna light your skinny ass on fire. I'm not fuckin' playin' with you! Do I look like I'm playin'?"

The man warbled. Darrell ripped the rag out. "Start talking!"

"I don't know nothin' man!"

Darrell brought the cigarette dangerously close to the gasoline.

"Alright, alright! Wait!"

"Was it Reinhart?"

"Nah, man! Nah."

"Then, who?" Earl asked.

"I don't know his name. No! Really, I don't know! Some guy, alright? Professional-lookin'. Came to me and said he worked for a bigshot who couldn't count on the cops. Said he'd rather do his own investigation."

"Darr."

Skulk was standing in the bathroom doorway. The man had converted it into a makeshift red room. A batch of developing photographs hung on a line, each bearing his face.

"Come on, man. I don't know nothin'. I'm just a photographer."

"What else did he want?"

"Your timetable. Known associates. It's all in there, man." He gestured to the papers strewn on the desk.

"Ya have backups?"

The man nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, in the booklet. In my jacket."

Darrell swept the motel room clean, stuffing every scrap of paper and picture into an expanding file. He picked up the camera on the desk. "Look at me," he told him. "I wasn't here. This didn't happen. There were no pictures and you don't know me. Right?"

Earl prodded the man again. Surrendering, he said, "Yeah."

Darrell straightened up and smashed the camera lens against the desktop. "Hey! What the fuck?!" the man snapped.

Darrell gave the order to go and they headed out. "It's Brody's fuckin' father," he told them. "Fuck!"

"This is bad, Darr," Earl declared.

"Shit hit the fan real fast," added Skulk.

He was wheeling about like a frustrated animal. "Shit!" he hissed.

"What do you want us to do?" asked Earl

"Well, you can't do anything."

"Seems like a good time to disappear, if you ask me."

Skulk was right, but where to?

Darrell brushed over something hard in the breast pocket of his jacket. He plunged his hand inside and brought out the polaroids. Scarlet.

"Here he goes," murmured Earl as he watched Darrell reach for his magic 8 ball.

He gave it a decisive shake and was quiet. The answer made him nod, but even he didn't seem convinced. "I think I have a plan."

—

Red was getting worse. He was languid, listless, like he wasn't at all there. He seemed afraid. Of what, Darrell didn't know. As much as he tried to comfort him, it was getting harder and harder to reach in and soothe him. It terrified Darrell.

There were times when he would sleep with his back turned to Darrell, and he would move away when Darrell tried to touch him. Other times, he would wrap himself around Darrell in a tightness that begged not to be let go.

With how quickly Red's health was declining, Darrell suggested that they go see a doctor. The way he reacted to the idea made Darrell's insides freeze. "GOD, NO!" Red gasped, clutching his arms. "PLEASE! PROMISE ME YOU WON'T TAKE ME TO ONE!"

He wept at the state Red was in, but he cried harder at the fact that he was at a loss as to what to do. Bright Eyes was the man with a plan, but he too had been struck dumb by the shock of it all.

That same night, Darrell had another dream.

He'd had the dream before. He was walking in the mountain, barefoot and dressed in a white nightdress his mother sewed. But he wasn't really walking. No, it seemed like the forest was passing over him until he found himself in the hogs' den.

Against the tree he had left Brody, that one fateful evening, another body was propped: Cut from sternum to groin, with a jumble of intestines gathered in its lap like a litter of skinned puppies.

Gorging itself on the viscera, was a monster of a pig Darrell didn't not recognize. It was not from Big Ma's sounder. It was not the one who called itself his father, either.

It turned to face him and he realized it was not a hog at all. It was a man, smeared in tar. Slobber hung from his gaping maw as he boasted what hardly passed for a memory of a grin.

There was a violent lurch in Darrell's stomach and he fell forward to keep the vomit down. But nothing spewed out. No relief from the burning flux that was forcing its way up his gullet. Doubled over, he retched and coughed, keeping his hands close to catch whatever it was but still nothing came.

Then it did. It was large and solid, and it threatened to snap his jaw clean off his head. He looked back at the body propped on the tree. Its face -

Was Red's.

With one violent retch, a cloven hoof pushed itself out of his mouth, his breath stank of goat and all the fears his preacher father had planted bloomed with horrible quickness in his mind.

Then, there was only silence and Red missing from his place on the bed. The light in the hall told Darrell he was in the bathroom. When Red returned, Darrell registered the wrinkle on his brow and the pitch black roots pushing out from under his crimson hair.

— 

The last thing Darrell wanted was to leave Red, especially after having the dreams he had, but he had no choice. He couldn't let his actions put those he loved in danger, and this was the only way they could keep them safe. 

After thoroughly explaining why he had to go to Missouri, he kissed Red and put in a word for Earl to keep an eye on him. He reckoned he would be gone for most of the day. 

He dropped by the hotel to say goodbye to Skulk. "Stay outta trouble, Gummy," he told him and finally started the harrowing nine-hour drive to St. Louis. 

He was in luck because Scarlet was working in the city and had agreed to meet up. "Meet me at the Regent, darling," she had told him. "Wear a jacket and a tie." 

He owned neither, but he did his best with a black button front shirt. Unfortunately, once he arrived, he was accosted by the concierge and the maitre d'. Both were unconvinced that he was at the right place, given his attire. When the maitre d' condescendingly offered him a loaner jacket, he replied with, "No, I don't think so. I won't be long, if that's what y'all are worried about."

Scoffing at his accent, a wait staff put his hand on the collar of his jacket, trying to pull it right off his back. He slapped the waiter's hand away. "Hey!" he snapped. "This is a Menardo Giannotti bison hide jacket," he said, "There are only five in the world. You keep that in mind the next time you judge someone for the clothes they put on their back." 

"Sir," said the maitre d', "If you won't calm down, we insist you leave." 

"Absolutely not!" 

The men turned to see a tall, dark haired woman making her deliberate way up to them, glass of wine in hand. 

"He's not going anywhere," she declared.

She thrust her glass into the hands of the waiter who had tried to yank Darrell's jacket off. 

Swallowing, the maitre d' piped up, "My apologies, madam, but do you know this man?" 

Scarlet's emerald eyes grew wide with shock. "Well, of course I do!" she exclaimed. "He's my guest. We've come here to discuss business." 

The concierge and the maitre d' apologized profusely, but Scarlet refused their offers to escort them inside. Taking Darrell with her, she strutted off. The clacking of her heels on the marble floor seemingly voiced her displeasure. Scarlet brought out a card from her purse and fed it to the slot in the elevator. "We'll have more privacy in my suite anyway," she said.  

Once they stepped into the lift, they embraced and Scarlet tapped her cheek against Darrell's. "So nice to see you!" 

She led the way to her room. Darrell followed close behind, not able to drag his eyes away from her curves, which pulled the fabric of her black dress taut. His thoughts began to wander in response to the fire in his loins, but he shoved them back. He had come to seek help, and his need was urgent. Best to be upfront about the matter.

Scarlet, however, was taking her time. She brushed her fingertips over the sleeves of his jacket, smiling. "I see you've kept it. All this time." 

"Only tangible thin' I got to remember you by," confessed Darrell. 

His heart raced when she pulled out the photographs from his breast pocket. She broke into a good-natured laugh. "So I see!" 

She paced away to look through the stack, admiring herself and the gesture by the window. As her back was turned, she bit her thumb. 

A strong longing began to stir within her. She was willing him to come closer, to place his hands on the swell of her hips, the way he used to. But he remained in the middle of the room, like an obelisk - dark and ominous, engraved with warnings and desperate pleas. Like an omen. 

"Darrell," Scarlet said, watching his dull eyes refocus, "Darling, I think I know why you came to me." Darrell shifted on his feet. "Just tell me how I can help you." 

He told her how. She had a few safe houses, scattered across several states. "I was hoping you could loan one to us. See, I met a couple of guys and… well, one thing led to another and, uh…" 

There was a pang in Scarlet's heart, but she kept her composure, kept that open, approachable smile.

Darrell pressed his lips into a thin line. He was beginning to see how odd his request was; bargaining with his ex to let him and his lovers hide out in one of her safe houses. "Just until the heat dies down or until I-"

"Until they catch you?"

Scarlet was appalled by the mere thought, and she cursed herself for ever letting it past her lips. 

"Until I've dealt with it." Darrell put his trembling hands in his jacket pockets. "But if it does come to… that, please - if you can - make sure they do alright." 

Horrified, Scarlet asked, her hand hovering over her mouth, "Does Louisiana have the death penalty?"

Darrell flashed her a false-confident smile. "They use lethal injections now. Most humane form of execution they say that's come to pass."

Scarlet did not have the heart to tell him that the paralytic agent diluted the short-acting anesthesia corrections officers administered, and inmates suffered an agonizing death by suffocation. Paralysis rendered them silent and afforded the illusion.

"Worst case scenario, Scarlet. Don't mean it's gonna happen." 

She closed the space between them and held him by the arms. "I want you to leave as soon as possible. Take whoever you want with you. I have a cabin in Montana, deep in the mountain range. You'll be safe there. Nobody will find you." 

Darrell nodded, the familiar pressure of his fingers on her waist comforted Scarlet, but not by much. 

"I'll send you the coordinates." 

"On the encrypted phone, please. You know the number." 

Scarlet's hand traveled up his sleeve, across his shoulder, and cupped his cheek. "I'll meet you there after work," she said.

She urged him to the table. "Come, stay and eat. You've been driving for so long. I'll call up some room service." 

"Oh, Scarlet, darlin', I've asked for too much today." 

"Nonsense!" she cried. "I'll not have you pass out from hunger, and I'm certainly not letting you turn down good food for the garbage you're addicted to." 

Darrell laughed. "That hurts," he whined. 

"So do your liver and kidneys, no doubt." Scarlet was already tapping the buttons on the landline phone. "Filet steak and a salad," she spoke into the receiver. "Wash it down with some wine?" 

Darrell made a face of disgust. 

"Tennessee whiskey," Scarlet corrected herself. "And chocolate truffles for dessert." 

Scarlet wanted to know all about Darrell's current affairs over the meal, and she listened happily while nursing a glass of wine. She truly loved Darrell. She still did. She'd hoped they could work out. Settle down. He'd talked about wanting kids. "A puppy'd be just fine, too," he'd told her with the purest hopeful smile. But the nature of her work made it difficult. The distance made them drift. 

Shame. 

She was happy for him, however. Truly was and was overcome with an innate need to protect him and those he loved - his happiness. 

He expressed his worry about Red, but decided to leave out the unsettling dreams. "He's in a bad way," he confessed. "I'm not sure I how to help him." 

Scarlet crouched by his knees and held him by the chin. "You should go to him. Right away. Don't let him out of your sight." Standing, she strode to the wardrobe. "Here, I'll give you my parting present so you can go on your way." 

"That's too kind of you but… Scarlet, you know I can't play that." 

She had placed a rectangular guitar case on the bed and had snapped it open, revealing the gleaming body of a sunburst stratocaster. 

"Oh yes, you do." She crooked her finger. "Come here." 

Darrell obeyed and inspected the guitar. He wrapped one large fist around the neck and frowned. The instrument was embedded in the soft felt, and instead moved as if on a hinge. There was an assault rifle tucked safely under the decoy. 

"Standard issue," said Scarlet. "What's that you vets say?"

Darrell had taken the firearm and was inspecting it, refamiliarizing himself to the tool he had depended on so many years ago. "No such thing as an ex-marine."  

— 

Gonna be tagging my fellow Darrell enjoyers! @rottent33th @slaasherslut @the-pinstriped-hood @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better @goldrose-star

[penelopecruzcoded]

actually starting to realize that in the same way my mother has triggers, and i frequently trip them, i too have triggers that others trip. finally realizing that this mechanism exists in me, too. it’s just rare that the ensuing result of this trip is that i become visibly enraged, usually i go the other way, mousy, afraid, internal panic mode. it was more noticeable this time because i became louder, more agitated, and frustrated as i tried to reason with her, and luckily she relented. 

like it’s fucking shitty on some level to start pulling apart a bag a person put together to donate to people outside of the house and start asking other people in the house if they want those things. i am choosing to get rid of those things for various reasons, mother, very fucking COMPELLING reasons. some of those reasons include not wanting to see these items in the home still, because they are upsetting, or triggering, or i just plain don’t want them anymore. i want to LET THEM GO. maybe i was more attached to this process than i realized, but my god. i do. not. want. these things anymore. for fuck’s sake. 

yes of course, this is a lesson learned now that if i want to get rid of anything, i’ll have to do it on my own, and i will, eventually, get rid of everything else i want to on my own terms. i won’t make this same mistake again. but my god if it isn’t frustrating that they do this shit. like lmao, i can imagine what she would feel if i started going through a bag of shit she wanted to give up, divvying up things that guy gifted her or whatever that she wants to be rid of forevermore because they are triggering to her. imagine i took something from her bag like that and offered it to nia. just imagine. nuclear war would break out. why can’t she consider with one modicum of her brain that the same stands for me?