#my Minnow

[radarsteddybear]

Whumptober Progress: 6/31 prompts filled.

Except I accidentally covered prompts 18 and 4 as one prompts (for 18), so I need to figure out the easiest way to split them up.

[camberdraws]

This turtle has a bit more than algae growing on its shell

[troutpaws]

fishtober day 10

fathead minnow (pimephales promelas)

[beescake]

are you secretly the CEO of solkat

solkat r the ceos of me. actually

[rattini]

If I was born as a blackthorn tree I'd wanna be felled by you Held by you Fuel the pyre of your enemies

[imthursdaysyme]

While I love Steve having a kid that's a nerd, my favorite is if his kid is just like him. He's popular even at 7, he's extroverted, funny, and charming albeit a little strange. He loves sports and struggles in math and doesn't really get english and gets scolded when he laughs in history—sue him he thought it was funny—and has a tendency to get detention but also is somehow a teachers pet all at once.

He has a tendency for feminine things, makes it his own with earrings and the occasional pink flower print shirt.

He begs steve to not work on the car until he gets home from school, cause even at 5, he would rather climb over the fence and run home by himself then learn his dad worked on the cool car without him.

He loves driving and cooking and dancing and loves swimming—aunt Robbie calls him a variety of aquatic animals instead of his name; minnow, fish, stingray, tigershark. Anything went.

They look alike and act alike to the point robin laughs and claims Steve just cloned himself, Eddie says that the kid is actually just Steve brought to the future through time travel. Steve laughs, he loves it ofc but he's never pushed or forced it, it just happened that way.

But there's also times, where Steve sees his son, so like him with big tears in his eyes trying to be tough. Or when all he wants is to sleep in the bed with Steve when he has a nightmare, wants his dad to kiss everything better, when he so easily seeks affection or struggles with school to the point he's getting stress migraines at 9, sees him try so hard to do his best and do what he does well. Sees him fail.

And when Steve sees this, he wonders if maybe he wasn't a bad kid. Didn't need to be tougher, manlier, smarter—better—to deserve love.

Just. Like. Steve seeing that he didn't need to be anything other than what he was. That he has no idea how his parents didn't love him bc how could he ever not love his kid? Just like its okay for him to be how he is and have a kid that a like him as well bc he's pretty great

And like. Its just that idea that Steve could only “heal his inner child” with a kid that's different then him or a girl is kind of sad that it's only that what if him and his son go to every game and constantly have grease on them what then.

[sinnabee]

hope y'all are hungry! i brought snacks! :D

[spirk-trek]

am i the only one who knows for a fact spock has a little fish tank in his quarters orrrr

[threedotsfromstardom]

GRACE/HANNAH in THE AFTERPARTY S02E02 requested by anon

[takkytakk]

What's important is that I was coming undone in front of Edgar and...Hannah, my sweet odd bird.

[radarsteddybear]

Whumptober Day 23 - Unrecognizable

Fandom: Original Fiction (H.O.U.N.D.S.) Prompt(s): mistaken identity, "You're a liar." Rating: Teen Additional Tags: whump, hurt/comfort, friendship, found family, spy-fi, brainwashing

Bright lights burst in her eyes.  Sounds came at her from all angles, seeming to whiz by in all directions.  Images flashed in front of her, some familiar, but disappearing too quickly for her exhausted mind to latch on to.

Cassandra wasn’t sure when she had last slept.  Or eaten.  Or drunk.  The last few days had been…erratic.  Sure, she’d had sleep, and water, and even some food, but never enough, and not on any sort of recognizable schedule.  She wasn’t even sure what time of day it was.

Cassandra wanted nothing more than to close her eyes against the dazzling light, tune out all of the chaos happening around her, and drift off into dreamland, but the stimulant she’d been injected with wouldn’t allow it.

“The images you see before you are of a top F.E.L.I.S. agent.  A killer.  An assassin,” a booming voice echoed around her.  The words killer and assassin seemed to reverberate forever.  “Your mission is to stop her from murdering her next target.”

The words and images repeated over and over.  They felt like a circle: Cassandra couldn’t seem to figure out where they started or ended.

Killer.

Assassin.

Murderer.

Kill.

Killer.

Assassin.

Murderer.

Kill.

Killer.

Assassin.

Murderer.

Kill.

Kill.

Kill.

Kill…

***

Cassandra stood stock-still, waiting for her orders.  A man in a suit stood beside her, listening to a walkie-talkie.  Two uniformed men wielding machine guns stood behind them, on guard.

The walkie-talkie came to life, spilling out static and broken words.  The man in the suit responded and then slipped the radio into his pocket. 

“She has arrived,” he said to Cassandra.  He pressed a handgun into her hand.  Cassandra gave a curt nod and began to make her way to the northwest side of the island.

***

It didn’t take Cassandra long to find her target.

She hid in the bushes and the trees, tracking her as she made her way inland.  Her target was observant—every snap of a twig caused her to scan the area for threats.  But Cassandra hid herself well, and the target kept going.

Finally, the target stopped.  She took device out of her pocket and began fiddling with it.  Cassandra took the opportunity to gain the high ground by climbing up a nearby tree.

BANG!

A shot rang out.  The target looked up, startled.  Cassandra jumped down from the tree, tackling the target to the ground. 

“Cass!  Is that—what are you doing?” the target said as they grappled.

Cassandra pulled back her fist.

The target ducked out of the way and twisted out of Cassandra’s grasp.  She jumped to her feet, panting.

“Cass!  It’s me, Minnow!” 

Cassandra sprang up after her and punched again.  Minnow dodged.

“You know me!  It’s Minnow!  Your partner!”

No, that couldn’t be right.  Minnow was her friend, her partner, not the assassin standing before her.

“You’re a liar.”  Cassandra raised her gun.

Minnow’s eyes widened.  “Cass, wait—”

Cassandra pulled the trigger, and Minnow hit the ground.  Then she fumbled for her wallet.

“Look!  Here’s my ID.  My driver’s license, my H.O.U.N.D.S. badge.”  She staggered to her feet as she held them out to Cassandra.

Cassandra glanced at them.  “You stole those.”

The target gaped.  “I did not!” she said.  “You can see photos.  It’s me!”

Cassandra scoffed.  “You don’t look anything like those pictures.”

“What are you—”

Cassandra raised the gun again.  The target grabbed her wrist and forced it up, sending a bullet into the sky and Cassandra toppling to the ground.  The target held her down with one hand while wrenching the gun away and tossing it out of reach with the other.

“Look at me!  Really look at me!  I don’t know what you’re seeing, but—”  The target’s eyes shone with…tears?  “You have to look past that!”

Cassandra’s head swam.  It was as if she were seeing double, the image of the target in front of her competing with the image of Minnow stored in her brain.  Cassandra blinked hard, trying to shoo the image of Minnow away, but when she opened her eyes, it was stronger than ever.

The target released her hold on Cassandra and sat back.  Cassandra sat up and brought her hand to her head, trying to steady herself.

“Cass?” the target said softly.  “Are you ok?”

When Cassandra opened her eyes again, the image of the target was gone.  It was just Minnow sitting before her, worry painted on her face.

“What—?” Cassandra said.  She felt like her mind was grasping at straws.  “How—?”

Minnow breathed a sigh of relief.  “You back with me?”

“Yeah, I—I think so,” Cassandra said. 

Minnow stood and pulled Cassandra up after her.  “Are you ok?” she asked again.

Cassandra nodded as they began to walk.  “It was so strange.  You looked like you the whole time, but my mind was telling me that you were someone completely different.”

“Fascinating.”

“Except at the end, there.  Then I was sort of seeing…two of you?  Except one was you and the other was Not You.”

“But both looked the same?”

“I think so?”

“Wow,” Minnow said.  “I’d love to be able to do research about that one.”

“I don’t think that’s ethical,” Cassandra said.

“Yeah,” Minnow agreed.  “At least I’ll have your psych workup to look through.”

Cassandra groaned.  “That is the last thing I want to do after all of this.”

“Lucky for you, we’ve got to figure out what F.E.L.I.S. is doing on this island first,” Minnow said.

“Oh!  That!” Cassandra said.  She started patting her pockets.  “I’ve got the notes on that somewhere…”

“Do you?” Minnow said doubtfully.  “I would think F.E.L.I.S. would have taken them.”

“Right,” Cassandra said, dropping her hands to her sides.  “But I still remember it.  They’ve got this gambling setup going on—”

“Wait, wait, wait.  F.E.L.I.S. went to all the trouble of brainwashing you to kill me, but they couldn’t make you forget what you found out?”

Cassandra paused.  “Yeah, I guess so.”  She shrugged.  “Too bad for them that you’re not on their side.”

“I don’t think that I would be able to tolerate working with a bunch of boneheads.”

Cassandra laughed.  “I don’t think you would, either,” she said.  “But as I was saying…”

[deltadescent]

good [time of day here], i’ve been told this drawing of minnow makes people very extremely gay

looks like the hypnoshades are working in reverse

[cryptiqish]

when your circle small but y’all crazy

[figofswords]

saw some tags on one of your posts and u have a cat name midna?? 🥺 I love that 🥺 can we see a pic pretty please

oh boy do I EVER have a cat named midna. and she is Deranged

(bonus: rare photo of midna being NOT a maniac + tiny baby muppet midna)

[rattini]

Honey Whiskey // x

The honey whiskey's kickin' Go down, go down I think I better go before I try something I might regret But if you wanna free your body tonight It's our secret, it's our secret

The Ghoul x F!Reader (Will become named oc)

Set years before the events of the Fallout TV show.

The unfortunate plaything of a drug lord with a bounty on his head, you’re dragged to a bar as his little pet. With nothing else to do but drink with them, you try to lose yourself in liquor, wondering how long this was going to be the theme of your life. Luckily for you, the bounty on the head of your captor has attracted the attention of a ghoul with nothing to lose. A man you noticed eyeing you and the men accompanying you from across the room for more than an hour, before letting loose his bullets into the heads of everyone but you. Hazy from alcohol, you ponder if you should return the favour, the only way that has worked for you so far.

You’re used to being a ‘pretty thing’ on the arm of a man trying to prove his power, it had been your primary mode of survival not long since you were evicted from your vault. Sneaking around the desolate wasteland with minimal water and just enough drugs to curb the pain of your current skin affliction got old fast. Your self-doubt had convinced you that surviving alone wasn’t an option. When a group of leering, greasy men cornered you one afternoon in the highest heat of the Mojave sun, your fight or flight response chose fawn. It was easy enough, you figured standards had dropped significantly out here these days, yours clearly had.

Right now, you were tethered to a sweating hog of a man with a severe lack of investment in personal hygiene, who had made himself more than acquainted with your inner thigh. He bragged endlessly about being untouchable, the most powerful fucker in these parts. Men and their need to showboat. Eyes were not on you at present, that you were aware of at least, so you allowed yourself to roll them in response to his gloating. Fortunately, as a perk of being his little toy, you were welcome to help yourself to the liquor decorating the bar where you sat.

Perched delicately on a stool, you had little choice but to sit properly, since you were donned in a less than savoury getup that didn’t really flatter you in the slightest. Either way, it crept uncomfortably far up your thigh, you were pretty sure your asscheeks were stuck to the cracked leather of the bar stool…but anything for easy access, right? That’s all that mattered for you now. You had made your bed, now you had to lie in it, on your back usually. For every grubby prod of his fingers, you sip a little harder at the old whiskey in your glass, a task in itself since your wrists were bound. You had just enough freedom to grip a glass and bring it to your mouth, but your ankles were also bound, so you weren’t going very far any time soon. Swallowing down the sting in your throat, you barely grimaced at the taste as the heat spread through your chest. It was rather pleasant really, or at least, the growing fuzziness in your limbs and face were.

Your boredom grows as the evening drones on, your eyes wander across the room. A dingy old bar, all but a few patrons scared off by your adoring captors. Except one. You’d noticed them from the corner of your eye near an hour ago, focus shifting away from them easily from the liquor. An unmoving figure draped across an old couch, head bowed low, crowned with a cowboy hat with legs lazily spread. You find yourself pondering them some more, intrigued by their mystery, coyness lost on you at this point as alcohol seeps into your bloodstream.

Just as your focus intensifies, you notice their head rise, the brim of their hat revealing a dark, masculine jaw. His body remained unmoving, but you can’t help but feel like his attention is fixated on you. Attempting to shake the feeling of being watched, you turned your own attention fleetingly back to your glass, which was near empty. Disappointed, you attempted to reach over the counter for the bottle of whiskey balancing on the edge of the bar. Unaware of the flesh you were flashing to do so, you park yourself again, fumbling the bottle with your barely free hand to pour yourself another glass and meeting your lips with it. Tilting your head back far enough for the liquid to escape down your throat, you glance once more at the man in the corner. His eyes, visible through dark sockets under the brim of his hat, are hooked on you more obviously this time. Feeling warm and brave, you meet his gaze, trying to decipher what kind of face is hiding beneath the shadows. Visible are his sclera, but his irises appear dark, along with the rest of his features. You didn’t mind his gawking, enjoying the dangerous entertainment it provided for you.

Interrupted by the poking grip of stubby fingers above your knee, your eyes dart back at the raider, drug lord, scumbag whatever-he-was. He wasn’t looking at you, but his hands were wandering all the same. Gliding up the inside of your thigh, causing shudders to rise from the base of your spine. The encroaching tipsiness meant hiding your grimace was more of a challenge, and so you twisted your neck with a look of disgust you hoped no one would notice. But it didn’t go unnoticed. Lifting your eyes again, you notice the man is still looking at you, posture leaned forward, revealing his visage. A ghoul. Not awful on the eyes either. Hell, not that your current company was anything to compare to. He noticed your eyes widen and it cracks a smirk on his mottled skin, head cocking to the side. Unblinking, your cheeks flush hot for a second, your only choice to swallow hard and shake it off.

A sharp tug on the rope slowly cutting into your wrist yanks you from your drifting gaze. A waft of halitosis and liquor exposes his intoxication, which probably also meant his desire to have his way with you was near. Encroaching on your personal space, which didn’t really belong to you anymore anyway, he leans in with an open mouth, ready to take what he wants from your lips. The pungency of his breath almost knocks you off the stool, and when he notices you lean away from his kiss, he makes sure that you do end up on the floor. Crashing to your knees with an audible pop of your joints, you let out a cry that brings a wicked grin to his lips. Stifling a growl as you ride through the pain of your aching joints, you’re ordered to return to your feet. Knowing full well that you’re unable to get up, the raider boss drunkenly draws his shotgun to meet your forehead.

“Up, bitch.”

You shoot him a furious but desperate stare through furrowed brows, despite being in no position to argue with him. You attempt to return to your feet to no avail, through stifled groans of pain that radiate in your kneecaps. Growing more frustrated by your lack of movement,  the raider disables his safety and your heart drops. A cold sweat beads rapidly against your back, this time bracing yourself for his inevitable itchy trigger finger.

A gunshot.

Followed by another.

Eyes squeezed tightly shut, reflexes delayed by your assurance that at least one bullet was lodged in your flesh, but no pain followed. Your ears ring from the gunshots and you spring your eyes open to check yourself. The spattered blood of the man accompanying you covered your front, but it seems you were free of any further injury. Vision darting around the room, you attempt to collect your gall and figure out the situation. To your right, two more raiders, the lackeys, guns poised straight ahead of them. To your left, the ghoul on the couch, now standing with a revolver in each outstretched hand. The standoff is short-lived before the ghoul sinks a bullet into the forehead of each raider, splattering their grey matter across the dingey walls of the now abandoned tavern.

Silence fills the room, besides a few debris clattering to the floor and the thudding of your heartbeat pounding through your ringing ears. Your chest heaves as the panic sets in, you may have been spared, but that means very little in the wasteland. You come to the assumption that you’ll be next by association. Unable to return to your feet, your hands reach to cover your head as you hear the clicking of the ghoul’s spurs approach with each heavy step. As the footsteps cease, you dare peek at the boots that have appeared at your knees, following them up until you find the face of the man they belong to. Towering over you, his eyes darken to an almost predatory look. His gloved hand finds your bound wrists and he lifts you to your feet in one rough swoop, propping yourself on shaking legs as you stand uncomfortably close to him.

A knife emerges from its sheath to meet the soft skin of your neck, drawing up to linger on your bottom lip. You don’t take your eyes off him for a second, hoping the familiar deer-in-the-headlights tactic will prove useful once more. It was almost embarrassing how often it had saved your life out here. The ghoul keeps your gaze, unblinking, cocking his head to the side as if he were considering something. His stare bores into you, eyes oddly warm brown to match the heat radiating from under his duster. The blade slowly raises past your eyes, where he still firmly holds your aching wrists above your head. With a swift tug and low grunt from his throat, the rope bindings loosen and release the pressure from your joints, and you check your them for blood.

Feeling his eyes still on you, you scan back up to his face again, silence filling the entire room as your world still gently spins from the alcohol. The rope remaining tightly around your ankles begins to chafe, rubbing away the top layer of skin. A quick glance down to your feet and back up at him again, hinting. The smirk he flashed you from the other end of the room prior to the shootout creeps back on his lips and yellowed teeth peek through. He practically leans over you, encroaching on your space much like the raiders and those before him had done, but this was different. This time you liked it. The liquor buzz and tingling fear created quite a thrill, one that engulfed your entire skin with prickles and sank into the pit of your belly with a fluttering warmth.

Without uttering a word, he slowly descends. Close enough that you feel the heat of his breath as he meets your face and continues down your form to crouch in front of you, head now level with your navel. Time slows in the room, hazy with excitement, or was it your life flashing before you? Gripping the back of your knee, he slowly reaches down to slice at the bindings on your ankles with the other, almost as if he were savouring the moment, the brim of his hat tickling your lower belly as he tilts his head down. A familiar release, as you reposition your feet to stand more comfortably, skin itching from the rope. The grasp of your knee pit rises until his fingers digs into the meat of your hamstring. Your leg twitches as you imagine the sensation of his rough, ungloved hands wrapped around the underside of your ass cheek. His blade makes contact with your skin once more, cold and stinging on the inside of your calf. Your body stiffens and you hold your breath, before the knife begins to rise up the soft flesh of your leg, past your knees and settling mid-way up your thigh. A gasp escapes your lips as the cold metal tickles your sensitive skin and sends jolts into the heat of your underwear. You dare not move but your body betrays you with a soft tremble. He emits a low hum, humoured by your obvious attempt to hide your growing fear and excitement.

Nonchalantly, he returns to his feet, examining his blade before sheathing it again, the corners of his mouth still curled slightly. As his attention returns to you once more, he reaches over your diminutive form, the collar of his aged shirt almost brushing the tip of your nose. His aroma is powerful, perhaps not in scent, but certainly in the way it makes your belly rise and flutter and tingles creep into your throat. Old leather, Mojave dust, and a musk that was fairly pleasant, all things considered. He recedes with a glass in his hand, your glass, as he knocks back the remainder of your drink before tipping the glass to you with a nod and returning it to the bar.

Stepping around you he strolls over to the body of the man you had belonged to until now and makes quick work of looting his pockets and removing his head with efficiency. He examines the head with a scoff and glances back towards you, almost mocking your choice of company. Grabbing a fistful of hair, the head now dangles by the ghoul’s side as he steps off to leave the bar. As he reaches the fractured door frame, you dare to finally move. First your lips, a wobbly “Thank you.” escapes them, but you remain with your back to him. His gait halts and he twists to peer back at you, raising an eyebrow in  surprise, but says nothing still. Perhaps pleasantly surprised by the rarity of manners, perhaps wondering how well those manners could serve him. He stands awaiting you, a dark figure almost filling the doorway. You wonder if he left already, but are met with his widening, lopsided grin. He tips his hat to you and slinks off beyond sight.

Intoxicating…intoxicated. You’re intoxicated. Your fight or flight response drags you back to your sobering reality. You had been spared by a bounty hunter, and a ghoul at that. Unfortunately for you though, the group of thugs providing some sort of protection were now splayed out on the rotting wooden floor, decorated by their own blood. You were alone, again. The reality of your situation sinks in as you fumble to collect the least bloody jacket from one of the bodies as an attempt to cover as much of your bare skin as possible. Your mind has other plans however, as the lingering image of his sultry eyes are fixed into the back of your eyelids, and you can’t help but wonder how those hollowed features would look if you were underneath him.

Fuck.

[sunny-possum-pal]

Heron