#snippet schedule

[radioactivepeasant]

This Week's Snippet Schedule:

Thursday: Prisoner Exchange AU, as per the survey, "Jak gets in Trouble"

Footage of Damas finding out exactly what Jak was borrowing the car for ^

[hurtwithallthecomfort]

Ok but imagine: Whumper finds Whumpee when they’re alone and kidnaps them, presumably for interrogation purposes. It’s agony, they’ve never felt pain like this before, and worst of all, nobody knows they’re gone. But, Whumpee is resilient, and they stick it out. Grit their teeth, and refuse to give any information. Then, maybe a few weeks later, Whumpee manages to crawl out by the skin of their teeth, wounds bleeding profusely. Seeking out the rest of the team is the best move here, asking for some medical help and some much needed comfort. Yet, Whumpee is stubborn, and believes they’re entirely self-sufficient. So, they stop off at some grimy hotel, patch themselves up so at least they won’t bleed out on the street, and head to HQ pretending that everything’s just fine.

By some miracle, Whumpee makes it back alive, and the team somehow believe in whatever horrible lie they made up to explain their absence. The team are rather mad at Whumpee for just disappearing on them, but it doesn’t matter now why they were gone, it just matters that they’re here, with perfect timing too. There’s a high-stakes mission, that surely the capable, reliable Whumpee is up for. A mission that Whumpee will have to practically crawl through, injuries far from healed, trying to keep up the act that everything is ok. And they better start praying to whatever’s out there that the mission doesn’t involve Whumper.

[o3o-lapd-o3o]

okay! here's the first poseidon 'snippet' . this takes place before and during this scene!

second snippet

there's a masterlist now!

hope you guys enjoy! ദ്ദി(˵ ���̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

*a few months after poseidon had left apollo’s infirmary finally all free of holes all healed up*

*up on olympus*

zeus: *bored outta his godly mind after 20 years of entertainment (especially those last 10 years)*

zeus: *suddenly struck with an idea*

zeus: *to no one in particular* i think i’m going to go pay my brother a visit… just to check on how he is…

zeus: *disappears in a flash of lightning*

hera: *entering the room*

hera: *stares at the scorch marks on the ground where zeus just was*

hera: *to herself* as long as its nothing to do with a woman or illegitimate child… then i don’t care.

*below the sea in poseidon’s palace*

*poseidon enjoying some peace and quiet; when in a flash, zeus on one of his very rare visits, appears in front of him*

zeus: *looking around the room* so… how are things?

poseidon:

poseidon: *sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose*

poseidon: what do you want zeus?

zeus: *ignoring poseidon’s question* where’s your queen?

poseidon: amphitrite is out visiting her sisters…wait never mind that-

poseidon: what do you want?

zeus: *now looking at poseidon* can’t i come see my big brother?

poseidon: you never bother, unless you want something.

poseidon: *anger now in his voice* so out with it.

zeus: *putting his hands up in front of him* whoa! no need to get angry…

zeus: *putting his hands down and a smirk appears* ...remember how that ended for you last time?

zeus: *smirk gets bigger* how you let odysseus beat you like that, i have no idea…

poseidon: *glaring at zeus* do not speak that name in my home

zeus: why my dear brother? are you perhaps… scared?

poseidon: *falling right into zeus provocations*

poseidon: i am NOT scared of that mons- mortal!

poseidon: he merely took advantage of my state after using a lot of my power!

zeus: *under his breath to himself* that power still didn’t kill him though, did it?

zeus: *to poseidon this time* but you’re not in that state now, are you? nor have you been since you left olympus… so what’s holding you back now?

poseidon: *raising an eyebrow at zeus* holding me back from what?

zeus: *knows he has poseidon hook, line and sinker*

zeus: i understand you can no longer hurt him or his family; unless you want to incur the wrath of my daughter… and i suppose even my wife

zeus: but you can make trouble for him still, can’t you?

poseidon:

zeus: *notices the slight hesitation*

zeus: or maybe you are truly fearful of him now? the mighty god of the seas, terrified of a mortal king.

poseidon: *blinks and then goes back to glaring at zeus*

poseidon: i told you i am not sca-

zeus: -then what’s stopping you?

poseidon: NOTH- *coughs* nothing.

poseidon: *crosses his arms and looks away from zeus*

zeus: *laughs knowing he’s done what he came here to do*

zeus: well, i shouldn’t stay too long away from olympus... enjoy the rest of your day brother.

zeus: *disappears in another flash of lightning*

poseidon: *looks at the scorch marks on his floor*

poseidon: he always leaves a mess…

poseidon: *thinking over the conversation again*

poseidon: i’ll show him who’s scared.

*outside the shores of ithaca*

poseidon: *looking the nice clear weather and seeing the merchant ships coming to and from ithaca*

poseidon: it would be a shame if something disrupted this...

poseidon: *smirks* *summons his trident & lifts it to the sky*

*the wind picks up and storm clouds quickly start forming*

poseidon: *can hear distant shouts of mortals reacting to the sudden storm*

poseidon: *laughs to himself* perfect.

poseidon: well, i guess i’ll leave this to brew. i’ll check back later to see what damage has happe-

poseidon: *a full body shiver comes over him out of nowhere*

poseidon: *turns to look at the ithacan docks where he can see..a mortal?*

poseidon: why i am i bothered by that mo-

poseidon: *sees deep red eyes and realises who the mortal is*

poseidon: -oh no.

*the king of ithaca odysseus stands there, glaring into the storm*

odysseus: *in a cold voice* I am going sailing with my son. There will be no issues, is that understood?

poseidon: *even though he knows odysseus can’t hear him* aye aye captain!

poseidon: *with a whimper calls off the storm immediately and quickly dives back under the water*

poseidon: *before he can completely leave, he can hear the voice of odysseus saying “good.”*

poseidon: *about to head straight back home but pauses*

poseidon: *remembers odysseus said he was going sailing with his son*

poseidon: *knows he may be god of the sea, but he can’t always be there to control what the residents of said sea get up too*

poseidon: maybe i should just make sure there’s nothing to make him angrier at me

poseidon: *secretly follows & stays near odysseus’ and telemachus’ ship*

[the-broken-pen]

Hey can you do one about a villain with teleporting powers

The hero woke up gasping, scrambling upright in bed as the back of their neck tingled in warning. Their eyes darted around the room, blurry, before settling on the far wall.

The villain watched them, idle and unimpressed.

The hero’s lungs, traitorously, forgot how to breathe. They wheezed slightly, one hand clenching onto the blanket, the other sliding underneath the pillow for their knife, where–

The villain hummed, and the hero’s attention snapped back to them at the same time they managed to draw in a painful, terror-addled breath. The villain’s gaze was unnerving as they flipped a knife over their knuckles.

The hero’s knife.

“You,” the hero managed, but they couldn’t think of anything to say, and they were so tired and their pulse was jackrabbiting in their ears.

The villain seemed to know this.

“I warned you,” they said. They didn’t even sound mean about it. Just a gentle reminder–hey, don’t forget to check the mail, hey, it’s your mom’s birthday, hey, can you feed the dog?

‘If you keep interfering, I will hunt you to the ends of the Earth and make you stop. There is nowhere I will not find you. Do you hear me? You cannot run from me, so don’t make me chase you.’

The hero swallowed.

“I didn’t think you would actually do it.”

The villain nodded like they had expected this. “You’ve learned from your mistakes, though, yeah?”

The hero knew the right answer. They knew that the proper response would be to slide off the bed onto their knees, to swear in every language they knew that they wouldn’t do it again. That the villain would be the only one allowed to splash blood onto the streets of their city, and the hero would choke on the pain of doing nothing and stay silent in it.

“You knew I wasn’t going to listen to you,” the hero said, and it was accusatory. The villain shifted slightly. “You had to have known I wouldn’t stop just because you threatened me.”

The villain shrugged one shoulder. 

“Of course I did. If you were the type of person who would have stopped, I would have killed you instead of giving you a warning.”

The hero’s grip tightened on the blanket. “That doesn’t make sense. If I was going to stop then why kill me–”

“I don’t believe in weakness,” the villain interrupted. Their gaze was searching and heavy on the hero’s face, knife still spinning over their knuckles. “Which is why you’re alive, because you have never been weak.”

The hero’s jaw tensed.

“You wanted this.”

The hint of a smile pulled at the villain’s mouth.

“Of course I did. You think I didn’t know you would try and run? You think I didn’t know exactly how you would react the moment I threatened anyone in that cursed city?”

“So you weren’t actually going to kill anyone?”

“Oh, no,” the villain corrected. “Of course I was going to. They don’t matter to me.”

The hero’s stomach turned. 

“Those are people–”

“They’re a drop in an ocean of humanity. You know better than to think I would care about something so trivial,” the villain said.

“They’re not trivial–”

The villain sighed, harsh in the darkness of the room.

“I bore of this. Get dressed. We’re leaving.”

The hero jolted back.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

The villain sighed again, as if they were dealing with an unruly child and getting a headache for their efforts. It sent the hero bristling like an angry cat.

“There’s nowhere you can go that I can’t find you. You know that, right? There is no end of the line for this. You can drive until you run out of gasoline, until your feet bleed, and you drain your accounts of money. And I will follow, and I will leave every person who helped you nothing more than a stain on the ground, until you decide the trail of bodies isn’t worth avoiding me. Is that really something you want?”

The hero set their jaw, rising to their feet. 

“You won’t find me,” they swore. And the villain–

The villain laughed.

“I know your face. Of course I can find you.”

The hero was missing something, and the lack of knowledge felt like a sword over their head. 

“I don’t–”

“There’s no way you would have known,” the villain said gently, like they knew how much it bothered the hero that they were missing something that was apparently vital. 

They probably did know.

The hero glared.

The villain looked on the verge of another laugh.

“Once I’ve seen a face, I can find a person anywhere in the world. No matter how far. That’s all I need. You could go to the other side of the planet, and I could teleport to you without a second thought.”

The hero gaped.

“Any face?”

The villain paused. “Yes.”

The hero’s throat went abruptly dry.

Any face–

“You could do so much good,” the hero said, and their voice broke slightly. “Do you know how many people you could save? Natural disasters and missing persons cases and–”

“You misunderstand me.”

“You could–”

“I don’t want to do good.”

The hero stopped.

“You don’t want to do good,” they said flatly.

“I am not a good person,” the villain said. “I don’t want to do good. I want power, and I want to do as I please, and I want you.”

The hero was going to be sick on the wooden flooring. They were barefoot, and weaponless, and that fear still ran up their spine.

“I am a person. You cannot have a person.”

“You are a glorious, powerful being,” the villain countered.

“That doesn’t make me less of a person.”

“No,” the villain agreed. “But it does make you something other than trivial. How could I do anything other than want to have that?”

The hero backed up a step.

“You can’t have me.”

The villain matched them, silent even as they stepped forward.

“You plan to run?”

They sounded amused.

The hero supposed that was better than anger.

“Stay over there,” the hero said shakily. The villain obliged, settling their hands into their pockets. Like this was a means to an end. They had flipped to the back of the book and read the ending, and were watching the hero catch up to the scenes they had already seen played out. The villain’s eyes burned into them.

And abruptly, skin going cold, the hero realized there truly wasn’t a way out of this for them.

The villain would never let them be. They could run, like the villain said, and the villain could kill every person who so much as looked their way. They could hide, and stumble through cities and down alleys and the villain would always be around the corner. 

They had little doubt that every other person in this shitty motel was already dead. 

The villain grinned like they could read every thought as it crossed the hero’s face.

“Where will you go,” the villain said. They stepped forward until they were close enough to touch. 

It wasn’t really the sort of question that wanted an answer.

“Everyone else in this building is dead, aren’t they?”

The villain cocked their head, as if to say, Come now, you know the answer to that.

The hero didn’t think they would ever be able to draw a full breath again.

“Where,” the villain said, soft like a secret. “Will you go, little hero?”

It felt like dying. It felt like reaching out to help someone a second too late. A second too slow to catch the building as it fell. The wrong side of a fire before it blew up.

“With you,” they whispered, and the villain smiled wider.

“What was that?”

“You heard me,” the hero snapped, and thrust their hand out. The villain took it without hesitation.

They tugged the hero into them, leaning to slot their mouth next to the hero’s ear. The hair on the back of the hero’s neck stood up.

“You could do so much bad,” the villain whispered, and the hero ground their teeth hard enough to hurt.

Anger flared bright enough to drain every ounce of fear from their body. Because this was the worst case scenario, wasn’t it? What could be lost.

“Every step you make, every blow you deal and fire you start, I’ll be there. And I'll stop you. Again, and again, and again. You want me?” The hero bared their teeth. “Then have me.”

The villain tugged them closer, and laughed.

“I look forward to it,” the villain replied, and then darkness swallowed the both of them whole.

A week later, a team of agents entered the motel to find it coated in blood and the smell of death.

A month later, everyone knew there was a fight of immovable power and unstoppable force shattering its way across the world. 

A year later, the victor panted through a bloody grin, bruised and crackling with vicious unleashed power, and laughed. Because truly, the ending had been on the horizon since the moment the two of them had first met.

[cappydoodle]

more of this! teen+cousin edition!

[surplus-of-sarcasm]

I Do

Part 2

TW: Blood, bruises, and some angst

Ya girl has some off-days from college, and she's decided to use em. Missed y'all < 3

The villain's gloved fingers drummed impatiently on the table, his dark shadow looming over the hero with a promise of danger.

"What's it going to be, Hero? I sell those codes to Supervillain? Or you comply with our little agreement?" His tone was perfectly calm, eerily so, his eyes impossible to read behind the domino mask, but he still emanated danger, his lips drawn together in a tight line.

It was cruel calling it 'their' agreement because the hero had no hand in this. The suggestion had left her more shocked than angry, still reeling from the villain's words.

"Marry me," he'd said in a commanding tone. Like any other choice would've been the wrong answer, tilting her chin upwards ever so subtly.

And the hero held his gaze, transfixed, gasping and laughing and hoping this was nothing but a fever dream.

"Wha-" the hero choked out incoherently.

The villain had let go of her face, his hands resting on the top of her chair. "I can repeat it as many times as you want me to," he stage-whispered against the shell of her ear, his tone gentle and dangerous all at once.

"But, I don't understand. What could you possibly gain from this of all things? You despise me, Villain." She truly couldn't process any of what she was told, the mere idea of being tethered so bindingly to her worst enemy leaving her mind an ineffective, nervous wreck.

The villain huffed out a rough laugh, very genuine and horribly cruel. "Oh, but I do despise you. Very much. I despise how defeated and humiliated you left me in front of half the city . Despised the fact that you got me locked up. Despised how for the very first time, I actually felt like I lost the game, and I'm a rather sore loser, you know." The villain's demeanour was eerily calm, his shoulders straight, his resting face showing nothing but a placid neutrality as he turned to stand in front of the hero, but it was arguably more terrifying, more unpredictable.

"I just want to see you as defeated as I've been, Hero. Bound so intimately to your worst enemy, your greatest nightmare. If you do this, it means admitting to me, and more importantly, to yourself, that the only option you have is bending to my whims," he crooned, his lips curling into a wicked smirk.

The hero wanted to scream, to kick the villain in the teeth and watch the blood trickle down his lips and the bruising dye his skin a grotesque purple. She wanted to think of a clever solution that left the man's face contorted with a strange mix of hatred and respect, to blow his plan up in his face. Anything that would spare her this hell.

"Did I mention you have exactly five minutes to decide?" he piped up casually, examining his nails.

The hero swore and the villain let out a half-snicker. This was madness. A death sentence that would last for the rest of her life. And it didn't matter if she said no, if she undid whatever she could of the havoc those codes would wreak in Supervillain's hands. The conviction so heavily saturated in the villain's tone, the way his jaw clenched and his fists tightened was more than enough proof that he would spread more chaos, spark more fights, destroy an endless array of things and lives until she gave in to him.

The villain loved control like he loved the air he breathed, even more so, like a drug that left him intoxicated and lusting for more.

If she didn't listen, she was sending everyone she cared about, sending the city, the whole world if the villain had it his way, to hell.

The hero sucked in a measured breath, reading the contract word for word, from the title to the fine print, scouring it for a loophole she could use, for any more tricks up the villain's sleeve, just to find nothing. She tried to relax her tensed shoulders, her grip merciless on the pen in her erratically shaking hands, every curve and line of the letters of her name feeling like a blade was slicing through her heartstrings like how one would rip a stalk; slowly, unevenly, time seeming to slow down and the world seeming to freeze for a moment that felt like a thousand years and then some.

The villain didn't smile or laugh or let any display of emotion etch itself onto the harsh lines of his features. He nodded curtly instead, snatching the paper and folding it into a square and tucking it in a well-concealed pocket of his suit. "The cruelty only ends here," he attested, his voice tight and no longer playful, the way it was whenever he promised something.

The hero nodded, swallowing the humiliation at the back of her throat, even though she wasn't inclined to believe him.

"There's a ceremony. Nothing very insane, just you, me and an officiator. This is just a contract, not a marriage certificate, even if we both know which one of those is more binding. You'll show up today, if you know what's good for you, heroine."

The hero wasn't sure when she was up on her feet and slapping the villain harshly across the face, blood spurting from his mouth and staining his perfectly straight teeth, as he only grit them into a manic grin, shaking with a hoarse cackle as he wiped the blood of his face "Is that how you treat your husband, my dear? Do they forget to teach you manners at the hero agency?"

The hero was too dazed with rage to speak, trying to mar the villain's visage with another rough blow to it, until he caught her hand with an iron fist. "I said I'd never hurt you for nothing, but not that I'd let you do to me what you please without consequence. So play nice, darling." The villain let go of her arm slowly, the bruises he left in his wake more than enough of a warning.

The second he left, the hero didn't cry as she thought she would, she didn't scream, she didn't destroy everything around her or rip through her hair. Instead, she slid down against the wall, expressionless but breathing hard, her lungs hungry for air that seemed so unfairly little, her heart playing songs of anxiety and fury and sorrow every horrible emotion she'd ever known.

She was marrying the villain. Marrying the villain, and she couldn't do a thing about it. Marrying him and no one would come to save her.

Sometimes being a hero means saving the whole world except yourself.

✨️Timeskip✨️

Sure enough, the villain was there in a tailored suit, in front of his house her new prison, where he'd told her to show up, the officiator standing with a solemn expression on his face.

The villain wasn't supposed to be handsome, the dark brown hair she was normally used to seeing messy and caked with blood slightly damp with gel and mostly hanging in loose, luscious waves, his eyes a dazzling green-blue, long, dark lashes framing them in a way that put the best kinds of kohl to shame and his cheekbones sharp and high-set, the split on his lip hardly distracting from the rest of his appearance. It was so unbelievably stupid, so inconsequential, and yet the hero hated him even more for his tantalisingly beautiful features, for the way his grin would've fooled her into thinking he truly was in love, if she didn't notice how it didn't reach up to his eyes.

The hero hadn't paid any mind to whatever the officiator had said until it was her turn to say 'I do', flashing the villain a terribly fake smile that wasn't half as charming as his, but it would have to do as she slid a simple platinum ring on his finger, and he slid a diamond ring onto hers.

"Let's go," the villain said when they were finally done, gently taking the hero's gloved hand in his and leading her up the stairs and into the mansion.

The heroine was not one to admit defeat and snap in half in the fashion that a twig would. Many a battle would need to be lost for a victory in the war, many a sacrifice would have to be made for a greater reward. She would take the pain like stone would take a blunt pickaxe, just to twist a knife in the villain's chest when he least expected. Because history forgets everyone but those who laugh the last.

Tagging for this: @hufflepuffwritingstuff2

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[pfhwrittes]

the aftermath.

rating: mature audiences.

pairing: john "soap" mactavish x simon "ghost" riley.

word count: 1.8k

notable tags / warnings: transgender john "soap" mactavish, fluff, humour, very light angst, references to offscreen sex, egregious use of scots, banter, swearing.

A/N: i wrote this instead of sleeping, it was meant to be the set up for another part of my trans!soap drabbles but it took a wild left turn into feelsville and so no actual smut occurs in this fic. however, it is funny and fluffy (in my opinion). as always this can be considered to be very lightly edited so typos and weird grammatical goofs are likely to remain so for that i apologise.

–––

unsurprisingly, it’s kyle that catches on and confronts him the following afternoon as johnny pushes some truly god awful looking peas around his tray in the mess. 

“so, who’d you fuck last night then mate?” 

kyle plunks himself into the seat opposite johnny, dropping his tray with a clatter. the shepherd’s pie on his tray sags slightly and johnny feels a disarming bolt of empathy for the oozing mince and potato blob. sue him, he’s still feeling a little tender in places, alright? not that he’ll be admitting that to garrick of all people. 

“dunno what you’re oan about pal.” johnny sniffs and pokes a particularly dehydrated pea with his fork. there we go, nice and breezy. no need to give the game away son. 

kyle scoffs and aims a kick at johnny’s shin under the table. 

“oi! ya fuckin’ roaster, the fuck wis that for!” 

“i know you fucked someone last night. price was complaining about the stink in his office this morning.” kyle points his fork at johnny’s chest accusingly.

well, shit. johnny knew he should’ve got simon to crack the window before he got fucked seven ways from sunday. again, not that garrick needed to know that particular practical tid-bit of organising a secret rendez-vouz with your superior officer. 

johnny clears his throat nonchalantly and picks the spot over kyle’s left ear to address. 

“who’s to say it wasnae the captain gettin’ some last night?” 

the look kyle directs at johnny could probably be used to store clean cut finnish ice directly from fucking lapland with how freezing it is. 

“because he was with me, you tosspot.” 

johnny can’t help the way his face slips from carefully blank neutrality into something a wee bit more salacious. 

“oh aye, is that right?” johnny abandons looking at kyle’s ear to shoot him the dirtiest smirk he can muster. 

“fuck off mactavish.” kyle scowls, “you know what i meant. he was watching the bloody footie with me.”

“is that what you kids are callin’ it these days, eh?” johnny waggles his eyebrows knowingly just to watch kyle glare even harder as he leans forwards to stab johnny in the chest with his fork. 

“hey! mind the nipples, they’re fuckin’ custom! i spent money on these things!” johnny pouts and rubs gingerly at his top, pulling a face as he smears mashed potato into the fabric. gross garrick. 

“shut up, you got ‘em on the NHS like everyone else, you dickhead.” kyle shoots back.

what was sure to be a brilliantly witty retort gets silenced as price appears from nowhere, glowering down at his two sergeants like he’s just found two of his wayward puppies rolling in something long dead and incredibly pungent. 

“mactavish. a word.” 

johnny gulps and shoots kyle a betrayed look as soon as price’s back is turned. 

“oh sorry mate. must’ve slipped my mind. captain’s looking for you.” kyle grins, looking for all the world like butter wouldn’t melt in that clever wee mouth of his. 

bastard. 

––

johnny does not fidget. not even once. he’s cool, he’s calm, he’s co-

“it was reported that you were seen leaving this office - my office - at 0300 hours this morning, sergeant.” price rumbles from behind the - his - desk. 

-mpletely and utterly fucked. 

and not in the way he was only twelve hours previous. in this very room. over that very same desk. steamin’ jesus. 

johnny pointedly does not meet price’s gaze, instead he continues staring at the cinderblock behind his captain’s shoulder like it contains the secrets of the universe. or perhaps a false brick that when nudged just right would open a portal to hell under his feet. 

the chair under price’s bulk creaks as he settles back, watching for any sign of guilt or admission. the cigar propped on the edge of the cut glass ashtray sends a smoky tendril into the air as it drifts lazily to the window that johnny can see is cracked open a fraction in his peripheral vision. 

“nothing to say, sergeant?” price’s voice is deceptively soft and a shudder runs up johnny’s spine unbidden. fuuuuuuck. the way he sees it, he’s either fucked once if he admits to being somewhere he very much shouldn’t have been with company he definitely shouldn’t have been fraternising with, or fucked twice if he tries to deny it without knowing all the facts. he is, as the big bastard himself would say, in a spot tighter than a nun’s cunt. 

johnny swallows drily, preparing to take possibly the stupidest risk of his career and possibly his life so far, when a solid knock on the closed door saves him. thank christ. his heart soars - 

“enter.” price commands. 

almost immediately the hulking figure and current cause of johnny’s predicament steps through the door near silently to stand shoulder to shoulder with johnny. just a hair too close to be considered professional.

“lieutenant riley, good of you to join us.” 

- and promptly falls out his arse. 

good to know that there was a third and far worse option available to him. 

––

centuries or possibly even aeons later, a knock rouses johnny from the light doze he’d slipped into immediately after clambering into the tiny twin bed provided in his room. sent away from price’s office in disgrace, the sounds of his shouting still ringing in his ears. but even worse, the way that simon - ghost - simon had refused to even look at johnny before he turned on his heel and stalked down the corridor. away from him.

“nngh.” johnny grunts intelligently and swipes a slightly tacky palm over his face before letting it drop to brush against the worn carpet tiles. fuck getting up to let price in here to yell at him some more, or to deal with gaz’s kicked puppy look. he’ll stay exactly where he is ta very much, despite the way a spring in the lumpy mattress is poking into his right kidney something fierce. and the fact that now he’s awake he could do with a drink to rinse away the gummy feeling in his mouth. eurgh. 

the knock sounds again. 

“fer fucks sake, come in then ya -” johnny calls out grumpily, lifting his head from the pillow and his eyes flying open so he can glare at the door from his supine position.

and once again, simon “here to make shit worse for him specifically” riley steps through the door.

“- prick.” johnny finishes weakly. oh. well this is awkward. 

simon hums quietly in agreement and quietly shuts the door with his foot. johnny blinks, not entirely sure if he’s agreeing with being called a prick or if the situation is awkward. 

“bit o’ both really.” simon rumbles. ah, right yeah. johnny’s always had a habit of saying the first few thoughts that pop into his head immediately after being woken up. always makes one night stands a bit awkward in the mornings. 

“hm. is that the reason you’ve never let me stay the night then?” simon asks as he drops heavily into the tactically acquired chair in the corner of the room paying no mind to the fact he’s sitting on johnny’s freshly laundered skivvies. 

“somethin’ like that, aye.” johnny swallows awkwardly, christ he needs a drink of water, “that an’ i thought we’d get -” 

“caught.” simon finishes tiredly. 

johnny huffs out a sound that if he was being charitable could be considered a laugh under the right circumstances. this isn’t the right circumstances. obviously.  

“aye. yeah. that an’ all.” 

a silence stretches between the two of them then. it’s uncomfortable to say the least, aching in a similar way to johnny’s neck as he continues to peer at simon, who is sagging like a half-empty rucksack. johnny lets his head drop back onto the flat pillow underneath him so he can gaze sightlessly up at the water stained ceiling tile. what a fuckin’ mess. 

“‘m sorry.” 

it’s said so quietly johnny could half believe he imagined it. 

“‘s not yer fault, don’t worry about it.” johnny says flatly to the water mark on the ceiling. he closes one eye and squints, hm. looks a bit like a pair of knickers like that. johnny hears simon take a steadying breath from across the space. oh. johnny opens both eyes and lifts his head, his expression carefully blank. 

simon is hunched over now, his elbows resting on his thick thighs and he’s staring fixedly at the carpet just in front of his boots, purposefully avoiding johnny’s eyes. 

“simon?” it’s a gentle nudge but johnny watches as simon’s broad shoulders tense up, his biceps flexing as he fidgets with his clasped hands. oh. that’s more of an admission of guilt or responsibility than anything simon could say. johnny knows this man, inside and out at this point. he’s economical with movement in a way that can only ever be learned through being completely aware of your size and surroundings. never a fidgeter. always still. always controlled. 

“‘m sorry.” simon repeats quietly, allowing his head to hang down and exposing the soft nape of his neck where his balaclava gapes away from his shirt. in better circumstances johnny would get up and chance a kiss on his exposed skin just to hear him make a soft pleased noise that always reminds johnny of a cat purring out a raspy mrrr of contentment.

“did ye go to price an’ tell him then?” johnny asks levelly despite the way his heart has suddenly decided to reside in his large intestine again for the second time today.

simon’s head jerks up and he frowns. 

“no - i - no.” simon states firmly and johnny takes a shuddering breath. good. 

“good.” he says out loud. “i didnae think ye would.” johnny tacks on just to watch some of the tension in simon’s shoulders leak away. the urge to comfort simon wells up behind johnny’s ribs, it’s a tender thing and it makes johnny’s breath hitch a little unsteadily. he sighs dramatically to cover it and flops his head back onto the pillow again. 

“c’mon then, get over here ya big bastard.” johnny orders faux-peevishly. 

“what.” 

johnny groans and rolls his eyes. simon can be unbelievably dense when it comes to intimacy that doesn’t involve being bent over the nearest suitable surface sometimes. 

“‘mon then, i want a cuddle before price decides to split us up for the rest of our careers.” johnny raises his arms and makes a grabbing motion much like a wee toddler would to demand being picked up. johnny tries not to be insulted when that seems to be the reason that simon hefts himself to his feet to stand awkwardly at the side of the bed. 

“‘m not gonna fit.” he states and johnny rolls his eyes again. 

“sure ye will, just don’t squash my tits, alright?”

there’s a pause before simon states in his usual blunt manner - 

“how th’ fuck am i meant to do that, you ‘ad ‘em chopped off at eighteen.” 

and for some reason that makes johnny burst into relieved laughter. 

aye, they’ll be alright.

[jessicas-pi]

Ezra tried not to smile as Sabine stumbled through the door. Her outfit was rumped and her hair was askew—no surprise, due to the writhing toddler in her arms.

“PUT ME DOWN, PUT ME DOWN, PUT ME DOWN, I DON’T WANNA GO TO BED, PUT ME DOWN, LET GOOOOOO—”

“Babysitting’s not treating you so good, is it?” he asked, raising his voice over Jacen’s furious screeches.

Instantly, Jacen stopped thrashing. Sabine loosened her grip in surprise, and the boy slipped right out of her arms and ran across the room, climbing up onto the couch and throwing his arms around Ezra.

“Okay, why does he behave for you and not me?” Sabine demanded, crossing her arms.

“It’s a gift.” He looked down at Jacen, who was smiling as happily as could be. “Jacen, why weren’t you being nice for Sabine?”

Jacen pouted at her. “Wasn’t gonna tell me a story.”

“No story? Sabine, you were gonna make him go to bed without a story?” He pretended to gasp in horror. “How could you?”

“It’s late!”

Ezra scooted to the side and patted the spot next to him on the couch. “We always tell stories.”

Reluctantly, she stomped over to sit beside him. “Okay, you tell him a story.”

“Don’t you have any stories?” Ezra wheedled. “I’ve already told him all mine.”

“Wanna hear your stories,” Jacen agreed.

Sabine huffed. She scowled. She scuffed her feet on the rug and slumped back sullenly on the couch.

“Fine,” she said, finally. “Okay, I’ve got a story.”

Jacen clapped his hands, and Ezra looked at her expectantly.

“This is the story of how I was almost murdered by my best buddy’s psychotic ex-dad-figure who stole him as a baby.” Sabine shot Ezra a side-glance and a wink, then turned to Jacen and went on seriously. “That’s a lot to take in, I know. But, don't worry, despite the kidnapping and family drama, this is actually a very fun story! And the truth is, it’s not even mine. This is Ezra’s story—and it starts with the moon.”

[whatlovelybones-if]

detective kaufmann finishes their cigarette with one last drawn-out drag. they let the embers brush against the edges of their fingers, singeing the almost-healed scabs of burnt skin. for all it’s worth, they don’t react to the pain; instead, they just drop the cigarette and crush it beneath their shoes.

running their fingers through their light blonde-hair, the detective turns to the constable who is watching them a little warily. hiding behind that wariness, however, was a hint of respect for this tall, young detective in their white button-up and an overcoat.

“any additional information i should know about the crime scene we just examined?” the green-eyed detective asks, their tone losing its usual playfulness.

the constable hesitated before taking out a plastic bag with a piece of paper inside. “just this. it was found in the front pocket of the victim’s polo shirt. the people who got the parcel confirmed that they don’t recognise the man or the handwriting.”

the detective opens the bag and carefully fishes the paper out with their gloved hands. aside from noticing that it must have been a post-it note from the colour and type of paper, there was nothing extraordinary about it.

they turn it over. even though detective kaufmann knew that the note wasn’t intended for them, it still makes their hackles rise in slight alarm. they purse their lips as their suspicious gaze falls on the people who received the ‘package’.

the detective always trusted their instincts and this time, their gut told them that something was amiss here; there was something that these people weren’t being honest about. because written in blood-red ink, there were four chilling, yet puzzling words:

are you afraid yet?

[radioactivepeasant]

This Week's Snippet Poll

[loonavrsl]

250416 [📽️] Next week on Show Champion: Chuu - 'Only Cry in the Rain'

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[amberishrose]

Was for sure planning on having a new fic to post by now but my been too consumed with new fic idea that requires me to write the entire thing before I can start posting so I've been working on that instead of the other two fics I'd already started...

That being said it's been two weeks since I last posted writing so who wants a sneak peek of my upcoming Scarian fic? 👀

[darkseed-two]

👉👈 I hope my Extensive Ask Resume isn't getting annoying btw. Suffering the curse of being the only other person Here.

I'm chipping at my story and bc it is on the mind. How to you See the relationship Mike and Jack have. Like in general but also ideally in your soul…??? If that makes sense.

do not apologize for your questions my liege i look forward to them whenever i log into this evil villains lair of a website. also upcoming spoilers for the film vanilla sky...if you havent seen it. i recommend. but only if your tear ducts can handle the floodgates andalso if your eyes and ears do not tire of looking at and hearing tom cruise for an extended period of time. also i havent actually watched that film since i was like 8 so my perceptions of it may have skewed but its stuck to me HEAVY after all these years

also I feel at this point in time we need to establish some sort of shorthand for when discussing something in the context of either of the two main theories (ancients are real vs its all in mikes head) so im just gonna start saying Ancient Truther Canon (ATC) and Ancient Denier Canon (ADC) as of now on

I know exactly what you're sayin!!! Honestly, with either canon, I feel Jack at LEAST holds an itsy bitsy affinity for Mike considering hes his normal world counterpart / alter, & like, is the easiest target ever on planet earth to manipulate/bully. so Mike's tissue paper brain is endearing to Jack in the way that its like "Awww. Look at this organic! hes so soft, malleable, and would die instantly in a fight against me. I'll guess let him think im his friend while I fuck over his stupid baka life behind his back. as a treat❤️" but then as time goes on he grows slightly more attached to him. only slightly though.

ADC wise I absolutely do wholeheartedly believe that the ds2 devs/writers intended for jack to be some sort of offbrand arthur fonzarelli fictive as mike most likely experienced his childhood in the seatbelt-less 70s. (Also, completely off topic, this is partially why I feel like if ADC was fully canon then mike HAS to be like some sort of brain in a jar like in the film Vanilla Sky. Because im my Mind I wholeheartedly believe that Slim would also be one of Mike's alters as he feels like an offbrand fictive of Slim Goodbody (popular childrens 70s programme) to me. They even kinda speak the same. However other normal world people know of Slim's existence so it makes me think that EVERYTHING everything is in his mind. It would make sense as to why everyone is so fucking weird and nonsensical, especially the more time goes on. this scene from vanilla sky visualizes this idea) Fonzie feels like a suave slightly egotistical role model/mythological paul-bunyan-type authority figure to me so of course im projecting that onto mike in this scenario. fonzie in happy days is notorious for being able to ride his motorcycle literally fucking anywhere at all + can physically/emotionally manipulate people & also the laws of physics at the snap of his fingers. so it would only make sense that Jack would be like, this supportive cool suave hip guy motorcycle friend who ultimately turns out to be the shapeshifter. Theres also a vague joke of him doing something bad to the jukebox at hanks diner which HAS to be a reference to happy days. I could also argue that Hank is a nod to Al Delvecchio but Hank feels like just a generic old mom&pop burger joint guy to me. anyways getting back on topic. if my mentally ill senses are correct then I guarantee you that mike pretended that the happy days gang were his friends back in HS. Aint no way that boy played pool with the cool kids. hes a damn liar. aint nobody friends with the weird little nerd who fences and stares at people. stuart little ass extracurricular activity. also saying this now: sorry for getting offtopic again but i personally diagnose mike with inappropriately staring at people unintentionally due to 1) the waiting mechanic in ds1 B) everything that went down in ds2. and 3) i also had this problem as a mentally deranged child where i would just like stare the fuck off into space while thinking about something else when walking from class to class & people would wrongly assume that i was staring at them sexually when its like Bitch. Im thinking about crocs right now while staring downward so i dont trip over something. im not fucking looking at your punani. what the fuck do you want me to do?? close my eyes while walking?? and this caused many a friendless day. so now this is mikes problem Sorry. also this is probably why hes in advertising man needs to be in a cubicle away from people unless theyre corporate weirdos who are just as mentally unstable as he is

anyways back on topic i feel these are main sources of why he had little to no friends as a child + the death of his father shattering like any semblance of confidence he mightve had (although i cant remember atm at what point in mikes life that he died, if its even mentioned at all) so of course later in life mike would develop a fully fledged fonzie fictive (say that 5 times fast) when in his most vulnerable moments & is in dire need of a supportive role model who would beat the shit out of somebody if they tried to hurt him. in this case, jack would take over the front of mike's headspace and act as a guardian in stressful situations like with the jimmy gardner encounter. of course this set up enables mike to exert all his pent up bottled rage (of unresolved childhood trauma & recent traumas of being brutally raped) through jack which ultimately results in many deaths. so tl;dr their relationship ADC wise to me is that jack is the cool guardian/role model/friend that he always longed for, and since mike's self esteem is at an all time low in ds2 I imagine that jack's betrayal stems from that; nobody treats him with geniune respect and gentle care, not his mom, not rita, not hank, nobody. so in his mind at this late in the game, it would probably be like, "why would a cool guy like jack love a pathetic whelp like me? theres no way thats geniune, this has to be a pity friendship." although it still does catch him off guard when jack betrays him because deep down inside mike there was still a (dark)seed of hope that at the very LEAST he was worth SOMETHING to jack, especially after defeating the ancients again. im pretty sure with ADC the whole being stabbed in the back thing is purely symbolism and in "reality" he probably killed himself immediately when sims gave him an incredibly upsetting "reality check" (which. yet again. reminds me of vanilla sky)

for ATC (completely ignoring the fact ds1 and ds2 kinda fucked up consistency wise) I do like that one idea i mentioned before of jack being like, underdeveloped physically/mentally back in ds1 (whether his DW counterpart is supposed to be the mirror gloopy or the vagina-shaped drekketh guard is up in the air to me and honestly both could apply here anyway as mirror gloopy very easily could be a budding shapeshifter and the drekketh guard could cocoon/hatch into something else) and growing more mature/competent as mikes mind decays is so epic and awesome to me. in this way he is not unlike a homunculus. not seeing mike as a father here but seeing jack as a fucked up spiritually attached twin-like parasite that sucks all the life energy out of him slowly and surely the more mike spirals downward.

the ancients probably werent too happy about mike fucking up their shit so they went out of their way to snatch up and force his dw counterpart into being like the perfect little fonzie friend for him and since mike is special girl #1 jack of course would have special plot armor that allows him to travel into the normal world without instantly dying. i feel like jack having this power has to be directly attributed to the parasite thing because no other dark worlder can do this. I also reckon that it really did not take the ancients very long to come back because in the necronomicon in ds2 theres apparently a photo of mike and also a photo of his house from ds1 in it and its like. only jack wouldve been able to get a photo of the normal world so??? huh??? what??? huh??? how did this happen dinesh. also im pretty sure this book is made on behalf of regular dark worlders and not the ancients so that specific thing is confusing to me, maybe jack was normal for 0.2 seconds before being indoctrinated by the ancients? anyways was jack actively stalking mike on behalf of the ancients/or DW'ers the whole time he was popping in and out of mental wards?? was he secretly shapeshifting into orderlies just to get more information out of him in order to befriend him more easily later? maybe he even mentally tortured him in the wards for fun. who knows. also in relation to this I really love how its established that DW'ers have a whole cenobite thing going on and find pain to be pleasurable soooooo... just uh. leaving that little tid bit here. also i am deathly afraid that im just pulling this out of my ass but i swear there was something somewhere i read where DW counterparts know & are fully aware of their normal world counterparts, so maybe jack passively absorbs Mike Lore into his biomechanical brain over time without having to go out and gather it himself. although I do really like the idea of jack secretly stalking his every move. jack in this time would probably start to feel pitiful for mike knowing full well that hes going to absolutely destroy mikes life behind his back. and when jack finally settles down and actually befriends mike firsthand, hes not too emotionally attached to him at first and is just playing the part he was given. when mike defeats the ancients, jack probably isnt too happy about failing the one fucking thing he was assigned/groomed to do by his ancient evil alien dictator "parents" (save them from mike) but at the same time he has grown an affinity for mike the same way a mother grows an affinity for her incredibly ugly baby so he at least tries to comfort him by telling him none of it was real all along (like tryingto be like ohh no worries. all fake. you can die now. no more problems to take care of). which of course is very very far from being comforting but this is also a serial killer biomechanoid were talking about so hes trying his best . okay. ! he also kinda does give mike an out when he offers mike to try and stab him. mike didnt HAVE to attempt it. but I feel like jack mightve just killed him anyway out of spite.

also id like to clarify my use of the word "groomed" up there, in my mind with the ATC scenario i feel like if mike sling-shotted those fascist alien bitches back into the tar pit they came from permanently in ds1, jack would NOT have gone through and done all that bullshit. all of the DW'ers wouldve been free from the reign of the ancients so there would be no reason for jack to actively stalk and manipulate mike. maybe he would simply be a photographer for the necronomicon and nothing else if he still happened to have plot armor to travel into the normal world. with the ancients coming back in ds2 i feel like they picked out mikes DW counterpart on purpose to manipulate and train him into being not only a class traitor for other DW'ers, but also turning him into their groveling fetchquest bitch who does anything they say. they also are said to have rewarded him for his treacherous behaviors against his own kind and if thats not manipulative in this scenario then i dont know what is

With all of this out of the way, I feel like in my perfect little sunshine and rainbow unicorn world where no one dies and jack goes out of his way just to chill with mike for some reason, I would want jack and mikes relationship to be similar to whatever the fuck richie and fonzie had going on in happy days which i will attempt to but really cannot properly describe with words. so. heres this i guess first of all. secondly jack would be like this tough cool suave guy that is mikes bff & jack would be like all macho man and try to toughen mike's pansy ass up & theyd both be like haha no homo bro. but then they both go home and touch themselves at night while thinking about the other. until it inevitably culminates in one impulse driven night of ravenous but awkward sex between the two that makes the whole vibe weird from both mikes internalized homophobia and jacks suave laid-back persona being completely shattered. until eventually to break the tension jack says fuck it and starts referring to him as his bf and then it goes from there. also jack since hes a DW'er he'd absolutely would have intensely violent kinks/fetishes/fantasies which he would have to subdue the urges of purely for mike's safety but it would eventually wear down on him keeping that all in so. hmmmm 🤔☕️ incheresting. not too sure how he would go about letting that all out <- im lying im fully full of ideas so full yum

also sorry if some of this doesnt make sense im answering this at 3 am as per usual

[rallazart]

Ah fine I'll post somethin. Experimenting with designs and shit is all I'm doin. Nothin new.

(Not posting the colored in versions yet. These are only concept sketches. Keep that in mind)...

The digital "version" of ^this^ is just some lazy color blocking I did. (Pay no mind to the weird light effects); But it does add a little clarity to the original sketch that might be helpful. Note: the values will change to some degree later.

Full body type idea ^here^. The tail is fan shaped from proper perspective.

The basic blocks of his design include an array of different animal features i.e. plucked feathers and skin, goat horns and eyes, coyote skull and body, and lizard scales. Idk if anyone was curious though;

if anyone asks for more detail in the design inspirations and lore I might share it. I just don't really feel the need to post every part of my process yk (especially if I'm not 100% happy with it)

[lemony-snickers]

i am gonna write the most insane fucking thing, just you wait.

(don’t wait.)

[stellewriites]

part 5 of already spoken for is finished!!! just need to edit and then i’ll be posting next weekend :3