#using too much description

[cozmic-ash]

Gordon/Barney/Alyx is really really funny to me conceptually bc it's like, two hot geniuses in their 20s who look at the 40-something smartass who hangs around and go 'yeah that guy. we both want him carnally'

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Master manipulator vs Master manipulator

 [First] Prev <–-> Next

[uncanny-tranny]

Another bonus to learning a fiber art is being able to speak to others in a Lovecraftian language that nobody else understands...

...and also being able to read things like THIS:

[pingchitters]

ive made an executive decision that chitter posts are called cheets. i dont know if it was the right decision but ive made it.

i wanted to do some silly fan interractions and go SO carried away this is incredibly self indulgent <3

[marlynnofmany]

Here, have an album cover. I know one of the tracks would have to be the space shanty, but what else would they sing about?

[scificrows]

i made a few silly little ART phone backgrounds in the spirit of the inofficial fandom shenanigan renaissance! thank you so much for inspiring me to do this @the-yearning-astronaut!

[b4kuch1n]

siren

[pushing500]

Eugh, it's raining blood. What a disgusting start to the day...

It makes the colony look very eerie. And gross.

Kwahu!! Bringing up something as traumatic as eating without a table is NOT a good way to help people feel better!!

Ibter keeps fainting because she's terrified of mechanoids. We tried to get her to go on a caravan trip to one of our outposts, but she literally couldn't finish forming a caravan before she saw another mechanoid and passed out. We gave up after two attempts and crammed her into a transport pod. Goodbye, Ibter; hopefully, the outpost suits you better than here.

Randy Random has decided that he's going to make the RimWorld game mimic my irl Australian summer experience and send a heatwave to make life difficult for the Jones boys and co.

It's been a consistent 39℃ throughout the night for me lately, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to actually melt any day now...

... Although, I haven't resorted to taking an ice bath yet, so maybe it's not thaaat bad. I'm glad Jut has found his own special way of beating the heat, though. Good for him.

First | Next | Previous

[die-auster]

I'm 4 years late for Squid game, season 1.

I'm mesmerized.

[o-sunny-day]

Something weird I've noticed, and have only been able to put into words now, is how “absent” Caine feels within TADC.

It's not that he actually is absent, or at least not more absent than any other character that isn't Pomni because- we’ve got 7 characters and only 4 episodes, it just feels like we’re missing out on something every time.

Zooble, Kinger, and Gangle are barely in most of the adventures, and yet I feel like saying they’re absent as a whole is inaccurate. We know them, we get their struggles. And with Ragatha and Jax, despite not GETTING them yet, we still get to see a lot of them, just, as they are vs WHO they are.

And with Caine, he is absolutely the same way. We don't get him at ALL, but his presence looms everywhere in every episode. When he's not on screen, the gang is still experiencing an adventure HE made, Pomni is looking at the behind the scenes of the stuff HE makes. Caines face plastered on every swear word, and periodically in stained glass windows and books in his office. His name mentioned whenever things go wrong, BUT WE DON'T KNOW SHIT ABOUT HIM IS THE THING, in every episode however, there's a little MOMENT that Caine fans get to snack on for the months in between episodes.

In episode 1, It's the diner scene, where we get to see where the eccentric ai decides to spend his time. In a natural, fancy, quiet restaurant.

Then in episode 2, we get “who knows what…could happen.”

THEN in episode 3, we get the whole glitching therapy scene.

And lastly in episode 4, I can't exactly tell what would count as THE moment since this one is an outlier with more little moments that pile up in the “wtf is going on” category. The whole “you can shut up now” line, the implying that punishment will be brought up again when Caine says that “motivation” has been what his adventures have been missing, and the unprompted glitching at the very end,

That's where I feel the differences are with him, Ragatha, and Jax. We know them, and we can assume what their issues are, it’s just the how/if they will be solved thats the question. For them, we don't need an episode focused on figuring out what their deal is like we did with Gangle, Zooble, and Kinger. We need an episode to show how all that growing tension is going to explode with them pretending that they don't HAVE issues like those other 3…

And yet with Caine, we DEFINITELY NEED AN EPISODE THAT EXPLAINS WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON- On the surface, Caine is a weirdo, somewhat sadistic, ringmaster that makes little to no sense half the time.

But these little moments reveal someone who has somewhat human attributes in the way he takes breaks, has a troubled past, is very insecure, and in general is falling apart at the seams. Losing his patience, desperate for something to fix the multitude of issues happening in the circus.

Those moments just leave us with more questions than answers. Unlike Ragatha and Jax, that more show us a side of them that they hide.

[age-of-moonknight]

“Reborn,” Moon Knight: Fist of Khonshu (Vol. 2/2024), #2.

Writer: Jed MacKay; Penciler and Inker: Alessandro Cappuccio; Colorist: Rachelle Rosenberg; Letterer: Cory Petit

[thefirstimagifabricator]

fucked around in the Freeform app on my phone

here’s a kdj bc he never leaves my mind

[holopossums]

Breakfast with the Baron

Breakfast is always more enjoyable when you share it with someone. Today you shared one with a certain large, pink sheep man who stole your heart and has the ring to prove it.

Mood music for peak domestic romance

Figured I'd try my hand at writing a Gender Neutral X Reader/self-insert story to accompany the art! (First time ever, ended up being much longer than I thought because of course it is, this is me you're talking about. ~1500 words under the cut.)

WARNING: Story has mild, silly suggestiveness at some points. (It's very PG-13, but just in case loving and goofy descriptions of sheep men's bodies are not your cup of Dad Fuel.)

Enjoy!

Edit: Fic is now up on AO3, you can read it there too!

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Sunlight streamed through the window in your bedroom, its rays falling on your form, and you stirred from your dreamland. Too early. You shifted so that you were facing away from the blinding light. But it was too late, you were doomed to be awake now. Bleary-eyed, you scanned your room and noted that you were alone. Not a large pink sheep man in sight. But the delicious scents coming from beyond the room indicated he was home, and that was enough to make you rise from bed.

After going through your typical morning routine, you found him exactly where you thought he'd be. Baron Draxum considered himself king of the kitchen, both at work and home, and he was wholeheartedly committed to feeding you well. Early on in your relationship with him, you wondered if he was spoiling you with so much home cooking. In time, you understood that it was his way of caring for your well-being—a love language. Now he made roughly half of your meals and you did not complain.

It was the weekend, so Draxum had gone all out even though it was early. Both of your favorite breakfast foods were on the menu. It was no wonder that you cartoonishly floated into the kitchen by following the waft of tasty smells. In addition to the meal, coffee was already brewed. A steaming hot novelty coffee mug that read "DAD FUEL" sat on the counter while Draxum cooked. Judging by the droopy eyes and a croaky, mumbled “good morning” when you entered his domain, you were sure that he would be drinking most of the coffee pot whether or not you had any for yourself.

Before you sat down at the dining table, you peered out one of the nearby windows. It was a gorgeous sunny day in June, just before the sweltering heat hit hard. These cooler summer days were precious, so you had the urge to have breakfast outside in the garden.

While the old Yōkai had finally adjusted to life on the surface, he still wasn't particularly fond of bright sunlight, as he had lived underground for much of his life. You could already hear his complaints about your idea before you even started. Still, you two had been together long enough that you knew how to effectively persuade him.

Draxum was nearly finished cooking everything. He was working the stove and had his back turned. Even from behind, his unkempt appearance was attractive—nest hair stuck out in all directions, his robe rumpled, the way he tiredly hunched over his workspace. He was like this on weekends when he didn’t have to groom himself and rush off to work. While he cleaned up well, his natural state was just as stunning. You gingerly wrapped your arms around his waist from behind, nuzzled his back, and suggested your idea. Your face was buried in his back so you weren’t using puppy eyes, but you sure were using a puppy voice, a wholly unnecessary “pretty please with a cherry on top” kind of beg. His head tilted as he thought it over. A small smile graced his aging face when he looked over his shoulder. He agreed with a nod. Your loving expression worked like a charm.

Minutes later, the sleepy sheep shuffled behind you, breakfast in hand, to a big wooden picnic table that was partly in the shade of nearby trees. Your bountiful feast was spread out, more than enough for two. Books and other entertainment were also brought along, as you planned to camp out there for the rest of the morning.

With an old man grunt, Draxum plopped down in a white chair on the far side of the table, and you sat opposite him in a matching chair. You couldn’t help but smile at the ways he was handsomely growing older. You wanted to lightly tease him about sounding as old as he looks, but you bit your tongue. With his back toward the sun, it illuminated his form and made him look ethereal. Disrupting the tranquility seemed like a crime.

Draxum was one of those people who didn’t care about much of anything too early in the day. He wasn't much of a conversationalist either, at least until the coffee kicked in, so he did not chat with you at first. Seemingly stuck in a lingering daze, he wasn’t even swatting away the gnats circling him, but every so often one of his ears flicked on reflex when one got a little too close. Again, downright adorable, but you bit the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from making any comment that would change his awareness. It was a miracle that the man managed to make breakfast as good as he did considering his state. Maybe he put in more effort to be attentive earlier, and now that you were sitting down he was letting his mind wander.

Not wanting to disturb him, you eagerly dug into your food, trying to keep your sounds of pleasure at a minimum. No words were exchanged, but none were needed. The peaceful sounds of nature accompanied you as birds sang their hearts out, squirrels scurried up and down the trees beside the table, and bugs lazily buzzed above your heads.

Perhaps it was the warm gentle breeze or a subtle movement that did it. However it happened, when you looked up from your plate, something changed about him that your eyes fixated on while you mindlessly chewed. You weren't sure how much time had passed, but you snapped out of it when you finally heard his gentle baritone rumble, still a tad raspy from overnight disuse.

"What are you staring at, love?"

Carnelians glistened with curiosity when his eyes met yours. He sipped on his coffee and did not break eye contact, more alert than before. But the tone of his question was adorably dopey and sincere, so it seemed he was still not as aware of the change as you were.

The sheep was so groggy that he failed to notice that his robe had slipped from his left shoulder, revealing half of his ample, plush chest. A nipple and scars underneath his pecs invitingly poked through. Even though you were well-acquainted with his body, the accidental half-reveal somehow made it sexier. Fortunately, there was a table between you and him. If there wasn’t, you might have been tempted to sidle up to him and bury your face in his cotton candy pillows.

It was difficult to avert your gaze from such a magnificent sight, but thankfully something else caught your eye. The wedding ring on his finger sparkled when it caught a ray of sun. It was a pleasant reminder of the promise he made to you: I am yours and only yours.

Married life with Baron Draxum was interesting, to say the least. Though he was an aggravating man at times—his vices could be counted on more than one hand and his flaws on more than two—his love was strong and steadfast. Underneath all that pride and sass, Draxum was a soft man. He liked to challenge you—your mind, body, and soul—yet never made you feel like you weren’t enough for him. Whether in word or action, in his eyes there was no one on Earth as lovely and unique as you. He had quirky ways of showing it, but he always made it known in one way or another.

Despite this, he more than made up for any of your smaller grievances with endearing moments like these.

You took your time to swallow the food you were eating, set down your fork, and think of what to say. A coy smile inched its way across your face. You leaned back and waved your hand. "Oh, nothing. Keep eating."

The old sheep squinted at you. Whether or not he could sense your playful lie, he was still too out of it to probe further. He simply responded with a soft grunt into his coffee mug, set it down, and dug back into his food.

The cotton candy pillow continued to hang out all breakfast long. Either he did not notice at all, or he did and didn't bother to fix it. If the latter, who knew whether it was out of pure laziness or because he knew giving you an eyeful was a treat. Regardless, you were not eager to point it out and ruin the fun. It was hard to call it a wardrobe malfunction when the warrior's robe seemed to be functioning exactly as the universe intended in that little moment.

A sweet domestic life with Baron Draxum was never bland. Ordinary days and regular routines were marinated with the spice and zest of the love you shared. It was your secret hope that flame would never extinguish.

You had woken from your deep slumber from the night before. At least, you thought you had. But that morning felt so heavenly and blissful that you could never be completely sure it wasn't a dream.

[missionel]

i'm the inspector over the mine

[seventh-district]

Dying Star

In the back of your mind, you recall something you once heard, something about light, and time, and distance. Space. Something about... how you can still see a star that's already burnt out, because its light hasn't reached earth yet. The ghost of a star that's already died. Only still perceptible thanks to time, and distance.

You remember Sam's words, once whispered to you on this very roof.

"Whatever your choice is... I'm not gonna live forever. I made that decision a long time ago."

You think about dead stars.

You think about time.

- - - - - - -

Sam’s words have been weighing heavy on your mind ever since you discussed your shared future and the various forms it could take. You didn’t realize just how heavy they were until it all came spilling out of your tired mind on a late night spent together beneath the stars.

Pairing: Sam x Darlin' / Reader

Word Count: 4,053

Contains: [angst] [a dash of humor] [a hint of chubby!Sam bc i like 'em strong and soft] [crying] [cuddling (dub-con cuddles with Quinn in the past & consensual ones with Sam in the present)] [emotional hurt/comfort] [implied/referenced dub-con sex (nothing graphic) (in the past between Darlin' and Quinn to be specific) (refer to my Ao3 notes for further explanation)] [mentioned Quinn] [not quite Dissociation i guess but Darlin' does zone-out/get lost in thought more than once] [pet names (Darlin' (obvs.) and honey)] [Reader is Darlin'] [Sam wears a cowboy hat bc i said so] [some passive suicidality from Sam if you squint (hell, maybe you don't even have to squint)]

A/Ns: Well, well, well, here I am, the person who said they wouldn't write any Redactedverse fanfic. I recently felt a mighty need to expand upon the blurb I wrote in this post, and I'm braving my fandom anxiety by sharing it here. pls be nice 2 me abt it

Timeline-wise, this fic takes place sometime after the ‘Talking About the Future With Your Vampire Mate’ audio but sometime before their presumed eventual departure from the house that William gave Sam, given that they've already had the 'turning' discussion but are still on the same roof in this fic.

This is a songfic, inspired by and quoting verses from 3 songs. Those being:

‘Dying Star’ by Ashnikko feat. Ethel Cain

‘Fix What You Didn’t Break’ by Nate Smith

‘No Plan’ by Hozier

The roof of Sam’s house is far from a ‘cushy’ place to relax. But as you lie here next to him under the stars, a knowledge settles within you that you wouldn’t trade the rough shingles beneath you for the softest mattress in the world. Not if it meant there’d be anyone other than him lying next to you.

Some people might counter that it’s an easy thing for you to say, given the number of nights you’ve thrown a balled-up shirt onto one end of a worn-out couch and called it a bed. But some people don’t know you as well as they think they do.

You’ve known luxury. Quinn might’ve been just as content taking his fill on a seedy motel bed as he was wrapped in silks at a Hilton, but he knew how to play up the luxe when it served him to do so. And in the early days as he worked to lure you in, it did. Plush sheets and expensive drinks helped to soften the preordained blows and dull the imminent pain that your nights with him held.

Once you’d latched onto the bait though, he let the act drop one piece at a time, like props collapsing on a stage. After all, what was the point in all of those frivolities when you both knew what you really came to him for? It wasn’t to be wined and dined, it wasn’t to be dressed up and shown off, and it wasn’t even to be slowly stripped of it all, laid out across the rolling clouds of a pillowy mattress.

It was to be used. Tranced. Restrained. Bitten. Drank from. Choked. Hit. Edged. Denied. Made to writhe and whine and bleed and plead. Plead for more, for less, for nothing, for anything. Anything to quiet your mind and fill the ever-expanding void inside you where you suspect love was supposed to live.

That’s what you both really wanted.

At least, that’s what you told him you wanted.

That’s what you told yourself.

You only got what you asked for.

To your right, Sam stirs, stretching gently with a yawn. The soft noise he releases as he does so reminds you of where you are, and you trace back through your thoughts to find how you got so lost.

…Right. Luxury.

While your relationship with Quinn certainly changed over time, you never forgot what it felt like in the beginning. 

You remember nights laid next to him, body sore, mind quiet. Quinn’s idea of aftercare was lacking to say the least, but you had nothing better to compare it to at the time, and you’d take what you could get. At least your head felt empty, and the bed was soft. Exhaustion would pull you under soon enough.

The mattress, sheets, and pillows enveloping you were likely worth more than you even made that past month. ...Or several. You found that display of luxury hard to be impressed by though, when it wasn’t the type of comfort you’d been seeking.

As Quinn shifted in his presumed sleep, pulling you in tighter, you didn’t fight it. You found yourself unwilling to fight anything he did, like his mere presence was enough to drain the fight right out of you. You told yourself that you were okay with that. Because you wanted it.

Lying there with your head on his bare chest, you took a deep breath and told yourself that you liked the stench of cheap cologne, poorly masking the cigarettes and alcohol on his breath. You silently told yourself that you liked everything. You liked the pain that he chased with hints of pleasure. You liked the loss of power, the way you couldn’t fight back if you wanted to once he looked you in the eyes. You liked all the things he said, no matter how much the truth might hurt.

He was right, you supposed. Your desires, the things you craved, the depravity that you so enjoyed, wasn’t normal. It was uncommon, unusual, and in the eyes of some, unfathomable. To possess such dark desires, there must be something truly broken inside you.

How lucky you were, to have found someone willing to indulge you. Someone that could give you everything you wanted, and be so kind as to keep it a secret too. He promised that word of the things he did to you, the things you let him do, would never get out. You remember the way he held your hand as he told you, falling for the guise of sincerity in his eyes. You remember his warm smile, and his razor sharp teeth.

You remember seeing that exact same smile on his face through one-way glass as he sat across from Sam and told him everything.

You stood in that room and thought back to those nights of luxury. To the feeling of his nails ghosting over the freshly healed punctures in your neck. To the way he held you against him. You remember laying there, lifeless, feeling like prey playing dead. Afraid to move, afraid to disturb him. But why? He hadn’t threatened you. He never told you that you had to stay. He never said that you couldn’t move, or pull away. So why did you feel that way?

As you stood, helplessly witnessing hours of his slander in that interrogation room, you understood. Your rose-tinted glasses had long since shattered, and you saw that smile for what it was. It was the smile of a man playing a dangerous game, brimming with satisfaction, thinking he’d won.

The radio near you begins to crackle, static obscuring the hosts voice as they announce the upcoming song. Sam doesn’t even open his eyes, just raises a hand and reaches out, blindly adjusting the antenna of the old device.

You’ve teased him for holding onto it for so long, as he is wont to do with damn near all of his possessions. But as you watch him deftly extend and angle the antenna with practiced care, the response he once gave you proves itself true once again.

“I don’t wanna replace it, Darlin’. It’s not broken. It just needs someone who knows how to make it sing again.”

The static clears, and music flows through the radio’s old speakers once more.

You watch Sam return his hand to its prior position beneath his head, acting as a makeshift pillow of his own. The way he’s lying has his hat pushed forward, and it’d be doing a damn good job of shielding his face from the sun if it weren’t somewhere around midnight at the moment. Still, it suits him somehow, despite its lack of any practicality. All he’s missing is a stalk of wheat between his teeth and a tree to lean against and he’d be the spitting image of the cowboy he swears he isn’t.

His other hand rests on the soft curve of his stomach, rising and falling again as he breathes. He’s the image of peace in moments like these, and you’re drawn to it like a moth to flame. Maybe one of these days you’ll find some of your own, but for now you’re more than content to bask in his.

As you admire him, he takes a slow, deep breath and you mirror it on instinct. The grounding practice helps you leave your mind and return to your body, if just for a moment. In doing so, you realize just how tense your ruminations have made you.

You relax your hands, releasing the blanket beneath you from your iron grip. You brush your palms over it, worried that you’ve torn the fabric once you realize that your nails had halfway shifted to claws. You don’t fret much over damage to your own possessions, but this blanket is Sam’s and you’d hate to ruin it. Though, you suppose he doesn’t prize it too much or he wouldn’t have laid it out here across the roof in the first place.

“If I buy somethin’ it’s because I wanna use it. Now quit frettin’ and get over here.” You recall what he told you earlier as he patted the blanket next to him in invitation, and you smile.

Doing a small stretch of your own, you release the tension in your shoulders, turning your attention back to the stars above you. For a while, you let the soft music wash over your tired mind.

“I asked him not to kill me politely. He drained my magic core, bottled up at the source. I washed up on the sea glass shores. I’m nobody's captive.”

In spite of your best efforts to relax, you’re still subconsciously futzing with the loose threads of the old blanket beneath you.

You’re made aware of it when Sam reaches a hand down, gently laying it over yours and effectively stilling your anxious motion.

“Burning like a dying star, invasive weeds rooted in my heart, set in a crooked trajectory. The journey here was hard, I was almost pulled apart. Trying to leave his orbit took what’s left of me.”

You flip your hand over beneath his so you can hold it properly, lacing your fingers together.

For reasons beyond your understanding, emotion tightens your throat, the threat of tears pooling in your eyes.

…You must be more tired than you thought.

As minutes pass and one song fades into another, your gaze dances across the blurry, scattered points of light in the dark sky.

“You were the star in the pitch black, shine the way on the way back. Out of nowhere, answered all my prayers.”

Sam’s always been so much better at identifying stars and finding constellations. But as the music plays, you begin to see one of your own.

“Picked up the towel that I threw in, took in a heart that was ruined. Showed me the past ain’t a tattoo, loved me even when you didn’t have to.”

“Sam.” You squeeze his hand to get his attention.

He squeezes back in acknowledgment. “Hm?”

“I want you to look at something.” You swallow back the emotion that tries to seep into your voice, but it catches his attention all the same.

He leans up and lifts his hat from his head, setting it aside near the radio. He then reaches to turn a dial back, lowering the music’s volume to give you his full attention.

You release his hand, raising yours up as he turns back to face you. You don’t say anything at first, nearly too lost in your own mind to realize you need to actually voice your developing thoughts.

"What—what're you pointin' at Darlin'?"

Your hazy focus is trained on the brightest star visible in your line of sight, arm stretched out to the sky above you. "That really bright one, to the... to the left."

Sam does his best to follow your less-than-specific directions of 'to the left', your pointed finger doing little to help given the difference in perspective. Luckily, after all these years, he knows this stretch of night sky like the back of his hand, so it isn't hard to locate the brightest one. Ghosting his fingers up along your exposed wrist where your sleeve had slipped back, he takes your hand in his again and brings it back down to earth. "Okay, yeah, I see it now. What about it though?"

"That's you." You say, matter-of-factly.

"That's me?" He questions, humor in his tone.

"Mhm." You nod with finality, blinking slow.

Sam considers the odd statement for a moment before gently correcting you. "I'm uh, I'm pretty sure that's Sirius, actually."

You scoff. "I am being serious."

Sam stifles a laugh. "No—no I mean—like... what's another name for it... Oh, it's also called the Dog Star."

"C'mon Sam, at least call it the Wolf Star if you're trying to turn this around on me..."

He shakes his head and readies himself to explain further, but you cut him off before he can start. "But no. No, this isn't about me. That's you."

He decides to play along, finding something endearing in your overtired nonsense. "Okay... then would'ja be so kind as to explain to this confused old man just how, or why that star is me?"

Your frown is audible in your voice as you latch onto the wrong part of his sentence. "You're not old, Sam. ...Do I need to tell Asher to kick the jokes down a notch?"

He smiles at your over-protectivity. "There'll be no need for that, now. Was just a joke, honey, I promise."

You huff, but begrudgingly shift focus back to the prior topic. "It's... I dunno. It's just you, Sam. It's... bright. Light. Something warm, out there in the cold dark. Standing out amongst all the rest. Calling to me, stealing my attention.”

Sam’s brow furrows as you continue to explain, realization setting in that you really are being serious.

“I... I didn't come out here looking for it, but there it is. ...And there you were. In the dark. The only bright thing I'd seen in... fuck, in years. Years of chasing fleeting warmth, tripping over myself in the pitch black, falling into... places and people that I shouldn't have. You were the light in that darkness. Even there, at Wonderworld, surrounded by the ghost of him. Your warmth, your presence, your aura—even with all of your walls up, you outshone it. Your warmth didn't hurt. I didn't have to squint when I looked at you. You weren't the blinding sun. You were the brightest star I'd ever seen. You guided me home."

In the back of your mind, you recall something you once heard, something about light, and time, and distance. Space. Something about... how you can still see a star that's already burnt out, because its light hasn't reached earth yet. The ghost of a star that's already died. Only still perceptible thanks to time, and distance.

You remember Sam's words, once whispered to you on this very roof.

"Whatever your choice is... I'm not gonna live forever. I made that decision a long time ago."

You think about dead stars.

You think about time.

"...-lin'? Darlin'?" Sam's calloused hand squeezes yours tight, his urgent tone pulling you out of your thoughts. "There you are. Think I lost ya' for a minute there... you good?"

You look up at Sam, concern creasing his features, faint shadows cast across his face from the light of the dying stars above him.

You reach out, pulling him down into you. He falters for a moment at the sudden proximity, but quickly embraces you in turn. Burying your face into his collar, Sam's concern grows when he feels it saturate with tears. A human might struggle to hear your words, muffled against the thick flannel, but his hearing catches them just fine.

"Don't burn out too quickly. Please. I still need you here. I don't—I don't wanna be left in the dark again. Please, please Sam. Don't leave me here. I'm not selfish enough to ask you for forever, but please. Not yet. Not yet. Not yet."

The words feel like a weight being lifted from your shoulders, but with it comes a flood of emotion they’d been holding back. You cry harder into him, and as much as it pains Sam to witness, he lets you feel it, for as long as you need.

Your fear of losing him manifests itself physically, nails curling and sharpening again. When he feels them prick his skin through the fabric of his shirt, he calls your name but doesn’t pull away. Instead, he leans further down into you, letting his weight ground you. “Darlin’, I am right here. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

As you eventually cry yourself out, enough wherewithal returns to you to realize that you should probably release the poor man from your grasp, and the awkward position you pulled him into. When he pulls away enough to see your face, you notice a string of snot running from your nose to his shirt collar. Quickly batting it away out of embarrassment, you cringe, voice thick as you apologize. “Eugh, gross. Uh… sorry. About that.”

He shakes his head, laughing good-naturedly as you wipe at your nose with your jacket sleeve. “It’s completely fine, honey. After all, I’ve been covered in plenty of your, uh… various fluids before. When you come from my line of work, this is child’s play.”

He leans to his right, reaching back and pulling—of all things—a handkerchief from his jeans’ left back pocket. You laugh at his words, and at the sight, but with how congested you are it turns into more of a hacking cough than anything. Accepting his offering, you blow your nose into the black patterned fabric.

As soon as you can speak somewhat clearly, you can’t stop the teasing remark that slips out of you, gesturing with the wad of fabric in your hand. “You know, you really aren’t beating the cowboy allegations with stuff like this.”

He rolls his eyes but his soft smile remains. “It’s a practical thing to have on me, ‘allegations’ be damned.”

You shake your head with a smile of your own, but don’t disagree. As you’re visibly unsure what to do with the dirtied fabric, he takes it from you, setting it aside. “I’ll toss it in the wash when we go back inside. Along with my shirt, and…” He eyes you for a moment. “…that jacket of yours too, given how long you’ve probably been wearin’ it.”

Normally you’d argue that it hasn’t been that long, but come to think of it, you actually can’t recall when you last washed the thing.

Reaching up and rubbing your temples, you already regret your crying fit as a headache begins to set in. “Fuck, Sam... I’m sorry for… whatever that just was. I don’t know what came over me.”

His expression falls into something serious again. “You never need to apologize for feeling. And it certainly seems like… you needed to feel that.”

You nod quietly, but don’t elaborate, prompting him to question you gently. “Darlin’. What was that about? The—the askin’ me not to leave. Are you… afraid that I’m gonna leave you?”

You close your eyes, weighing out your response. “…Not in the sense that you’ll break up with me or something, no.”

His gaze narrows and his head tilts as he rolls your answer over in his mind. “If it ain’t that, then—” He remembers how you mentioned ‘forever’ and cuts himself off as the puzzle pieces start coming together. “Oh. …Oh, Darlin’, no.”

You open your eyes to watch as he shifts from leaning next to you, moving to sit up beside you. “Is this about what I told you, when we sat up here and had our uh… turning discussion?”

You hate to admit it, but you nod in confirmation. “…It’s your choice, Sam, and I never want to take that away from you. I shouldn’t have said what I just did, I—I don’t want to make you feel guilty, or like you have to stick around for my sake. But I’d be lying to you if I said it hasn’t been playing on my mind. The thought of you… leaving. Like that.”

He reaches up, running a hand through his hair. “I… think I maybe should’ve been a bit more clear, when I said that. Because I wasn’t talking about any time soon. I didn’t want to give you the false impression that I plan on sticking around for centuries, but… I also wasn’t trying to imply that I’ve got plans to do it next week either.”

You bolt upright, voice cracking. “Next week?! I sure as shit hope not!” You grab your head, pain flaring and suddenly dizzy from the quick shift in position.

He places a hand on your shoulder to steady you. “I’m not, honey, I’m not. Did you catch the rest of my sentence? I’ve got no plans to leave this world any time soon. I promise.”

You groan, head pounding. “I heard you, I did, I just—fuck, I don’t even wanna think about you leaving so soon. Here I am, stressing, thinking I’ve only got—I don’t know—some odd years left with you, and…” You sigh, trailing off.

Sam stays quiet for a minute, letting the crickets sing.

Eventually, he interrupts their chorus. “…Can I get closer to you?”

You nod. “…Please.”

He closes the gap between you, carefully wrapping a strong arm around your curled shoulders. “You’ve got way more than a couple years. I promise you that.” Your tension begins to ease a bit as he clarifies. “You… you’ve helped me find a life that I actually feel like livin’ again, for the first time in a long time. And I want to experience it with you for as long as I can.”

“…Really?” Your voice sounds so small, so unsure, so… unlike you when you question him that he wants to kick himself in his own ass for the role he unintentionally played in making you feel this way.

“Yes. Really. I mean—” His voice takes on an edge of humor. “If you decide to set your sights on the year 3,000…” He shakes his head. “I don’t know about that. But as far as the 21st century is concerned? …I think I’d like to see it through. For as long as you’re there to see it with me.”

His words cause fresh tears to well up in your eyes, and you sniff in an attempt to hold them back. The sound catches his attention, and he leans forward, thumbing across your warm cheek. “…I’m makin’ you cry again…”

You shake your head, clearing your throat. “No—No, it’s okay. It’s good. They’re… they’re good. It’s… relief.”

He breathes out a relieved sigh of his own. “Yeah?”

You nod, leaning into him. “Yeah.”

As you rest against each other, breathing in the cool night air, you nudge him with your shoulder. “Can we… lay back? For a bit?”

He squeezes your arm in gentle confirmation. “Of course.”

He twists and reaches back to straighten the wrinkled blanket beneath you, before laying out across it himself. The radio crackles as he turns the volume back up a bit. Watching him with tired eyes, you smile at the sight of him patting his chest in habitual invitation.

“Sit in and watch the sunlight fade. Honey, enjoy, it’s gettin’ late. There’s no plan. There’s no hand on the reign. As Mack explained, there will be darkness again.”

Curling up against his side and laying your head on his chest, you release a heavy sigh when his hand comes up to rest on your shoulder. As his fingers press rhythmically into the tense muscle beneath them, you breathe in his scent. Black coffee and wildflower honey… he smells like home.

“Your secret is safe with me, and if secrets were like seeds, when I’m lyin’ under marble, marvel at flowers you’ll have made.”

You reach your hand out across his broad chest, slipping beneath his open flannel and sliding down to rest on his waist. He sighs, relaxing further beneath your touch.

“My heart is thrilled by the still of your hand. That’s how I know now that you understand.”

Yeah, you’ll take this over ‘luxury’ any damn day.

“There’s no plan. There’s no race to be run.”

Laying there with him, listening to the low hum of the radio, the moment grows so comfortable that you almost hesitate to break it.

“The harder the pain, honey, the sweeter the song.”

“…Sam?” You whisper into the night.

His hand sweeps across your back before returning to your shoulder. “I’m here, Darlin’.”

“There’s no plan. There’s no kingdom to come.”

You smile. “I… I’d like to be there, to be here, to see it through with you, too.”

It takes him a moment to recall exactly what you’re referring to, but when it hits him he hums a low understanding tone, clearly pleased. “Then let’s see where it takes us, yeah?”

“But I’ll be your man if you got love to get done.”

He presses a soft kiss to your temple. “We’ve got plenty a’ time.”

A/N: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed. You can find my extensive notes and commentary on this fic right here on Ao3. My Sam & Darlin' Playlist My Sam Playlist My Darlin' Playlist My Sam & Darlin' Moodboard My Sam Moodboard My Darlin' Moodboard Header Image Credit: Gage Smith on Unsplash

[ruvviks]

– Observation.

Characters >> Caleb Richter (oc) Total >> 792 words Warnings >> Body horror Context >> Excerpt of a chapter of The Alpha Protocol, an original story that takes place in my original universe known as the Fractured Anthology! CALAMITY’s Team Alpha is deployed in special facility Harbinger in Loveless, Montana, after a few Subjects have breached containment in the lower levels. In this excerpt, team leader Caleb Richter is on the premises to assess the situation

‘Over this way, sir.’

Caleb followed Nelly out of the main hallway through a heavy biometrically locked sliding door to an old maintenance elevator, bringing them one floor below ground to the observation deck of Harbinger. The facility’s hallways were flooded with personnel, with the lower levels now out of commission; though only a handful of agents actually acknowledged Caleb’s presence with a firm nod or a quickly lowered head.

‘We managed to recapture one after the second breach,’ Nelly said, tapping in a four digit code of which Caleb only caught the last two numbers, allowing them access to observation room B6. ‘Johannes, he’s called. Don’t think you’ll like him much– quite the interesting fellow.’

‘What makes you say that?’ Caleb asked, giving a quick nod in the direction of the two agents stationed at the security desk, his eyes slowly trailing the room to the interior of the holding cell– and his heart immediately nearly ripped a hole in his chest when he noticed the speculum only inches away from the glass he himself was stood right in front of.

‘Think of your blood pressure, Richter,’ Christian casually remarked in his earpiece.

‘Jesus– I see.’

Caleb exhaled sharply, straightening his shoulders as he quickly regained his balance from stepping backwards a little too fast. ‘That’s ugly. Good grief.’

‘Don’t be mean.’ Nelly gestured for the two agents keeping watch to leave the room, leaving only the two of them behind, and she watched Caleb nervously glance back at the holding cell. ‘Don’t worry, sir– it’s a mirror on the other end. He likes looking at himself.’

Caleb could not really see why.

He hesitantly stepped a little closer, eyes rapidly scanning the speculum from head to toe. He’d heard of them, of course, but had never seen one in the flesh before– a humanoid, standing about as tall as himself, ridden of any sort of body hair and seemingly devoid of any genitals too, with elongated limbs that on any human would be severely broken but on this creature seemed to simply just be bent that way.

It was far from textureless, though, its skin almost akin to jute that had been cut open and torn apart by a serrated knife. Caleb could easily count seven, eight, nine large slits running vertically up the speculum’s skeletal body, the openings just about wide enough to show an unnervingly deep darkness inside.

Parts of its skin appeared horribly twisted around itself, wrinkled up into an almost maelstrom-esque design– puncture wounds, he’d assume, though with CALAMITY’s safety precautions he wouldn’t entirely know how the Subject could have injured itself so badly and with how settled and aged into the speculum’s body they seemed to be, it was unlikely to have happened in any of the recent breaches either.

It stood so still. Caleb had to get up close to notice it was breathing– bony shoulders rising and falling just enough to know he was looking at something real, and not simply a projection or cardboard cut-out of the thing. It was uncomfortable, uncanny to a degree, and he knew that no matter how many times he’d come face to face with Subjects he was never going to get used to it.

And really, as unnerving as the body of the creature looked, nothing about it came even close to the horrifying appearance of its face.

Longer than a human’s head, almost tilted inward towards the neck and lacking a proper chin; its mouth was sunken into where the jaw was supposed to be, a thin and narrow strip curling just above the first crease of its neck with the corners reaching nearly all the way up to the ears. Both the ears as well as the nose were nothing more than holes, smoothing out the surface as if the speculum’s head was caving in, actively curling in on itself.

The only part that stuck out was whatever the bulge on its forehead was supposed to be– its texture more like that of a rotten, moldy fruit, thin veins crawling over the protruding egg-shaped sore as if they were the only thing holding it in place. It was sagging; any further and it would start drooping over the speculum’s face.

Caleb’s gaze finished on Johannes’ eyes; two milky, cloudy white near-perfectly round irisless orbs bulging out of flattened sockets, with beady little black pupils right in their centers. An almost comical finish to the grotesque display; a Subject known for its mimicry of humans attempting so very hard to present as one, eyes akin to what Caleb could only classify as big, overly realistic googly eyes.

But as comical as it sounded in theory, it did not remotely bring a smile to his face.