#He really looked at this trash raccoon garbage man and thought 'i would'
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#Stolitz#helluva boss#Stolas#blitzø#Blitz#Blitzo#He really looked at this trash raccoon garbage man and thought 'i would'#Video#Cartoons#Mine
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SBI Fic Recs
You'll be Okay Kiddo by StayGoldFics
Gen/Ongoing/43k - Hurt/Comfort, Selectively Mute Technoblade and Wilbur, On the run, Homeless Technoblade, Wilbur and Tommy
Summary: After Running away two years ago from yet another crappy home Wilbur, Techno and Tommy find themselves on the streets with no where to go. But hey, at least they have each other.
^ Phil finds a bunch of mute, on-the-run-from-the-foster-system-AND-the-police children in his shed and decides to adopt them. Wilbur, Techno and Tommy trust exactly none of it but Phil keeps proving himself. Basically Phil accepting and being unconditionally loving to three boys who have known nothing but pain for a long time. I love Phil's character in this. He never demands answers from any of them, just offers them a home unconditionally, even with the threat of police. And the boys want nothing more than to accept his kindness and safety but they're just too scared to do so.
One Man's Trash by SilverWing15
T/Ongoing/14k - Superheroes AU, SBI as Villains (they are soft for Tommy though), Hurt/Comfort, Homeless Tommy
Summary:
The kid is glaring down at him and eating a partially moldy apple like he’s daring Wilbur to come fight him for it.
“What the fuck?” Wilbur says.
The kid takes a huge chunk out of the apple and definitely doesn't chew it enough before he swallows.
“You got a fucking problem, asshole?”
“I mean...kind of?” Wilbur says.
“There’s a child eating literal garbage in front of me so I feel like that’s a bit concerning.”
“Shouldn’t you be robbing a bank or getting your ass kicked by superheroes?”
“Shouldn’t you be in school?”
The kid snarls wordlessly and chucks an empty carton from some chinese place at him.
“Fuck off man. Forget this dump.”
“What, you know a better one to eat from?”
“I know one that doesn’t have a fucking weirdo supervillain in it!”
The kid slams the lid of the dumpster down.
Rude.
^My current obsession. Focuses on the relationship between Tommy and Wilbur and it's written extremely well. Wilbur is a supervillain who stumbles upon a homeless Tommy and decides to take him in as much as he can. Tommy has extreme trust issues but he's also starved for both touch and affection. Similarly to You'll Be Okay Kiddo, this one has so much yearning. Tommy wants nothing more than to reach out for the warmth Wilbur is offering, but he has been burned too many times. Wilbur wants nothing more than to bundle Tommy up in fluffy blankets, but he knows that one wrong move will send Tommy running (updates daily).
Guitar Strings and Keyrings are What it Takes to Build a Home by Anonymous
Gen/Completed/63k - Adoption AU, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with Happy Ending
Summary: Techno was adopted by Phil when he was 12 years old. He'd been enjoying his morning before Phil came to him asking if he would mind them taking in another kid. Against his better judgement, Techno agrees and ends up with two new foster brothers who he was determined to not get attached to, no matter what.
^Tommy is due to be fostered by Phil and his adopted son Techno, but he refuses to leave the orphanage without his brother Wilbur. Phil decides to take them both. Tommy and Wilbur are terrified, Techno is insecure, they work it out. Love the relationship progression and how the building trust between Techno and the others is written.
Responsible Forever by SilverWing15
Gen/Completed/17k - semi-adoption, Raccoon Innit, Hurt/Comfort, Feral Child TommyInnit
Summary:
“You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed.”
“So,” Techoblade says, slow and deliberate, his face shows clearly just how unbelievable he finds all of this, “you saw a boy last night, in the middle of the night, living with raccoons and eating our garbage?”
��I know how insane it sounds,” Phil says, “but I know what I saw. We need to help him, who knows how long he’s been out here?”
“Okay,” Wilbur interrupts, “let’s say that raccoon-boy is real. What is it you want us to do? We can’t go searching the woods for specific bunch of raccoons, I don’t know if you’ve noticed Phil but there are a lot of them out there.”
“Going out and hunting him isn’t going to get us anywhere,” Techno says, “we have to let the raccoon-boy come to us. He’s already come once, you know how tenacious raccoons are. If they came to the garbage pit once, they’ll come again. We just have to set a trap.”
“Those raccoons aren’t gonna know what fucking hit them,” Wilbur mutters.
^ Beautifully written fic about Phil and co trying to resocialise a quite literal feral raccoon child. Tommy is scared but painfully slowly learns to trust his new family. The way Tommy is so painfully hesitant but still yearns for the idea of family is both heartbreaking and incredible to read.
I'd forgotten people are kind by BialyLis
Gen/Ongoing/95k - Adoption AU, Foster Care, Hurt/Comfort, Past Child Abuse
Summary:
"Wilbur did not look like a "difficult" child. Honestly, he looked like a child struggling to reach his next birthday on his own. In an oversized, faded sweater, with bruises on his forearms, and a still unhealed, split lip, he definitely didn't resemble the little terrorist Phil had carefully guarded all sharp objects from. More like a victim of a natural disaster. As if he had spent hours on the roof escaping a flood, only to be carried away by a tornado. But burying the knives was still a good idea. The kid seemed to trip over while making a sandwich."
^ Phil struggling through the uneasy process of becoming a dad to Wilbur and Techno, who have both been hurt too much for them to trust easily. Still updating
hey, hi, hello by ph1sh
T/Ongoing/13k - High School/College, Teacher Phil Watson, Students Wilbur, Techno and Tommy, Family Dynamic
Summary:
Phil knows he isn't the first teacher to have hopes of changing kids' lives for the better, and he won't be the last. But Oakwood High seems to want to crush those hopes. He's a first year teacher still working on his college degree, he doesn't know how he planned on helping three students when he can barely help himself. or It's Phil's first year teaching and he gets stuck with detention duty. It just so happens that Tommy, Wilbur, and Techno can't stay out of detention.
^ Phil helping the "problem" children that lesser people have already gave up on. I love the way Phil (and the reader) slowly uncovers the backstory of Wilbur, Techno and Tommy. Still ongoing but a lovely read so far.
Change fate by being aggressively kind - or any other fic by sircantus
T/Ongoing/78k - AU - Magic, Phil Being the Best Dad Ever - The Fic, Protective Phil
Summary:
“You do understand that you’re caring for the thing meant to bring destruction and chaos to our world, right?” The woman asks, Phil looking behind him fondly as Techno grabs at the ends of his wings. “He’s just a child.” Phil answers distractedly, humming as his wings get gently yanked at. “He’s the first of three to destroy life as we know it! Shouldn’t we, well, get rid of him?!” “Oh, no.” Phil raises his eyes with a sharp glare. “Believe me, I have my own way of preventing the apocalypse.” Or, Techno, Wilbur, and Tommy are basically chaotic forces of nature, destined from birth to end the world and bring destruction. Most who hear of the tale of them are trying their best to track them down, and to end the monsters while they’re still young, still just children. Phil has a different plan. (In which Phil raises the minecraft equivalents of the anti-christ with love and support, so much so to the point where the world ending is really just a funny thought, and Phil has three kids who casually have powers that are bit more extreme than anything else in the world)
I think this one speaks for itself. Sircantus is always top notch. If you haven't read this one yet, do it.
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Boneless Wings
{AO3 version}
So, blah blah blah, it’s their standard-issue disaster: pack of dumbass witches (always with the dumbass witches. Where do they find the time for this shit? Somebody get these women signed up for a Peloton subscription or a macramé class or a vibrator of the month club, seriously, whatever it takes—), ancient curse, Castiel being the actual angel of stepping in it, nobody cares.
The point is, two hundred and forty-one hours of binge-worthy drama later, Dean and Cas are living in a semi-detached just a short thirty-minute commute to somewhere equally lame, Castiel has two literal-ass wings, and yes, Susan, they kiss now.
The neighbors are weirdly cool with it.
For those of you perving along at home, Dean could absolutely provide a list of the hundred or so ways that having a boyfriend* with giant fucking actual wings is super hot and/or awesome.
This is not that list.
(*you can just shut right the fuck up , Sam, because it’s either this or Dean will start saying lover. And nobody needs that. Nobody wants that.)
1. Bird mites. Holy shit.
2. Sharing a bathroom. The shower curtain rod, and consequently the security deposit, are early casualties. The medicine cabinet follows swiftly behind. Shower hijinks are not even an option.
3. Dean comes home one day from a gig and there is a giant plastic green turtle in the backyard. A closer inspection reveals that the turtle is actually a mule for about half a truck bed of industrial dust ‘n grit. It is, in fact, a kiddie sandbox. Dean points out that they do not, in fact, have a small child (FINGERS CROSSED), so...?
Cas then earnestly shows him an entire playlist of exotic birdy dust bath videos on Youtube.
Dean then earnestly shows him the garden hose.
4. The down just gets, like...everywhere. EVERYWHERE. How many times have Sam and Dean practically sold their kidneys for a single angel feather for some dumb spell to solve some pointless Occult McProblem? And now Dean is picking them out of his damn teeth every morning. (No, gross, not because of... Jesus, no, that is not a thing.)
On the upside of this one, Dean finally has an excuse to buy a Dyson, which he’s secretly always thought looked awesome. It is.
5. When Dean is scraping out the umpteenth canister of fluff he jokingly suggests they use some of it to supplement the tragically flaccid down comforter currently shaming their bed, and Castiel pitches an existential fucking sulk. Dean wants to experience happiness again, so he does not point out that it get ass-bitingly cold here this time of year, and decent bedding is not exactly inexpensive, and the Dyson kind of maxed them out on household purchases.
But whatever.
6. Castiel is indulging in what Dean thinks of as a sky pout when he flies right into a head-on with li’l Timmy NextDoor’s new Christmas surveillance drone. It dings the shit out of one of Cas’s left primary feathers (the scientific term is “those big motherfuckers”), which apparently hurts like a bitch. Cas is grounded for a few weeks after that and is cutely pathetic about it and at first Dean is absolutely down to kiss it better. By the end, Dean is almost ready to strangle Cas with his own necktie, but he has learned a lot of surprisingly interesting stuff about ancient Mesopotamia, like that it was super horny.
7. After the snow melts, Dean starts finding shit on the front step with the morning paper. It’s not even a good newspaper; Cas signed them up for the local fish-wrapper (or maybe it was Sam, before he fled for the hills— he occasionally breaks out in a “support local journalism” rash). The crossword puzzle is insulting, but the paper does at least syndicate Carolyn Hax, whom Dean secretly suspects of being an absolute wildcat in the sack, so he grudgingly expends the calories to bring it in every morning.
Anyway, at first the stuff he discovers crapping up the welcome mat is just shiny bits of trash — couple granola wrappers, some MGD pull-tabs, a few field-stripped twisty-ties. Probably just windblown, and he tosses it in the garbage can.
Then a couple weeks in, things start getting...grisly? It escalates real slowly, from a variety platter of mouse bits to squirrel à la power line and then half of a dry-aged raccoon and an opossum that has recently graduated from playing dead to professional dead-being. The neighborhood crows obviously love that their front step is now a roadkill café; Dean has to bat increasing numbers of them away with the kitchen broom in order to relocate their horrible snack to the edge of the nearest storm drain.
Then one morning there are like twenty crows and they’re in just the cutest little football huddle-up around what turns out to be a human fucking finger with a retro-fun mood ring still on the knuckle (it’s feeling: Sad) and Dean fully loses his shit.
Cas hears him freaking out and comes whomping out of the garage ready to, whatever, flap somebody to death maybe, but as soon as he establishes that Dean doesn’t need anything more than a fresh pair of boxers, he de-poofs a bit and assesses the whole human finger/crows situation in his usual infuriatingly unrushed way. The crows had mostly bounced up to the cable line over the house, safely out of brooming range, but one by one they start to drop down and hippity-hop back towards the world’s tiniest crime scene.
If Dean were five percent less freaked he’d be tempted to go inside and find out how much of a dent he can make in a six-pack before Castiel finally dings and spits out his results, but he isn’t, so he just stands there in silence clutching the broom like it’s a shotgun.
Eventually Cas says “hm,” and then he looks at the crows and makes some noises that sound like a spoon caught in a garbage disposal, and the crows make some scrawps and chuks back, and then one of them delicately noodges the tip of dead finger with its beak and then hippity hops back a foot or two, bows, and then they all fly away over the shitty little beige duplex across the street like they’re running ten minutes late to an important bird appointment.
Castiel stands up (Dean reflexively backs up into the doorway, as this involves Cas bomfing out his wings a bit for ballast and Dean has caught a blow to the nuts on more than one occasion), dusts off his goddamn slacks, pulls a plastic evidence baggie out of thin goddamn air or maybe his socks, and casually bags the finger like they’re doing a standard FBI wheeze. “So what,” Dean says, as Cas diligently zips the baggie, “the fuck?”
“Oh,” Cas says, blinking in surprise that Dean is still there and interested, “they think I’m their god.”
Dean kind of stares back at him, the six feet of dude and like sixteen feet of bird, and thinks sure, okay, but his face must still be stuck on “Tippi Hedren attic scene” because Cas puts a reassuring hand on Dean’s shoulder and adds “Don’t worry. I’ve told them I don’t require further offerings, and I reassured them that you’re my consort and were simply jealous of other potential mates.”
It takes Dean two weeks to come up with a response to that, but by then it’s become evident that no bird is ever going to shit on the Impala again, so he decides to just chalk it up in the win column and move on.
You know. The family business.
8. No matter how tightly he folds them, Cas can’t fit his wings through the definitely-not-up-to-code doorway of the wood-paneled family rec room in the basement, so Dean claims it as his man cave and dubs it the “No Fly Zone.”
Castiel doesn’t find this funny, but Dean really only uses it to fold laundry.
9. Transpo is an obvious issue. Cas can almost stuff himself into the Impala if he sort of reverse-cowgirls the back seat, but then the wingtips smoosh up against the windshield and Dean’s visibility is approximately zip. And, sure, Cas could fly himself anywhere they really needed to go, he’s basically a Chevy Of The Air, but sometimes it’s raining, and the seraph Castiel — Shield of God, Heavenly Soldier of the Lord, multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent, will smell like a wet fucking chicken for days afterward. Febreze does not help.
Dean spends a few nauseating weeks contemplating the purchase of — and here he learns that the human gag reflex can be conditioned, but never truly eradicated — a convertible. Once Cas brings up the possibility of a minivan or perhaps a station wagon (he’s taken to studying family motor vehicles with all the intensity of a birder with a life list) and Dean makes him sleep on the couch.
Dean gets his own living room rotation after he shows Cas a Craigslist posting for a very reasonably priced horse trailer. Castiel points out that it’s used and Dean notes that neither of them is exactly mint in original packaging either. Castiel points out that he’s not a horse, and after a few necessary but admittedly unoriginal jokes, Dean pulls up a website with an exhaustive photographic tutorial on how to convert a horse trailer “for the safe and sanitary transport of ostriches, emus, and/or cassowaries.” Cas points out that he’s not an ostrich, emu, and/or cassowary, and Dean counters that he clearly isn’t, because an emu would probably show a little more gratitude, and that’s how Dean learns that the couch has a broken spring under the left cushion. The transpo issue remains unresolved.
10. Dean keeps a pair of shop-grade safety goggles by his side of the bed. It’s not the sexiest look, but it turns out feathers are stabby as hell when encountered at a particular angle. Cas can do the healy thing, of course, but they learn the hard way that cornea perforation is not really a mood enhancer. On the bright side, Castiel accidentally corrects Dean’s incipient presbyopia, which means Dean doesn’t have to hold the newspaper at arm’s length anymore when he’s idly speculating what Carolyn Hax looks like below the neck. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.
11. You’d think that, when you’re coming down from a time-limited but incurable curse that makes you feel like every cell of your body has its own cute little individual headcold — because you missed a hex bag due to the fact that you were preparing your legal response to Sam turning up to the hunt wearing a goddamn hair scrunchy, as if he were fresh off the set of a very special episode of Clarissa Explains It All — anyway, you’d think that being wrapped in the warm embrace of an angel’s wings would be nice.
But you would be wrong, because apparently your boyfriend has been out communing with the bees again, and those feathers pick up ragweed pollen like it’s their goddamn job, and guess what else angels can’t cure? Dean will take Motherfucking Seasonal Allergies for 600, Alex.
12a. One of the neighbors has that homesteading hippie brain disease that drives an otherwise normal-seeming person to brew their own beer and raise a bunch of chickens despite living within five hundred yards of a fully functioning Hy-Vee. There’s a week where one of the wee little velociraptors seems to be processing some kind of trauma because it starts yelling at dawn and keeps going until well past the hour that swearing is allowed on network TV.
When Dean finally hammers on the front door the next afternoon the neighbor apologizes with some extremely nasty home-brew (HIPPIES) and some absolutely devastating weed (HIPPIES!) and explains that “Ginger is going through a rough molt” and then he kind of nods his head towards Dean’s side of the fence where Cas is futzing around in the squash plants and stage whispers (this is a direct quote) “You know how they get.”
Dean is about to rip the dude a new one for comparing his immortal space-kaiju lover to a fucking Australorp yard pullet when Castiel pops his head up over the white pickets and breezily contributes “Bad molt, yes, those are terrible, Dean can tell you all about how insufferable I am those weeks,” and sometimes Dean just doesn’t know why he even tries.
12b. The less said about angel molt, the better.
Seriously, the freakin’ eyes-on-his-hands naked mole rat dude from, whatsit, Pan’s Labyrinth of Subtitles, would run screaming from this shit.
13. There’s a 4th of July BBQ Potluck Block Party and Dean’s inability to stand idly by while good meat is abused ( shut up Sam ) means he winds up manning the grill and dismissing the pretenders to set some strictly inedible things on fire. Cas hangs out next to him and uses his flappers to kinda whupf the smoke away from Dean’s eyes now and then, which rules. It’s actually a pretty chill event until Sharon and Don From Number 4267, The Green House With The White Trim, turn up with a giant Pyrex full of naked, still-marinating teriyaki wings.
Sharon And Don look down at their wings and then up at Castiel and then down at the wings and then up at Castiel and they are clearly teetering on the edge of a Midwestern politeness failure-based nervous breakdown. But then Cas, smooth as a margarine commercial, gently takes the dish from Sharon’s frozen hands, examines the contents for a silent moment, and says “it’s alright. They weren’t personal friends.”
He gets an extra burger for that one.
14. Cas keeps absent-mindedly trying to groom Dean — who, in case it still needs to be said at this point, possesses zero-point-zero feathers of his own — so he goes after Dean’s hair, instead. Dean has to stop him after his second hour of trying to straighten out a cowlick. “I don’t understand how you can steer properly with this deformity,” Cas says, as if it’s a genuine miracle that Dean isn’t constantly careening over ottomans like Dick Van Dyke. He’s even more horrified by Dean’s (frankly minimal) use of hair gel. “Jesus, Cas, it’s not like I’m drinking it,” he says, but then one time they have an epic make-out session shortly after Dean performs his masculine beauty rituals and there’s some smearage of various types of Product (tm) on the flappy areas.
And, sonuvabitch, for the next six hours Cas is spirographing around the house like he has a heavenly inner ear infection, and he only stops veering into the doorframes after Dean wipes down every. Single. Feather. With mineral oil and about eighteen clean shop cloths. Dean switches to something called hair wax, which costs thirty zillion times more per ounce and makes him smell vaguely like church, but is a lot less gloppy. The things we do for love.
15. Seating inside the house is a bit of a conundrum, too. Cas can kind of flop his wings out to the sides if he sits in the middle of the couch, but then Dean’s stuck on the recliner, which is basically in the next county. Bar stools are disastrously tippy, Dean’s lower back and hips have not endured mumble-mumble years of hunting just to be subjected to a damn beanbag chair, and, after a brief flurry of optimistic excitement, Dean determines that they’d have to take the front door off to get a massage chair in. He finds a swing online that if, he can get the hardware properly installed in the crossbeam, is rated for up to 500 pounds, so he texts Cas the URL so he can check out the specs. After half an hour he writes back —
CASTIEL: Dean
CASTIEL: I believe this swing is intended for sexual congress.
DEAN: ...
CASTIEL: I can infer from the ellipsis that you have spent several minutes attempting to draft a response.
DEAN: ...
CASTIEL: Dean
DEAN: it’s multipurpose
16 . On the plus side, though, big-ass wings make for a pretty good drying rack. He can get every sock in the house laid out on those suckers in a single round and, one episode of Dr. Sexy later, they’re perfectly dry and toasty warm, without any of the pair-busting casualties Dean has learned to expect from the apparently socknivorous dryer in the basement.
Dean assumes it’s just the product of good air circulation and body heat until he realizes that he hasn’t had to toss a pair for being too worn out in...maybe six months? So he asks Cas “Are your wings... healing the socks” and after an entire Abbott and Costello routine centering around heal versus heel, Dean determines that the answer is: yes, his boyfriend’s wings are channeling the almighty power of Heaven to magically repair the socks Dean buys at Target in twelve-pack bags. On sale.
This is actually kind of sexy, if Dean is being perfectly honest, so, you know what? It doesn’t belong on this list.
16. So nobody really freaks out or bursts into tears or calls the news or the FBI or anything when Cas goes out in public with him, which Dean is secretly a little disappointed about, because come on. (Maybe giant wings just reads as a gay thing? Was there an episode of Will and Grace about this that Dean missed back when he was ass deep in wendigos or something?)
But no. Dudes tend to just glance at them across the Home Depot parking lot, throw them the Mutual Dude Acknowledgement Nod, and say some shit like “Comic-con,” or “nice anime” in a knowing tone. Then they go back to rolling their carts full of gaskets or hammers or whatever back to their mom’s station wagon.
Little girls tend to go googly-eyed — Castiel seems to fall into the same category as a Disney princess, despite the stubble and the drabcore wardrobe, and Dean can’t count the number of times some mom has approached Dean at the grocery store (like he’s Castiel’s manager?? Which, okay...yeah, actually) and asked if they do birthday parties. The money would actually be pretty tempting if Dean weren’t five thousand percent sure that Cas would get them both arrested by launching into an anatomy lesson about duck sex or how God is a loser who favors relaxed fit jeans and Wild Turkey.
The worst is white ladies of a Certain Age, and it always seems to happen in the pudding aisle, for some reason. They either go cross-eyed with horniness and become indiscriminately handsy (Dean can’t blame them for the impulse, but also back off, Karen), or ask Cas for prayers for their cat’s chronic asshole problems (which Castiel WILL take seriously).
Worst of all is when some hippie spinster clocks them. This woman inevitably reaches right for the feathers and asks in a willowy voice if they’d ever consider turning some of them into dreamcatchers to sell at her studio, which is literally always named The Faerie’s Glen. Then Cas gets confused about why, exactly, a sixty year-old WASP in a peasant skirt would need to call on the infant-protection powers of an Ojibwe spider goddess, while Dean just wants to bite the lady’s fingers off.
Either way, it’s always a bad scene, and many fully loaded grocery carts have been lost to the fallout.
17. For some metaphysical reason Dean is too dumb to suss out but also too smart to question, lugging a pair of Cessna-sized flappers around this mortal dimension actually seems to tucker Cas out. He doesn’t need to zonk out every night, but he semi-regularly throws in the towel and actually crawls in with Dean for the duration.
This would be swell in theory, but the guy absolutely cannot settle the fuck down in less than three (3) human hours, which is the exact amount of sleep Dean requires to maintain his famously sunny demeanor. It’s not just ye olde tossing and turning — Dean can handle that, sharing a bed with Sam is like sleeping next to a kangaroo with restless leg syndrome — no, it’s a nonstop parade of little flippy-flappies and shiffle-shuffles and spontaneous outbursts of preening.
So Dean makes him a Baby Sleep Sack.
This is something Dean knows about due solely to one super dumb hunt involving a banishing sigil that had to be drawn in — he still feels like this had to be a misprint — human breastmilk, and that was obviously not happening. But the monster of the week wasn’t going to banish itself, so they wound up at the nearest Walmart, at 4am, picking up what turned about to be an unnecessarily generous supply of baby formula, along with a fresh box of shotgun shells because God bless America*. It doesn’t work, although “lots of stabbing” turns out to be a solid fallback plan, but the point is that while Sam was debating between Digestion Support or Neurological Development, Dean acquired an unprecedented familiarity with some of the products currently available to the sleep-deprived parent. So Dean finds some DIY Baby Sleep Sack knockoff patterns online and determines he can replicate and scale up the concept with some beach towels and duct tape, and the next morning he presents the lumpy but totally functional prototype to Castiel.
Initially Cas thinks it’s a sex thing (reasonable, it probably is), but once they clear up that misunderstanding, he’s obviously a little peeved by the concept of being swaddled as if he were a gassy baby instead of a deathless sky monster in a sexy dude-shaped can. But Dean must be giving off some serious man on the edge vibes because Cas grudgingly agrees to let Dean tape him up the next time he’s feeling dozy.
It’s real awkward and takes forever to get Cas bundled up right, and then he’s just kind of lying there on top of the sheets, like an enormous, grumpy baked potato.
“I could easily break out of these restraints,” he says in a pissy tone after Dean has crawled in and turned off the light, and Dean rolls over to tell him “no shit”, but then he has to stop himself because the guy is already asleep.
Eventually they upgrade to a version made out of some of those trendy weighted blanket things, a few yards of parachute silk, and a whole lot of velcro. The dude looks so damn peaceful that Dean is honestly a little jealous.
*he doesn’t, actually.
18. There’s a sunny afternoon that isn’t the usual Kansas is trying to murder you level of humid so Dean rolls the Impala out into the street for a wash. Cas helps him out a bit initially, although tragically not in a way that involves removing any unnecessary articles of clothing, but Deans sends him to grab a new tub of wax from the shed and he never comes back. After half an hour Dean needs a beer break and goes looking for him, expecting to find Cas lost in thought over whether Turtle Wax is made of actual turtles, or is made to put on actual turtles. Instead he finds Cas crouched on the shimmering pavement at the back of the driveway, sun beating down on him like it has a personal vendetta, and he’s got both wings stretched out real low above the ground. Dean kind of flips out because it’s the type of pose that just screams “stabbed in gut by angel blade” or “migraine from Hell, literally.”
Then Cas looks up, which pulls his wings up a smidge too, which in turn reveals that fully half a dozen neighborhood cats are lounging in the shady patch beneath his wings, spread out on the concrete like blobs of furry peanut butter. No, it’s actually eight cats. There are eight cats.
“Ling-Ling was feeling a little overheated,” Cas says, as if this explains everything.
And, you know what, at this point, it does.
19. Dean has faith that eventually Sam or Cas or the third demon from the left in the second row will turn up a solution for the whole business. Castiel will get to tuck those bad boys back into the secret wing-closet dimension and he won’t have to worry about getting stuck in stairwells anymore, or being reported to the FAA (again). Then they can finally pack up the house, plaster over the more egregious spots of drywall damage, and go back to killing things outside of the tri-county area. The whole thing has been a pretty embarrassing interlude for a couple of dudes who’ve kicked Satan’s ass multiple times — Sam is probably telling other hunters that they’ve been deep undercover to take out a nest of suburban vampires, or a pack of ghouls with mortgages, instead of vacuuming angel down out of the AC unit and considering a Costco membership.
And sure, there have been some...serious pluses to the situation (see: the other list), but, in his weaker moments, Dean has to admit that he’s kind of going to miss some of the goofy, irritating shit, too — like finding a six-inch feather in the veggie crisper (how? why?), or watching Cas fwap his wings out just in time to accidentally clothesline a jogger, or even the strangely compelling, sorta cheesy smell that starts to float around the house if Cas goes a little too long between hosedowns.
He has actually grown fond of this shit. Which is 100% the least sexy thing on earth, it’s some genuinely, seriously pathetic goo goo crap, and that’s why nobody will ever hear a fucking word about it. People will ask “so what’s it like, with the wings” and Dean will waggle his eyebrows suggestively and review the highlight reel over an inadvisable amount of rail whiskey. His secret’s safe with, well. Him.
20. Seriously though, the bird mites.
Gross.
#deancas#destiel#dean winchester#castiel#wingfic#or maybe...#wingsquick#spn fanfic#spn fanart#spn crack#sorry everybody#now with pictures!#pallasperilous art#pallasperilous fic#pallasperilous crack
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A short lil fic because Oh My God, Arthyr My Beloved,,, I also just wanted to write some Eira angst with at least a kinda-happy ending lol :')
Warnings: Cursing, as well as mentions of injury and being attacked/jumped. Ask to tag if I forgot anything!
Reblogs appreciated!!! ^^
Arthyr had always found the day-to-day routine of princehood rather dull. You’d think it would be a walk in the park, and he was the first to admit that he did have it significantly better than most. But even then, there were still downsides.
The constant circle of guards that stalked his every move was certainly chief among his complaints. Really, what sort of self-respecting seventeen-year-old couldn’t even take a walk by himself? It was humiliating.
He was on one such walk- just a simple stroll to unwind after a particularly tense dinner with his parents- when he heard the falls of familiar boots a few meters to his left. They turned into an alleyway, the one a few blocks southwest of the castle with the graffiti at the far end and the family of raccoons living in the garbage cans. Thank god he’d taken the time to memorize the kingdom’s layout as a child; his little getaways would have been much more difficult otherwise.
“I think I heard some disturbance over that way,” Arthyr blurted immediately, pointing forwards and to the right, down a side street lined with book shops and apothecaries. “If you all would take a moment to investigate, I’d be very much appreciative.”
Three of the four guards flanking him nodded, hands apprehensively gravitating to their sabers as they walked the few meters to investigate the prince’s ruse. Thankfully, the remaining guard was new to his position and had yet to learn that the prince needed a careful eye on him at all times, lest he mysteriously vanish. He was remarkably stealthy for his height.
Arthyr waited a mere moment, listening to the other three guards grow steadily further away, before slipping silently behind the back of the fourth and jogging into the alleyway he’d heard the boots duck into.
“Eira?” he called in a stage whisper, smiling to himself and dragging his right hand along the coarse brick wall to keep himself on track. “I know you’re down here, silly bastard, I heard you.”
A hefty sigh greeted him from further along, lower than Arthyr had expected. He must’ve been sitting on the ground.
“I thought you said you were gonna be at home tonight.” The voice was congested and hollow.
“I was. But now I’m not.” Arthyr’s brow furrowed as he turned to face Eira’s voice, then sat beside him, careful not to dirty his cloak. “You sound cross.”
“I’m fine,” Eira bit back.
“Clearly not. What’s the matter?” Arthyr reached a hand out to carefully grasp Eira’s shoulder.
“Don’t touch me,” Eira snapped, jerking his shoulder away.
“Eira, what-
“Go back home, Arty, it’s cold.”
“You say that as if it’s anything new,” Arthyr said with a roll of his eyes. “Really, what’s come over you? You sound like you’ve been crying. Tell me.”
Eira cursed, then stood and continued walking down the alley.
Arthyr could hear the limp to his steps.
“You’re hurt? Eira-”
“I told you it’s fine.” His voice cracked at the end. “Go. Home.”
“No.” Arthyr stood and began to walk beside Eira, his longer strides making it impossible for Eira to pass him without running, which would’ve been damn near impossible with that limp. “I’m not leaving you alone until you tell me what happened and how I can help.”
In his frustration, Eira slammed his hand against a nearby trash can, crying out on impact as pain seared back through his wrist.
“Something with your hand, too,” Arthyr sighed, holding a hand out towards Eira. “May I?”
Eira hesitated before shakily holding his left hand out for Arthyr to gingerly take.
His wrist and hand were shoddily wrapped in bandages, and he heard Eira wince when he put pressure on the joint. The bandages were slightly damp...
But they were cold. So it was just melted snow. Good.
“Who was it this time?” Arthyr asked gently, carefully pulling Eira’s sleeve down to cover the bandages before letting go and crossing his hands back over his cane.
“Some jackass fuckin’ kids,” Eira spat, leaning against the opposite wall before sliding down to sit. Arthyr took up his spot on Eira’s right yet again.
“They jumped at me, just tryin’ to scare me, and I… got startled. Accidentally hit one of them with some ice. And then they kicked my ass. Six of them, I think? Maybe more. I couldn’t see.”
“They attacked you because of the ice..? Or because you hit them?”
“Obviously because of the fucking ice,” Eira spat, then sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m just kind of on edge still.”
“That’s alright. I know how you get sometimes, I don’t mind.”
They sat in relative silence for a few moments before Arthyr heard a scratching on his left.
“You’re picking at the scar again.”
“What?”
“The scar. You’re picking at it.” Arthyr lifted his hand, giving Eira ample time to move his own away before gently guiding his touch away from the mark on his face. “It’s going to bleed again if you keep prodding at it like that.”
“I’ve had it for years and it’s only bled twice. I think I’ll be fine.” Arthyr could hear the roll of his eyes but chose to ignore it.
“Well, here. I can’t be away much longer or my father’ll have my head for running off again.” Arthyr rifled through his pockets, then pulled out a few coins and handed them to Eira. “I’m assuming you’ve got some scrapes and cuts, too, so buy yourself some antiseptic. And get supper while you’re at it, I know you haven’t eaten.”
“You sure you’re not magick? You seem pretty fuckin’ psychic to me” Eira breathed out a weak laugh but didn’t take the coins in Arthyr’s palm. “I’m fine.”
“You know I’m not going to take no for an answer.”
“Arty, really, I-”
“Eira, darling,” Arthyr mused, “denying the direct orders of the prince could be reasonably considered as treason, no? And I have ordered you to take this money and go buy yourself some damn food.”
Eira chuckled again, more like himself this time, and reluctantly slipped the coins into a hidden pocket of his jacket. “Thanks, your highness.”
“Ugh, you know I hate it when you call me that,” Arthyr laughed, standing and wiping snow from his cloak before holding a hand out to help Eira up.
“Of course I do. That’s why I do it.”
“Scoundrel.”
“Rich kid.”
“Street rat.”
“Pretty boy.”
“Little- wait, what?”
“What?”
“Prince Arthyr!”
Both heads turned sharply at the intrusion of the guard’s shout, just outside the entrance to the alleyway.
“Shit,” Eira whispered, looking about frantically. “I gotta hide, they’re gonna think I was trying to shiv you or something.”
“Find someplace quick, dumbass,” Arthyr hissed, hurriedly shoving Eira to the left. “I remember there being some boxes over there when I was here the other week.”
Eira dove, skidding into the snow behind the conveniently-placed stack of crates just as one of the crown’s guards rounded the corner, heaving a sigh of relief at the sight of the prince standing, unscathed, at the tail end of the alleyway.
“Goodness, your majesty, why the hell are you in this dingy place? Not fit for a man of your rank, you know. And I really don’t think you’re supposed to be on your own, regardless.”
“Thought I heard something else awry and must’ve taken a wrong turn in my investigation,” Arthyr lied, walking briskly past the guard and allowing his cloak to whip against his face. “I’ll try not to get turned around next time I take a detour.”
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Your matchablossom stuff is so cute! Also I love the way you write. I was hoping to see how you might handle a more angsty or dramatic situation. Maybe with 15 or 1 for matchablossom. Of course if you take it a lighter direction, I’m sure it will still be amazing.
Hello, dear anon! Thank you so much!! Sorry it took me a bit to respond~ I was taking a break from writing for a couple days. But I’m back!
I do hope you like what I did with this. It takes place after Episode 9, so it’s mostly the comfort following the hurt. I hope that’s okay! This, uh, also went a bit long. Whoops?
Matcha Blossom #15 “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Also available on Ao3.
Link to my master list of Matcha Blossom drabbles
Joe sighed and cracked his neck as he finished locking up for the night. The trash had been put out, the prep was done for the following day, and he had a very special to-go order he needed to bring upstairs.
It had been several days since Cherry had conked out on his bartop. After which, Joe had brought him upstairs, deciding it would be for the best if Cherry stayed with him. Just until he was back on his feet.
Cherry had argued with him the following morning. But eventually agreed. It wasn’t like he had any meetings or deadlines coming up, so he could afford to take the time off and heal. And Joe was more than happy to help him with anything he might need.
However...Cherry was not the best house guest.
“Kaoru!” Joe called as he opened the door to his apartment. “Dinner!” he tried when he received no response.
“On the couch,” Cherry finally answered. Joe shook his head and removed his shoes before walking the rest of the way inside and shutting the door behind him.
He found Cherry exactly where he said he’d be, lounging on the couch, watching some French drama. The coffee table was still littered with boxes from the lunch Joe had brought him and the bottle of wine he’d opened earlier was on its side. Empty. Oh, if only his fancy pants clients could see him now. Sakurayashiki Kaoru: The Ultimate Slob.
“Did you finish closing?” Cherry asked, his gaze still on the television. The images on the screen reflected off of his glasses.
“Just did. Yeah,” Joe replied, pushing the empty containers out of the way to make room for Cherry’s dinner. He really needed to tidy up. “I saved the last order of the special for you,” Joe said as he began picking up the trash and bringing it to the kitchen garbage. “I had to deny one of my regulars.”
Cherry snorted and finally looked at Joe properly. “Is that so?”
“Mhm,” Joe answered, placing his hands on the back of the couch and leaning down to kiss the top of Cherry’s head. “Ugh,” he groaned. “All right. That’s it, Stinky. You’re getting a bath tonight.”
And Cherry, who’d already leaned forward and opened his to-go box, turned to glare up at him. “I don’t stink.” He frowned.
“You haven’t bathed in five days,” Joe returned, standing up to his full height and crossing his arms over his chest. “And those little sponge baths don’t count,” he threw in before Cherry could argue. He received a groan in response. “C’mon, Kaoru. I’ll even wash your back.”
There was a brief pause. “Ugh, fine,” Cherry surrendered with a sigh. Then he grew serious. “But after dinner. And you have to wash my hair.” He held up his bandaged wrist. “And rewrap everything after.”
Joe grinned. “Yessir.”
Once Cherry finished eating, Joe cleared it away and helped him to his feet. He was hobbling around a bit better now. In fact, he’d be back to skating shape in a week or so, according to Carla’s calculations -- If he continued resting properly and icing his sprain.
“I can’t believe this,” Cherry complained as Joe escorted him down the hallway to the bathroom. “It’s been days and I still feel like I was hit by a truck.”
Joe chuckled. “We’re not as young as we were back then,” he supplied. “We can’t bounce back like we used to.”
“Not as young…” Cherry echoed with a glare. “I know you’re not implying that I’m old.”
“Not old,” Joe answered. “Just aged to perfection,” he teased. “Besides, it’s not just you. I’m only three months younger.”
“And yet you look so much older,” Cherry noted.
“Says the man who dresses like it’s the Edo Period,” Joe scoffed as he helped Cherry over the threshold.
“This coming from the man who has a closet full of bad Dad Shirts,” Cherry shot back.
The next insult was on the tip of his tongue, when Joe thought better of it. “Let’s just get you clean,” he paused, “Stinky.”
Joe had gotten pretty used to getting Cherry in and out of his clothes over the past few days -- despite protests from someone who could apparently ‘handle it on his own’ -- and he’d even figured out how to wrap Cherry’s wounds properly. A big step up from putting plasters on each other’s knees when they were kids.
“I’m going to fill the tub,” Joe said, leaving Cherry seated on the stool by the shower.
“You don’t have to narrate every single thing,” Cherry replied, lifting his good arm to rub at the other. “It’s freezing in here.”
“You’ll be in the bath soon enough, you big baby.” Joe shook his head and turned on the tap. Once it was warm enough, he plugged the drain and turned his attention back on Cherry. “All right--”
“Don’t announce it.” Cherry let his eyes slip closed. “Just do it.”
Joe took a deep breath and grabbed the shower head. “Hold this.” He thrust it into Cherry’s good hand and then went about lathering up a washcloth. He was careful as he ran the cloth up and down Cherry’s back, just as he’d been over the last few days.
“You don’t have to be so cautious,” Cherry said. “It doesn’t really hurt anymore.”
There was a nasty bruise that spread between his shoulders. Of course, his back had taken the brunt of the fall. Joe knew from experience that bruises tended to look worse as they got better. But even so…
“Yeah?” he asked, moving to soap Cherry’s arms. Then he took the showerhead and turned it on, washing the suds away. “You good to get the rest? Or do you need help?”
“I’m perfectly capable,” Cherry answered, snatching the washcloth from Joe’s hand and lathering up his chest. Then he paused. “Thank you.” It was quiet, but Joe heard it. Still, he wouldn’t embarrass him by saying something as thoughtless as, ‘You’re welcome.’
Once Cherry was clean, Joe helped him into the bath and then turned off of the faucet. Cherry sighed, sliding down and resting his head on the tub’s rim. “And you wanted to put this off,” Joe said, watching as Cherry’s relaxed expression changed into a glare directed up at him.
“I was comfortable on the couch,” he said simply. “And now I’m comfortable here.”
Joe hummed. “And when I try to move you to somewhere else comfortable, are you going to complain then?”
Cherry closed his eyes again. “I’m not sure. I’ll decide later.” He shrugged.
“Well, let me know when you’ve come to a decision,” Joe said, standing back up and heading toward the door.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Cherry asked, cracking one eye open. “You promised you’d wash my hair.”
Joe swallowed. If he was honest, he was a bit concerned about that. Cherry had hurt his head. And even though Carla had informed him that a suitable amount of time had passed and it was safe to wash. Joe was still worried.
“Wouldn’t you rather wash it yourself?” he asked.
Cherry sighed and held up his good hand, wiggling his fingers. “It’s a bit difficult, given my condition.” He said it the way Joe had been saying over the past five days. ‘Should you be doing that in your condition?’ ‘Why would you think to get up and walk around in your condition?’ And so on.
Joe wanted to eat those words. It wasn’t his fault he was the mother hen of their little group. Someone had to be.
“All right,” he said finally.
“I don’t know what you’re so nervous about,” Cherry said. “You’ve changed my bandages for me.”
Joe scoffed. “I’m not nervous,” he replied, making quick work of removing the old bandage. It came away clean. That was a good sign.
“Then why are your hands shaking?” Cherry asked. Joe stilled. Were they? And Cherry took the opportunity to move slightly in the tub, the water sloshing as he turned to face him. “What’s the matter?” he asked. “I know it’s been a few days, but my hair isn’t completely--”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Joe admitted, cutting him off. And it was true.
Cherry raised his eyebrows. “You?” He blinked. “I know I’ve called you a clumsy oaf in the past--”
“Earlier today,” Joe corrected.
“--but you’ve been more of a gentle giant lately,” he said. “Too gentle, sometimes,” he added with a smirk. “So, there’s no reason to worry.” Cherry faced away again, situating himself so he could rest his neck on the rim of the tub. He closed his eyes. “I trust you.”
Joe found the corners of his lips curving up in a fond smile. His Kaoru was something else.
So, he reached for the showerhead and shampoo and carefully rinsed Cherry’s hair. “Wow, Kaoru,” he faked a gasp.
“What?”
“I think you’ve got a family of raccoons living in here.” He only laughed harder when Cherry tried to splash him. In hindsight, maybe he should have changed out of his work clothes instead of just rolling up his sleeves. “I’m kidding. I’m kidding.” He gently ran his fingers through the damp strands. “Does it hurt anywhere?”
Cherry shook his head. “Just a little sore and kind of itchy on the back.”
Joe hummed again and got to work. It was a bit of a mess, but didn’t let Cherry know. And, honestly, he was glad he was doing this for him. It wouldn’t have been easy -- what with his condition and all -- And once the water ran clear again, Joe grabbed the bottle of shampoo.
“That smells nice,” Cherry said as Joe worked it up into a lather. “That’s not the one you use.”
“Are you saying my shampoo doesn’t smell nice?” Joe replied, rubbing soothing circles into Cherry’s scalp.
“Yes,” he answered and Joe had a sudden urge to spray him right in the face. But Cherry’s eyes were still closed and he looked so relaxed. So peaceful. Joe couldn’t bring himself to do it.
“If you must know,” Joe said, washing off his hands and moving to rinse Cherry’s hair. “I went out and bought this for you. Since you’ve been living on my couch for a week.”
“It hasn’t been that long,” Cherry retorted. And then, a beat later, he smiled. “Who helped you pick it out?”
Joe pursed his lips, the urge to change the angle of the showerhead’s spray rising before he tamped it back down. “The lady who runs the store,” he said. “I told her my girlfriend moved in and that she has very fine, temperamental hair.” He snickered.
Cherry finally opened his eyes again, shooting Joe a glare. “My hair is not temperamental.”
Joe snorted. “That’s your only objection?” He shook his head. “Okay, all done.”
“You’re not going to condition it?” Cherry asked, craning his neck.
“No?” Joe replied. He picked up the bottle again. “It says it’s two-in-one.”
Cherry groaned and slid further down into the water.
“What?” Joe furrowed his brow.
“Nothing,” Cherry answered. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to soak for a while.”
Joe regarded him for a moment before standing up. “All right. I’m gonna get changed.” He paused in the doorway. “Don’t fall asleep in there.”
“No promises.”
“Kaoru!” He ran a hand down his face and hurried to his bedroom. If he got dressed quickly enough, he could stop his idiot childhood friend from accidentally drowning himself.
Request a drabble here!
#matcha blossom#nanjo kojiro#sakurayashiki kaoru#sk8 the infinity#sk8#drabble#quote drabble#quote drabbles#post episode 9
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For the prompt fill, number 3 for Indruck seems pretty fitting!
Here you go! Prompt 3 was “sweet” , Indrid’s design is based on a barracuda and I went with SFW on this one.
“Duck, can you do me a favor when you lock up?” Leo dumps orange taffy into a glass jar.
“Sure, what d’you need?”
“Got some locks for the garbage cans; put ‘em on after you set the alarm out back. Somethin’s been getting into our trash every damn night for the last week. It makes a god-awful mess and I’m worried we’re gonna get a fine for littering.”
Duck nods, turns his attention back to the flock of tourists approaching the window. The afternoon is swallowed up in a pit of sugar-sticky air and blasts of welcome cold from the freezer. There are worse places for a summer job than Tarkesian’s Sweets--he’s right by the water, can watch the wildlife on his lunch break, and Leo is low-maintenance boss--but after eight hours on his feet getting splashed with soda or burned on the popcorn machine, he’s ready to head home. The trash locks have other ideas.
It takes ten minutes of cursing and fumbling to get the first bin secured. He doesn’t even know how the damn things are getting overturned; they seem too heavy for a raccoon or seagull to knock to the ground.
A tiny splash behind him, probably a fish jumping.
Then a crooked, shiny pole slowly enters his periphery. In dim yellow of the streetlight, he can tell the end of it is curved. It pokes inelegantly at the wall, then the locked can, then the wall once again, and then Duck’s leg.
The hook pulls back, pauses, then pokes him again.
“The fuck?” He grabs it when it goes for another jab, pulls up only for his arms to be wrenched towards the water. Not to be outdone, he tugs harder. His opponent retaliates with enough force that he almost tumbles off the pier. He growls, braces his foot on the railing, and hauls the hook and its owner up onto worn wood with him.
It’s a guy about his age, angular face framed by a mess of silver hair and pierced ears. Figures it’s some sort of artsy punk swimming around poking people in the leg. That explains why he’s shirtless too.
It does not, however, explain why he has a tail.
“Rude.” The guy sits up on his hands, silver and black tail flicking droplets of saltwater everywhere, “I don’t go around stopping you from eating.”
“Look man, I just wanted you to stop jabbin me and knockin the trash over.” Maybe if he doesn’t mention the tail it will go away.
“How else am I supposed to get at those odd, pulpy tubs full of ‘cookies and cream’ or ‘bubblegum’?”
“The fuck--wait, you were tryin’ to get the ice cream containers out of the trash?”
“Yes? I also want more of the caramel apples” he pronounces the last word “applees” causing Duck to giggle in spite of himself.
“Look, I have to piece words together from the signs on your store. And you obviously know what I meant or you would not be laughing, so do you have any in the cans or not?”
“Nope” Duck gets his laughter under control, “sold out of caramel apples today.”
“Drat” the visitor starts scooting across the pier towards the unlocked trashcan, “I’ll see what else I can find.”
“Wait don’t fuckin knock that over, Leo’ll be pissed at me if he comes back to a mess, and I don’t feel like pickin up trash because you want a snack!”
“But I’m starving!” The merman, because at this point there’s no way he can deny that’s what’s been rooting through the garbage, whacks at Duck with his tail.
“I know for a damn fact there’s food down there.” He points at the bay.
“Only if you can catch it, and only if it is not in another mer’s territory. Which much of this area is; I am new here, young, and thus have no claim to any patch of sea.”
“You ain’t got any family?” Something pings in his chest. It’s the part of his heart that made him pick out the runt of litter when his mom let him get a cat on his thirteenth birthday, that means he always splits his lunch with Juno because she’s running track and needs it more than he does, that makes him tear up when he thinks about everything a sapling has to survive to become a tree.
“Merfolk leave home at sixteen.” The merman shrugs.
Duck sighs, grabbing his keys, “If I bring you somethin to eat, will you leave the trash alone?”
“Yes.”
He shuts off the alarm, grabs a cone and fills it with bright blue ice cream. The merman is back in the water when he returns, arms resting on the pier.
“Oooh, my favorite!” He takes the ice cream, biting huge chunks out of it as Duck re-arms the door.
Crunch
“...The container is edible!!”
He sits next to the merman’s arms, “Guess you wouldn’t have had an ice cream cone before, huh.”
“No, but it is lovely. I wish humans threw these away more often.” He polishes off the treat, licks his fingers clean with moans Duck hears in his dreams later, and smiles, “thank you for the meal. Goodnight.”
There’s a final flash of silvery tail, and then Duck’s alone in the breezy night air.
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“That’s a sandwich, correct?”
“AHfuck” Duck knocks over his water bottle in surprise. He’s eating behind the candy store like usual and not expecting an aquatic dining companion.
“Apologies. I have seen you eating here before and thought you may like some company.” He sets a sea urchin on the ground and proceeds to bang on it with a rock.
“Found some lunch?”
“I followed some otters; I was mainly trying to draw them, but they led me to a kelp bed no one else was in.”
“...Wait how do you draw underwater?”
“Let me finish cracking this open and I will show you.”
Duck spends the rest of his lunch break on his belly, the merman showing him a sketchbook and enchanted pen that conjures whatever colors the illustrator envisions. The mer is genuinely excited to talk to him. He assumes the nuzzling is due to him smelling like cotton candy; he doesn’t mind, the mer’s skin is cool and he makes cute little noises whenever he touches Duck.
Before the stands, Duck asks, “You got a name?”
“Indrid.”
“Duck.”
Indrid’s eyes flick to the nearby estuary.
“Yeah, like the bird. It’s a nickname.”
“I like it.” Indrid smiles, dives, and flaps his tail once in farewell.
------------------------------------------------------
“Cutting school again?” Indrid’s voice bubbles up by his feet.
“Yep.” Duck watches the spring clouds roll by from his favorite spot on the beach. It’s secluded and far from town, meaning no one will give him shit for skipping class and nobody will see Indrid.
He worked at Leo’s until this past summer, only quitting at the start of his senior year of high school when Indrid pointed out that much of Kepler was surrounded by water and that, if Duck wanted to see him, he did not have to keep working at the candy store in order to do so.
“Not that I mind the free food.” Indrid winks.
“Just gonna bring you bulk ice cream from Safeway; no way am I missin out on that chirpin you do when you eat it.”
Duck slides the grocery bag towards the surf, “not like KCC is gonna rescind my offer. Ain’t a fuckin Ivy League or some shit.”
“And you will be happy there?”
“Yeah. They got a decent work-study program with the park, so I can still get a job as a ranger if I want to.”
“Oh. Good.”
Indrid sounds sad, and Duck sits up on his elbows. His friend’s torso is fully on land, his tail fidgeting in the foam.
“What’s up?
“I...Barclay told me his human is going to a school further inland, and I know there are many places you could got to learn. You...you did not choose to stay in Kepler because you feel the need to look after me, did you?”
“Course not.” Duck is sitting up now, aching to stroke Indrid’s hair, “I mean, I’m glad we’re still gonna be able to see each other, and I really hopin I can get a room near the beach so it’s easy to come talk. But this is the right choice for me; if I really want to, I can transfer to a different school in a few years, and I can learn a lot here without takin on a shit-ton of debt. Besides, ain’t like I think you’re helpless; I love bringin you stuff and rubbin your fin when it’s sore, but that’s because you’re my friend. Don’t think you’re helpless. I never have.”
“Not even when I was stealing trash?”
“Thought you were a fuckin nuisance, not helpless.” He playfully nudges his shoulder with his toes.
Indrid turns his head and nips his calf, “How’s that for a nuisance?”
“Not much, felt kinda nice. Uh, I mean, uh, fuck, so, where’d that worry about my stayin come from?”
The mer crawls and wiggles until they’re shoulder to shoulder, “I think my future sight is finally developing; my fathers arrived around the time he turned eighteen, so it makes sense mine would arrive at a similar point. The trouble is, I am having a hard time telling the futures from my own imaginings and worries.”
“That fuckin sucks.”
“I’ll manage. All seers struggle at the beginning. I just wish I was quicker at learning whether certain timelines are really more likely or if they are just ones that I want to be likely.”
“Like what?”
Indrid glances at him, opens his mouth, then shuts it and faces the sea.
Duck smirks, “‘Drid, there somethin you wanna ask me?”
“No. Yes. Maybe? I, I just don’t want to pressure youOOOHhhh that’s not fair” he flops on his back with a groan as Duck scritches his upper tail, “you know I’ll do anything when you touch me like this.”
“Damn right I do. And what I want is for you to tell me the truth.”
Indrid whines, covers his face with his hands.
“Do it or I’ll stop.”
“Rude” Indrid lowers his hands enough that his red eyes peer over the top, “is that any way to treat a mer who wants to kiss you?”
Duck gives his answer by pouncing on his friend, pinning narrow shoulders into the sand as he devours his mouth in kisses.
“You like that treatment better?”
“Goodness, yes.” Indrid pulls him back down, slipping his tongue between his lips and nibbling his neck when he finally stops to breathe. Then his hand flails sideways, grabbing the plastic bag and chucking it further up the beach.
“The, the tide is coming in and I, ah, foresee us working up quite the appetite.” He tugs Duck’s collar down with his teeth, nuzzling and licking across his skin with little hums of pleasure, “so I want to save those for afterwards. Who knows” he grins, “maybe we’ll need energy for round two as well.”
Duck cups his cheek, inhales the scent of the sea and the sight of his future, “I like the way you think, sweet thing.”
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Midnight Shift: Singer's Blood
Summary: Something wicked might have come to the Burger King. Either that, or someone really needs deodorant
wc: 1.7k
Read on ao3
"And just like that? I'm in your game?"
"Eh, 'just like that' is like not it, Gucci, but basically. Yeah, dude," I watched as sprite mini-me walked all over the map — a pixelated version of East Laddle's last remaining Burger King, complete with a rat king decomposing in the parking lot and Not Kevin's monster of a car covering an old blood stain.
"Call me Gucci again and I'll burn down your secret edibles stash"
"Nah, dude. The invitation for your family's gala was written in gold, and the card was imported from France. I think I'm entitled, yeah?" I rolled my eyes and cursed as the date to Alice's stupid party drew to a close. Two more days before the humans unknowingly walked into a vampire lair.
It was cliché to say that I just wanted to be a normal kid, and there was a part of me that would be happy to explain everything I felt with the cliché. But I knew that wasn't it — spending a decade in high school made you realize how stifling normal could be. What I truly wanted was to be left alone; I was fed up of Alice treating my like one of her dolls and everyone enabling her. I was tired of having no thought that was truly for myself and Edward violating my privacy on a whim. It hurt to see Rosalie go from a doting mother to a distant figure when I no longer looked like a child, much like it hurt to see Bella see me as an extension of her beloved husband.
Being able to hear all of them have sex only made everything much worse.
"Whatever. Just show me my final boss form. You said your roommate was hardcore into Junji Ito"
"Alright, but we only have the concept art for it, though. Abby got super pissed at us for smoking her artisanal weed, so she's not like making the sprite until we get her more, 'kay?" Straight Kevin minimized the game and navigated through his discord server. I left him to his search so I could refill my mello yello; it was always a good shift when Gay Kevin and Not Kevin were away from the store. They were objectively entertaining men, but they also got a little too intense about work here. Neither would let us blow off work in favour of our personal projects.
Not since Wrestlemania Condimentalooza.
I slurped at my drink and absentmindedly wiped at the counter. Straight Kevin had his phone hooked to our sound system and he was blasting his playlist. His taste in music was…was one would call eclectic if one was feeling charitable – and boy, did I feel like I was making a million dollar donation. In the past hour alone, we had listened to swedish rap, some Nancy Sinatra, Blackpink, Tibetan throat singing, quebecois death metal, and Maroon 5.
Fucking Maroon 5.
But none of that compared to the song that was currently playing. It was less of an auditory experience, less of a musical treat, and more like being forcefully turned into a robot that was in the middle of short circuiting. Not only could you feel the beat, but you could see it too. It looked like flashing lights, and I was certain in that moment, that if it continued I would soon be able to taste sound.
And it was during that assault of my senses that I smelled it. Something unlike anything I had ever smelled before and an immeasurable sense of dread washed over me. The pit in my stomach felt like a black hole as I stood ramrod straight and saw a man I had never seen before enter the building alongside Jeremiah.
Nothing about him particularly stood out. He looked like any other white guy that just got out of the office. He was tall though, taller than anyone else here. Not unnaturally tall, mind you, but...something about his aura felt dangerous. I was on edge and no longer breathing, was this how it felt to be near il tuo cantante?
I made eye contact with the man and tried to place the smell, the flavour of it. It didn't taste enticing, if anything the rat king out back called to me more than the man did. But if this was what Bella smelled like when she was human, I had many questions for Edward.
"How's it hanging, Carrot top? Still working on that game, I see Shaggy," Jerimiah appeared oblivious of my behavior. Then again, glaring to our customers wasn't uncommon for me.
I looked away from the man and I saw Jerimiah set up a chess game on his table. Oh no.
"My man C.J. here is buying me lunch, so you can tell your anxious manager not to have a panic attack over more 'non-paying customers'"
"Nah, it's all cool, dude. Kev and Not Kev are on a supply run. Another of our suppliers dropped us like a hot potato"
"Cello beach, that's what they say, no?" Jeremiah shrugged and the man tilted his head.
"C'est la vie?" He questioned using a register of voice I had not expected. I hated it.
"Languages were never my thing. Math, now that's my jam," he dropped onto his chair and I decided I needed to clear my airways. I needed to get out of here.
Now.
"Kev, take their order. I'm going to deal with the raccoons"
I didn't even wait for a response before I hauled ass out of there. Luckily, I had enough self control to not vampire yeet myself.
Once outside I took a deep breath.
It was a deeply offensive smell, but at least it was a familiar one. Trash, raccoons, and decay, baby.
Though, on second breath. Way less raccoons than last week. Significantly less. Maybe Gay Kevin had finally bested them, which shame if true.
I leaned on the dumpster and tried to focus. It was important for me to figure out what the hell was going on, because damn if some paper pusher was the reason we left East Laddle. The Cullens would jump at the opportunity to decrease my autonomy if I ate some guy.
Which, yeah. Murder shouldn't be taken lightly, but I'd never be able to have as much freedom as I did now.
God, it'd be fucked. They'd make me go back to school and somehow rationalize that decision as a good one. Somehow surrounding me with hundreds of humans after murdering one would make sense because they'd be there to keep an eye on me...
I was getting sidetracked again, back to the matter at hand.
About three things I was absolutely positive. First, that man stank. Second, there was a part of me – and I didn’t know how potent that part might be – that wanted to murder him in cold blood. And third, I was deeply and irrationally terrified of him.
A trash can fell over with a loud clang and a empty jug of bleach rolled pass my feet. My eyes widened in realization – Jake had once told me that to him, the smell of vampires made his nose burn. It was an unpleasant odor that clung to everything a vampire touched. Similarly, Alice had gone on at length at how much she didn't like how the shifters smelled like.
The man didn't smell like a shifter, which only served to make me more uneasy. He clearly wasn't a vampire, his eyes were bright blue and I heard his heart beat, but my nose felt like burning back there.
The more I stood in our nearly empty garbage zone, the more questions I had. The last time I felt this level of terror, the freaking Volturi had crossed the Atlantic to personally execute me. It was horrifying.
And exciting. This was something new and unheard of, a break from the monotony of the past 15 years. I needed to solve this mystery and I needed to do it stat. Not only because this was potentially life threatening – and I didn't mean just the vampires, whatever that man was could be a danger to the whole town – but also because the moment the Cullens found out about it, we'd be out the Minnesota, nay, the States, before I could even think to protest.
I was so not letting the Cullens ruin this for me. This could be my Riverdale moment; Betty who? Resentment Cannibal was on the case.
...
Ok. That was a bit cringe, but fuck it. I walked back in to the building with a mission in mind. I also washed by hands with our heavy duty soap for at least 20 seconds.
"–that incident he got kicked from kitchen duties. Which sucked, cuz CJ has some wicked knife skills," Jeremiah's voice carried to the back of the kitchen and I mentally prepared myself to go back to ground zero.
"How didn't you notice the taste? Catfish smell so bad when you rupture their guts"
I walked to our registers just in time to see the man shrug. The chess game was still on going and they had pushed another table besides Jeremiah's to make space for the food. There was only one meal on the tray.
"You should have seen Tammy's face. She wanted to blow up so bad, but she couldn't because Susan was there," Jeremiah pitched his voice up and put on the worst British accent I had heard in my life, "'Oh, it's fine Mr. Singer. No big deal. Not a problem. Honest mistake. Happens to everyone!'"
He took a bite from his burger before continuing. "That woman is so gone on CJ it makes her look stupid."
The man made a face while Straight Kevin laughed.
"She isn't 'gone' on me"
"'Oh Mr. Singer, is that a new coat? Did you do something new with you hair, it looks spiffing! What a nice strong man you are,'" Straight Kevin dissolved into giggles while Jeremiah kept up his imitation. "You have to tell her your taken, man. For all of our sakes"
I stepped forward to join the conversation, when my phone blew up, vibrating as if its life depended on it. I would have ignore it, but the notifications just kept coming. The three men looked back at me.
Fuck.
I fumbled as I took the phone out from my pocket and I checked the messages, all of the Cullens had send me a text and they all said the same thing.
Family emergency. Alice had a vision. Come home.
Double fuck.
#twilight#twilight saga#twilight renaissance#my writing#midnight shift#renesmee cullen#twilight fanfiction
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Grievances | Matthew Tkachuk
Summary: Y/N loses a sentimental object from a family member that passed away. Matthew becomes a pest at the worst time and has to make up for it
No one said that losing a family member was easy. When that family member happens to be the person that raised you, it makes the pain so much worse. For Y/N, that person was her Grandmother Rose. The woman had always been Y/N’s rock. She was her role model and losing her had been such a terrible thing to go through. Everyone in Y/N’s family had seen just how big of an impact the loss of Rose had on their relative. Y/N was struggling, and try as she might- she wasn’t doing well.
Through her grievances, the woman had resorted to house work to distract herself from the loss. She cleaned her car more than once- and had done her boyfriend’s laundry more times in the last week than he had done in the last year.
It wasn’t easy for Matthew to watch his girlfriend to go through this. He knew what mourning felt like- that heavy weight of grief that somehow took residence in your chest and felt like it had been there for years. To the point where it was impossible to remember what you felt like when it wasn’t there.
He had done his best to help Y/N along the way- when they first got the news, he pulled out of the Roadie he was on and flew home just to be with her in Calgary. He might have been a pest, an asshole even- but deep down he knew how to be a good guy. If that meant losing some of his credibility as a troublemaker in the hockey world he didn’t care. His girl needed him.
The first two days were unbelievable. When Matthew was younger he used to have nightmares as a kid- often they were of what lurked in the dark or the monsters that lurked under his bed. But after hearing Y/N cry for two days straight- her sobs became the horrors that haunted him.
He thought that she was making progress over the week. She had diverted her energy into cleaning rather than crying- and in his mind, that was a step forward. At least the apartment was being looked after and she wasn’t becoming drained from balling her eyes out right?
He thought that things were getting better.
Which is why he didn’t expect to find her digging inside the trash can when he came home from his game. But hey, it’s a friday night. Things can get crazy.
Matt walked into the house and made his way to the kitchen, watching her in amusement. She was so focused on looking for something in the trash that she didn’t notice him entering the house. He watched for a couple of moments before smirking
“What are you a raccoon? Why are you digging inside the trash?” He asked, trying to play things off with a playful jab. Y/N did nothing but gulp and let out a sigh as she looked up “Matt, I’m not in the mood for this.” She said softly and his eyes soften a bit at the sight of his girlfriend looking back at him with tears in her eyes and a frown on her face.
She calmed herself for second- taking a deep breath and biting her lip. “Have you seen Grandma’s Necklace?” she asked worriedly. There was a crease in her brow and for the first time since he had walked in, Matt noticed that she wasn’t playing with the gold pendant that had been practically glued to her neck since her grandma passed.
When Y/N realized that Matthew had no clue where the delicate piece of jewelry was, she couldn’t help but sniffle. The tears started to fall down her cheeks and Matthew immediately jumped into ‘Protective Boyfriend’ mode.
“Do you remember where you last saw it?” He questioned as he sat with her as he began looking through the trash too and she sniffled and shook her head and he sighed “Well, I have no practice tomorrow morning.. We can find it, don’t worry”
She was grateful for Matt in her time of need. He may be a jerk but he had a heart too.
After hours of looking, she hung her head in defeat when they couldn’t find the necklace and Matt looked at her softly. “Come on- don’t beat yourself up- it’s got to be around here somewhere.” he did his best to reassure her.
They had sat in the kitchen, surrounded by bags of trash for far too long but still come up empty handed. “We can check the living room okay?” Matthew tried to give her some hope- but after another thirty minutes or so of finding nothing, he could see that she was running out of patience.
“How could I be so reckless!” Y/N snapped, grabbing the pillow from the couch and hitting the wall with it angrily. She had bitter frustration coursing through her veins and she wasn’t sure how much more she could take.
Matthew reached out gingerly and took the pillow from her, not wanting her to break anything. “Hey- how about we don’t murder the lamps okay? I promise you they don’t have the necklace.” He tried to bring a smile to her face.
Unfortunately, all he received was a defeated sob as she sunk into the couch. Y/N let the cushions consume her, she wrapped herself up in the blanket and looked down. “I let her down Matt- She left me the necklace… and within a week I lost it.” she buried her head into her hands.
Shaking his head, Matthew reached out and pulled her into his embrace. “Listen to me- your grammy is so proud of you- the necklace is nothing but jewelry. Sure it belonged to Rose, but she is still in your heart-” he promised her. “I know that is stupid to say, but no material item is going to keep her with you- you will always remember her because she was an important person in your life.” he held her hand tightly.
“Even if we never find that necklace… she is still- with you.” he poked her chest where her heart would be before kissing the top of her head delicately. They stayed like that for a few minutes- before Matthew knew it, Y/N had fallen asleep against his chest.
For once, he was actually happy that she had fallen asleep on one of his nights off. He knew just how badly she needed the rest and relaxation. Peeling away from her- the hockey player laid her down and covered her in a blanket.
If it meant he had to stay up all night and go to sleep when the sun began to rise, he was going to find that damn necklace.
True to his convictions, Matthew was still awake around five-thirty in the morning. He had searched the apartment from top to bottom, he had climbed under their bed- he even checked in the garbage dumpster that was in the bottom of the apartment complex.
He walked into the bathroom to get a shower for the day- and hopefully rid himself of that awful trash smell when he suddenly had an idea. The man had never moved so quickly. He pulled the stack of towels off of the bathroom shelf and peeked behind it.
Laying on the floor pinched between the toilet and the bathtub was a shining gold pendant- engraved with roses and thorns. The necklace.
He swooped the piece of jewelry up in his hands, taking caution just to make sure he didn’t tangle the chain. Walking back into the living room, he sat on his knees in front of the couch where Y/N was still asleep.
“Hey- sleepy head.” Matthew grinned, poking at her cheek and shaking her awake. Slowly, the girl started to stir and she peeled her eyes open. “What time is it?” she groaned.
Chuckling quietly to himself, Matthew smirked. “Doesn’t matter- Guess what I found?” he grinned, holding up the necklace.
As if she had been struck by lightning, Y/N launched upwards- grabbing the necklace out of his hands. “You found it!” she gasped. She took the pendant carefully and put it on with his help before wrapping her arms around him tightly as a thank you.
“Where was it?” she asked softly.
Matthew shrugged. “The bathroom floor- it was behind the toilet. You must have taken it off when you got a shower and it fell.” he told her. It was true, she always took her jewelry off before she washed her hands, went swimming, showered just in case she got it wet. She didn’t want to risk it rusting.
Y/N had never been more in love with Matthew than that moment. She pulled him close and kissed his lips tenderly. “Thank you matt… really- what would I do without you?” she asked rhetorically.
Matthew smirked. “Probably age gracefully.” He teased.
#nhl imagine#hockey imagine#nhl x reader#hockey x reader#matthew tkachuk imagine#matthew tkachuk#matthew tkachuk x reader#fan fic#writing community
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Smokey brand Movie Reviews: Stop, It's Already Dead
I’ve been trying to watch Army of the Dead since it came out but every time i start, i end of bailing on it because it’s trash. Yeah, that’s it. This movie is trash. You can literally stop reading this review right now because that’s the verdict. Army of the Dead is shallow, inconsequential, zombie murder porn wit that trademark Zack Snyder, edgelord, spice. It’s f*cking ridiculous and i hated every minute of it. That’s it. That’s the review. Don’t watch this rancid spooge. Now, if you want to know why i hated it so much, read on. But it really is one of the worst things i have seen all year.
The Adequate
Dave Batista works magic with the material on hand. Zack Snyder isn’t know for having emotional bite or a realistic edge to any of the characters in his films but Batista was able to hone in on something and does a decent job of letting me tolerate this clusterf*ck. His Scott Ward is easily the best thing about this flick.
The carnage displayed while the opening credits rolled was almost as dope as Zombieland and i appreciated that. Literally the only time during the film where i didn’t feel like someone was standing on my sack and twisting.
Also, Hiroyuki Sanada is in this. I don’t know the name of his character and i don’t care i just genuinely enjoy Sanada’s work. He is an excellent actor and, similarly to Ken Watanabe, makes everything he’s in better, regardless of his role’s size or relevance.
The integration of Tig Notaro was kind of seamless. That sh*t was surprising because every one of her scenes was added in post. She had no interaction with any of the cast, not even in pick-ups. That’s just her, in front of a green screen, talking to herself. Of course, there are scenes where that is very apparent but the fact she was even able to replaces an entire actor wrapped month beforehand, is kind of a miracle and testament to the absurd technical skill Snyder wields as movie maker.
The Horrid
Zack Snyder. Literally everything i am about to unload, is Zack Snyder’s fault. This “film” is pure Zack Snyder. More so than the Snyder cut of Justice League. More so than BvS. Even more than f*cking Sucker Punch. Netflix gave this man a bunch of money and told he to go “create” and, to his credit, Snyder did just that. Unfortunately, he created hot dumpster water topped with soggy diarrhea.
Seriously, everything i have a problem with, has Zack Snyder’s name on it. He was the director, the writer, the screenplay writer, AND the f*cking cinematographer. What the f*ck, dude? Like, you want to be an auteur director, fine. Be good at it. Be good at movies if you’re trying to wear all of those hats. Zack, as a filmmaker, is bad at ALL of them. At best, he’s pedestrian, so doing all of that, just infuses abject mediocrity throughout this movie and it shows.
I’ve seen a lot of cats haring of Snyder’s depth of field choices but I'll take it one step further; What the f*ck was up with the shot composition as a whole, in this film? It was bad! All of it was so bad! There was no substance, no dynamism in the camerawork or the way the shots were set up. I’m not going to sit here and say it was just a bunch of static work, like how someone would film a play for theatrical exhibition, but it wasn’t that much better. I was watching this sh*t and thought to myself, “Hamilton had better camera work than this. F*ck.”
The whole ass plot is paper thing. I’m watching these first few minutes and it’s readily apparent that the guv’ment knows zombies be doing a zombie and Vegas is lost. Why the f*ck didn’t they nuke that motherf*cker off the face of the earth. Straight up Raccoon City that b*tch. There is nothing, no plot contrivance or mental gymnastics that could make believe that Las Vegas wouldn’t have been scrubbed off the map, within a week of this outbreak. Not after seeing actual paratroopers floating in to their deaths and straight up napalm strikes on the Strip. Why did anyone think building a fence out of shipping containers was a good long term option for containment! And that’s literally just in the opening credits! It gets worse as the flick progresses, man! The actual plot is trash!
Now, the actual premise? Interesting. It could have been interesting. But then Zack Snyder snyder’ed it up with the f*cking execution. Look, in order to write a great zombie flick, you need a strong human element. That’s where the audience is going to focus. They’re going to try and find the humanity in a sea of despair. Every great Zombie flick has a laughably strong lead and fantastic supporting characters you come to care about, usually withing the first act. 28 Days later is a fantastic example of how to execute your Zombie disaster apocalypse. You do not give a sh*t about any of the characters in Army. Snyder tries with Batista, thus the father-daughter relationship, but that cliche sh*t was cookie cutter from a whole different movie, which I'm going to get into next...
Army of the Dead is Aliens. It’s just a popularization of Aliens. It’s the same f*cking movie, but worse. There are shot-for-shot recreations in this movie, with just enough changed so Snyder won’t get sued. Just, off the top of my head, the ending. It’s exactly the same as f*cking Aliens! Literally the same goddamn ending! Heroes survive a gauntlet of monsters, rush to the top of or roof. Pilot of escape flying contraption kissing. Hero curses pilot of said whirly dervish. Queen Alien or Zombie King shows up. Pilot returns at the last minute to save survivors. Same. F*cking. Scene. And that’s just one. There are SO many in this thing you’d think Snyder watched Aliens everyday on set and just stole sh*t from that flick to add to his. It’s real bad. Real f*cking bad, man. which exasperates my next point...
This movie is f*cking boring. i was bored. If you’re stealing the entirety of Aliens, how do you f*ck that it up so bad? The same movie, which thrilled and entertained me thirty years ago, sh*t the bed so hard, today, and i don’t know how that happened. It’s infuriating when i think about it for too long. Speaking of long...
Why the f*ck is this anal prolapse, two and half hours long?? Why did you need this much movie to tell so little story? Seriously, how the f*ck is there this much run time yet, no actual f*cking characters outside of whatever the f*ck Batista was able to save with his sheer screen presence? How do you have all of this time and still not craft a character in which to invest?? In a f*cking Zombie movie?!
Also, he hired a rapist.
The Verdict
This movie sucks. For all of the reasons outlined above. I told you that in the beginning. You didn’t have to rad this far. You knew i hated this movie within the first sentence. This sh*t was a waste of my life. Batista is good in it and that sh* Snyder did with Tig was pretty cool, but everything else is bad. All of it. None of this movie is good. It was boring. It wasn’t entertaining. There are no characters. The plot is dumb. The execution is worse. The run time is absurd. Did i mention how bored i was? Army of the Dead is garbage. This is a bad movie. This is what you get when you just let Zack Snyder do whatever the f*ck he wants with no limits or boundaries. Snyder is bad at movies and he keeps proving it. I have no idea why people keep giving this obvious fraud work.
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frame the halves and call them brothers
remus centric, 2,935 wc, ao3
remus meets janus, who proceeds to psychoanalyze him (and virgil is exhausted)
Remus did not wake up early. Or rather, he didn’t like waking up early, not usually. But that morning, Remus woke up with an excited buzz despite the fact he was awake before 8am on a Saturday. He rushed to get dressed, slipping on a flannel that was two sizes too big and had rips in the wrong places, a pair of black pants (the ones Patton loved to describe as his church pants since they were so ‘holey’), and his pair of blue ladder laced Doc Martens. Looking at himself in the mirror he couldn’t help but grin. Contrary to popular belief, Remus took a great deal of pride in his appearance, and to him, looking like the definition of the word ‘punk’ made him very content and happy.
His mom sat at the kitchen table, already in her uniform for one of her jobs. Remus walked over to her and bent down to plant a kiss on her cheek.
“Good morning, sweetheart.” She greeted him.
“Morning.” He replied with a smile that showed off his chipped tooth.
“You’re extra excitable this morning.” She commented and stood from her seat.
“What can I say, I love facing the consequences of my actions.” Remus said, opening a granola bar and following his mom to the front door. She rolled her eyes with a chuckle and grabbed her keys from the hook by the door. The ride to the school was quiet. Remus knew she was still pissed at him, even more so at Virgil and was not excited for him to be around the kid who beat him up. They pulled up to the school and just as Remus opened the door to leave she spoke.
“Please behave yourself, mijo.” She sounded exhausted and looked the part as well. Remus’s stomach knotted when he realized just how tired her whole existence was. He nodded, not trusting himself to talk, and left the car. He watched her pull away with a sort of sadness. He quickly shook away whatever he was feeling and entered the high school. He walked into the gym where Mr. Young was waiting along with a few other students. Remus noted he didn’t see Virgil, meaning he was early to something for once. He sat down on the bleachers and shortly after Virgil walked in with someone Remus vaguely recognized from a few of his classes. The two walked over to Remus.
“I just don’t understand how you can be stupid enough to also get detention.” Virgil said to the kid next to him.
“I don’t think it’s fair,” The other person spoke, “Writing on the bathroom stalls shouldn’t result in this kind of punishment.”
“You wrote ‘fuck 12’, Janus, what the hell did you think would happen?” Virgil asked incredulously.
“Well I didn’t think I would get caught.” The kid, Janus, replied in a grumble.
“You making fun of me for being a wannabe punk when your boyfriend acts like that is kinda fucked up, Hot Topic.” Remus said, inserting himself into the conversation. Virgil gagged while the other kid made a face of pure disgust.
“Never say that ever again, we’re brothers.” Virgil said.
“Oh, fuck, sorry I couldn’t really tell,” Remus said looking from one to the other, “I’m guessing you’re step brothers or something?”
“Actually, we’re twins, I just happened to get all the melanin,” Janus stated and then gestured to the left side of his face where splotches of pale skin stood in a contrast to the rest of his dark complexion, “Virge did have some kind of influence though.”
Remus nodded in understanding and Virgil looked at him with a scrutinizing gaze.
“Please tell me you don’t actually believe that.” Virgil spoke in a desperate tone. Remus laughed a little too hard.
“I know I’m dumb but I’m not stupid.” Remus said. Virgil put his head in his hands and mumbled something Remus interpreted as ‘I want to go home’. He lifted his head and looked from Janus to Remus. He leaned closer to Remus and lowered his voice.
“My brother kinda hates you for punching me.”
“It’s ok,” Remus spoke in a similar hushed tone, “My brother hates me for punching you, too.” Virgil raised his eyebrow but didn’t question any further, to which Remus was thankful. Roman wasn’t a fun topic to talk about unless Remus was making fun of him and right now, even thinking about him was making him upset.
“Ok, kids,” Mr. Young addressed the less than 10 people in the room, “Each of you will be cleaning up the campus. We have proctors all around campus so don’t do anything that will get you into even more trouble. Come grab a trash bag and gloves and hop to it.” He gestured to the pile of garbage bags and boxes of gloves. Each of the kids shuffled over and grabbed their supplies.
Once they were outside, Remus, Virgil, and Janus stuck together and picked up the same area in relative silence. Remus bent down to pick up a half eaten sandwich when he noticed Janus’s shoes; blue ladder laced Doc Martens. He grinned and fully stood up.
“You killed a cop, too?” Remus practically shouted the question and gained the attention of the two boys, along with a few bewildered looks from surrounding students.
“Excuse me?!” Virgil asked, his voice going up an octave or two. Janus looked down at Remus’s boots and then his own, a knowing look on his face.
“Seeing as how this little shit,” Janus nodded in the direction of Virgil, “Beat the fuck out of you, I seriously doubt you killed a cop.” Remus barked out a laugh.
“Half-pint has some moves you wouldn’t believe.” Remus pointed to his tooth and Janus moved closer to get a better look.
“The little raccoon did that?” He asked with amusement in his voice. Remus nodded.
“He pulled my head back and smashed my face into the ground,” Remus recounted the moment with a sense of nostalgia in his voice, “My mouth just so happened to be open.”
“You don’t sound angry about it.”
“Because I’m not,” The grin in his voice was evident, “I’ve always wanted to get into a fight and now I have a way of remembering it.” Janus gave a small smile and Remus counted that as a win.
“Is your nose ok?” Virgil asked.
“It’s fine, kid, no need to feel guilty.” Remus reassured him. It was feeling a whole lot better than the day before, the bruising made it look a lot worse than it felt.
“I still can’t believe you did that, bub.” Janus spoke with pride as he ruffled Virgil’s hair, “I raised you well.”
“You’re barley even a year older than me shut the fuck up.” Virgil’s voice didn’t actually hold any malice.
“Oh, you’re older than us?” Remus asked, adding, “I could have sworn I’ve seen you in some of my classes.”
“Oh, no me and you are the same age,” Janus said with a shit eating grin on his face, “V here skipped a grade so he’s a little baby.” Janus had turned on his baby voice and squished Virgil’s face.
“Get the fuck away from me.” Virgil said and swatted his hands away.
“Awww, little piss baby.” Remus cooed.
“I hate both of you so much.” Virgil said, giving each of them a pointed look.
“You know you love me.” Janus said and wrapped his arms around his younger brother, swaying a little from side to side. Virgil mumbled something into his shirt that made Janus chuckle. Remus watched them and felt a little part of his chest ache.
“You’re not so bad, Remus.” Janus said, letting go of Virgil.
“I’m all sorts of bad, but I appreciate it.” Remus said.
They finished cleaning with a lot more talking and joking around. Remus felt happy having people to interact with who were brand new to his life. It was like a breath of fresh air. Once they were dismissed, Remus walked to the front of the school with the two brothers.
“Do you wanna go over to the gas station?” Janus asked him.
“I don’t have any money on me.” Remus said, shifting on his feet.
“Don’t worry about it, V can buy you a slushie.” Janus said, already walking in the direction of the nearby 7/11.
“Why do I have to buy it?”
“You’re the one who beat the shit out of him, it’s the least you can do.” Janus said and winked to Remus. He snorted. Janus looked over at him and squinted, searching for something in his face.
“I’m flattered, really, but it’s awfully rude to stare.” Remus said.
“You look familiar.” Janus mumbled. Then his face lit up, “You do theatre, right?” Remus groaned.
“No, that’s my brother.” He couldn’t help the disgust evident in his voice.
“Oh, are you two twins?” He asked.
“Sadly, yes.” Remus responded.
“You don’t seem very fond of him.” Remus bit the inside of his cheek.
“We just have a complicated history.” He said. Virgil and Janus both raised an eyebrow and maybe Janus’s joke about them being twins wasn’t too far off.
“Aren’t twins supposed to be, like, super close and shit?” Virgil asked.
“Virgil.” Janus said his name like a warning.
“No, it’s fine, Roman and I are just,” Remus paused to think of a way to describe their dichotomy, “different. He’s the golden boy and I’m clearly not.” Remus said and gestured to himself.
“Comparison creates a divide and causes nothing but harm.” Janus told him.
“That’s the thing,” Remus was starting to get angry, “I was never the one to start comparing. It was our dad who always favored Roman. Roman who does nothing for himself; he people pleases and has no sense of an actual identity. But because he can follow the rules he’s the good twin.” Remus hit the crosswalk button harder than necessary.
“You seem a lot more interesting.” Virgil said
“Agreed.” Remus gritted through his teeth.
“So then, why are you jealous of him?” Janus asked. Remus turned to him.
“I’m not jealous of him.”
“Yes you are.” He stated
“Janus likes to psychoanalyze everyone.” Virgil informed Remus. The crosswalk flashed the little picture of the man walking and the three boys imitated the motion.
Remus thought about what Janus said as the two boys started a conversation of their own. Was he jealous of Roman? There was no way. Roman was self absorbed and egotistical, but only on surface level. He and Roman may not get along too well but they knew each other like the back of their hand. Remus knew how insecure Roman was, always scared of losing his good image, letting himself hide away parts of himself to look less weird. Remus was happier, Remus was unabashedly himself. So, why was he jealous of Roman?
“You ok, Rem?” Virgil asked, successfully gaining his attention.
“Oh, uh, yeah I’m fine.” Remus responded. Virgil nodded and followed Janus inside the 7/11. Remus walked in after him.
“What flavor do you want?” Virgil asked, grabbing a cup and a lid.
“Mix the blue and the Coke.” Virgil made an audible noise of disgust but complied. He wandered over to the chip aisle and Remus went to the back where Janus looked at the cold drinks.
“You never answered my question.” Janus spoke, not taking his eyes away from the energy drinks in front of him.
“I don’t really have an answer for you, I don’t know why I am. If you asked my therapist it probably has something to do with my dad.”
“That’s what all therapists say.” Janus opened the case and crouched down, picking up two cans of Monster.
“I mean, they aren’t wrong, dads are just like that.” Remus accepted one of the cans.
“I wouldn’t know, I grew up with two moms.”
“That’s why you’re so put together, no trauma of having a father.” Remus said. Janus laughed and Remus decided it was one of the prettiest sounds he’d ever heard.
“Why do you need a Monster if you also have a slushie?” Virgil asked, exasperated.
“Extra energy.” He replied, handing him the drink. Virgil rolled his eyes and went up to the counter.
“I don’t think Roman is as boring as you think.” Janus said.
“You know him?” Remus asked.
“I’ve spoken with him a few times, he’s very active in theatre and so am I.”
“So you knew I wasn’t him?” Remus asked.
“He’s interesting in his own way,” Janus avoided Remus’s question, “I think you need to give him a chance.”
“Easy for you to say, you and Virgil seem like perfect siblings.” Remus knew he sounded bratty but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
“When I first met him, I absolutely hated him,” Janus started, “I was 11 and suddenly I had a younger brother. I was in a new home and the only familiar part of my life was my mom and even then she had split her time between me and Virgil. I didn’t want anything to do with him. I thought he was weird and too quiet. Poor kid just had anxiety and me and my mom moving in did nothing to help. I had to give him a chance and once I did, we found we were similar in our own ways, but more importantly, we were different. Now, I can’t imagine a life where he isn’t my brother.” Remus looked at Janus in awe.
“Give Roman a chance, he may be completely different than you but what’s so bad about that?” Janus gave him a smile that on anyone else would look disingenuous but with him it was the most open expression Remus had ever seen on anyone. Remus could only nod.
“Is J getting all philosophical on you?” Virgil joined Remus’s side as Janus went to pay, “I keep telling him not to do that to people. He’s so weird.” There was a smile on his face as he spoke, as if just the mention of his brother made him happy.
“You’re one to talk.” Remus knocked Virgil’s shoulder with his own.
“I know the kid who brought a worm into class, claiming it to be his pet is not lecturing me about being weird right now.” Virgil said and Remus laughed.
“I forgot about that, I miss that little guy.” Virgil rolled his eyes with a certain fondness in his expression. He handed Remus his drinks as Janus joined the two. They walked back to the front of the school to wait for Virgil and Janus’s mom.
“It was nice meeting you, Remus, we should hang out again.” Janus said as a way of goodbye. Virgil waved and off the two boys were. Remus stood up and started his walk to his house. He didn’t live too far away and was at his house in less than 20 minutes. He entered the house and found Roman sitting in the living room, watching something on TV.
“Didn’t detention get out like, an hour and a half ago?” Roman asked and eyed the slushie and can of Monster in his hand, a sort of sadness in his eyes.
“I went to 7/11 with Emo and Janus.” He said and walked over to him.
“You know Janus?” Roman asked in surprise.
“I met him today, those two are actually brothers.” Remus laughed at Roman’s disbelieving expression. “I know, it’s a small world.” He handed Roman the Monster. He took it hesitantly.
“I’m glad you had fun.” He said and opened the drink. They were quiet for a few minutes, Remus joining him on the couch and half paying attention to what Roman had put on the TV (it was Hannah Montana; he only watched that when he needed a distraction).
“Why were you so mad when I got into that fight?” Remus finally asked. Roman chewed on his lip in thought before finally responding, voice soft.
“Because I didn’t want you to get hurt. And I didn’t want you doing something you would regret and beat yourself up about later.” Remus felt a pang in his heart.
“You saying you actually care about me?” Remus meant for it to come out as a joke, but the way his voice cracked and went quieter just made it sound pathetic.
“Of course I care about you, you’re my brother.”
Remus took in a deep breath and sipped from his drink.
“I’m sorry.” He said after a pause.
“Dude, are you ok?” Roman’s voice was filled with worry. Remus managed a breathy laugh.
“Yeah, I am. Thank you for the concern, Ro,” Remus smiled at him, “It means a lot.” Remus kept his voice low so it wouldn’t crack, so it wouldn’t push pressure on his throat, so he wouldn’t cry. Roman nodded and turned back towards the TV.
Remus knew it was going to be hard. Roman had always been this ideal his dad set for him, more of an idea than a person. And Remus thought, maybe, he’d always hold some kind of resentment towards him. But Janus was right. Roman was different in almost every way, but he was still himself. In the same way Remus was himself. Eventually, he would come to accept that, but for now, Remus was content watching Hannah Montana on their couch, on the verge of tears, Roman’s head somewhere else entirely. They were a collective mess of trauma but at the end of the day they were still brothers and Remus couldn’t imagine it any other way.
#remus sanders#roman sanders#virgil sanders#janus sanders#remus sanders angst#creativtwins angst#sanders sides#sanders sides fanfic#hs au#remus and janus use the lace code#blue means acab/killed a cop#remus and janus are literally the whole 'gay kids meet each other and after 5 minutes overshare'#virgil and jnaus being brothers is my favorite thing btw#this fic was suppossed to b way fluffier#and only suppossed to b virgil janus and remus#but i have an idea for a fic w just the three of them#and it wont have heavy angst lol
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Shiny
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Masterpost
Patton had five. Only five of the precious chocolates. He had been given Lindor chocolates. Two red, which were milk chocolate, two deep blue, dark chocolate, and one was a bright gold color. Patton opened the chocolate and popped it in his mouth. He loved white chocolate just as much as he loved milk chocolate, with dark chocolate coming third.
He kept the chocolate in his mouth, part of him wanting to bite down, and a larger part wanting to savor it. He crumpled the wrapper and put it in his pocket.
He walked by the kitchen, which was a mess, and Roman who was making himself a snack.
“Hey, Roman!”
“Oh, hi, Pat.”
“When you’re done, would you mind to pick up in the kitchen a bit?” Patton dropped his wrapper in the trash can. He turned back to look at Roman, who was watching him, indecision on his face as he screwed the lid back onto the jar he was holding.
“Yeah, sure.”
Patton smiled brightly. “Thank you, Roman!”
Roman returned the smile with his own dramatic flair. “I’ll get a pat-ton of work done!”
Patton squealed at the joke. “You know, I knew there was a reason you were able to conquer so much of the world.
Logan groaned loudly from in the living room.
Patton chuckled on his way out.
••^*^••
As soon as the coast was clear Roman snatched at the foil wrapper. He was determined to replace his collection, and this time he was going to use each one as he got it, rather than waiting until he had the full number. He put it in his pocket and cleaned up the kitchen, which didn’t take all that long for someone of his skill and speed.
Then he rushed to his room. He pulled out his largest piece of posterboard and his paint. The first thing he did was paint a background of a night sky, and then a large, bare branch in the foreground. This itself took a good hour, since he wanted it to be as close to perfect as possible.
He took the foil wrapper out of his pocket and carefully smoothed it out. Then he ran back to the kitchen and got a piece of tin foil to practice with first. He cut a tiny square, and had to pause again to find the right tool. After searching for a while, he brought two pins and a bottle of glue. He wrapped the tiny piece of foil around the head of the pin, and gently folded out the points. He used the other pin to take a tiny drop of glue from the bottle and place it on the posterboard. Then he set the foil on the glue and carefully pulled the pin out.
It looked like a tiny, cup like flower. Perfect. He did a few more practice ones, placing them in places that, when the work was complete, would be less obvious. Then he cut the wrapper and made the little flowers out of it, placing them in places of honor as the first piece of foil ought to be.
Roman hung the unfinished work high on the wall, where nothing should be able to crush the delicate flowers. He glanced at the clock, which was now beside the incomplete masterpiece, and realized that he had been working on it for another hour. He had known that it took time to make the tiny, delicate flowers, but not that much.
Well, every challenge only made the goal more worth reaching! Now, how was he going to get the next piece?
He could always summon a bunch of candies, but that seemed like cheating. Especially since he couldn’t eat very many of them himself. (A princely body had to be maintained) Maybe he could find a way to give them to the other sides and get the wrappers.
••^*^••
“I am so confused.” Virgil said, once his door was shut.
Princey, Roman Sanders, had just given him, completely unprompted, a bag of candy.
Maybe Patton had something to do with it? It certainly seemed a more Patton-like thing to do. Unless it was poisoned or something.
He set the bag on his bed. If he cut one open, would the poison be obvious?
••^*^••
“How did you know?!!” Patton said, clutching the bag to his chest. “These are my favorite!”
Roman chuckled, a bright sparkle in his eye. “I thought I saw you with one earlier, and guessed that you might enjoy some more.”
Patton hugged Roman. “Thank you!”
��•^*^••
“While I appreciate the gesture, I am not fond of chocolate,” Logan said, trying to decline gently.
“Oh. That’s fine.” Roman waved the bag out of existence. “Sorry to bother you, specs.”
••^*^••
Deceit’s eyes flickered between the bag and the person offering it.
“You came all the way down here— just to offer me candy?”
“Uh, yeah,” Roman said, shifting his weight slightly.
Deceit didn’t need to be able to sense lies to see through this one. He leaned out a bit farther from his doorway. “And what do you want in return?”
“What? Nothing. Can’t I give a gift?”
“Liesss,” Deceit said, his tongue flickering out involuntarily.
Roman put on a dramatically offended face, and opened his mouth to protest, but then stopped. “Fine. I want the wrappers when you’re done.”
Deceit’s mind went immediately to the basket of foil wrappers Roman had given Remus to get him out of the light side. Remus had cut each one into tiny sharp confetti, which he loved to dump over the head of an unsuspecting side. But still, it seemed suspicious, even when he could no longer taste a lie.
“That’ss all?”
“That’s it!” Roman said, smiling, assured of victory.
Deceit narrowed his eyes, but accepted the bag. “I make no promisssesss…”
••^*^••
It was like a quest! Roman searched the mindscape every day for the wrappers, taking them back to his room to form the flowers with them. The very challenge of doing it without the others knowing made it feel so much more satisfying.
He stepped back to admire the poster. One bunch of flowers was now outlined, and there were a few other flowers sprinkled around. This was going to take time. And more candy wrappers. Honestly, he was so pleased with the candy wrapper idea. They were almost gem-like in their colors, and the foil was thin and soft, easily shaped, though also easily ruined. He snapped, and a glass case covered the work of art, protecting it from any accidents.
••^*^••
“I’ll take it, you don’t need to get up,” Logan said, gathering up the trash Patton had beside him on his way to the kitchen.
Roman’s eyes followed him, and soon so did the man. Logan had been noticing that he was acting strangely, but hadn’t thought it to be too strange. Perhaps just a side effect of being in a slow period, at least as far as Creativity was concerned.
Logan tried to ignore him. He reached up into a cabinet with his free arm, distracted enough for the moment that he only thought of his original purpose, retrieving his jar of Crofters. But it wasn’t there. He looked in the fridge. But again, no.
“Hey, jelly maniac,” Roman said.
Logan turned to him. He was wearing an infuriating smirk, and holding the Crofters.
“I’ll trade you,” Roman continued, gesturing towards the handful of trash Logan still held.
For a moment, Logan frowned, deeply confused. Then, all at once, the pieces clicked together.
“It’s your raccoon instincts. That’s why you’ve handed out candy to everyone. Candy in bright foil wrappers. It’s also why you’ve been eyeing piles of garbage as if they might contain gold. I see now. Yes, you may have it. Feel free.”
“I-it’s not raccoon instincts!” Roman blustered. “I’ve been creating with them.”
“That does not negate the possibility that your instincts are at play here. Likely combining it with your creativity has only made the impulse stronger, especially since you’ve had less of a creative outlet recently.”
Logan held out his hand for the Crofters, and deposited the trash in Roman’s hand. Roman picked out the foil and dropped the rest in the trash can. And then, Logan had an idea.
••^*^••
“Virgil, have you also received chocolate from Roman?” Logan asked.
“Yeah, a couple days ago. Did he give you some too? Is it like a new holiday or something?”
Logan waved aside the questions. “I wanted to know if I could have the wrappers when you’ve finished with them. There is an experiment that they may be useful for.”
“What kind of experiment? And didn’t he give you some?”
“He has offered some to me, but at the time I was not conducting the experiment, and saw no use in them.”
“Ah. I haven’t eaten mine either.”
Logan nodded. “And would it be possible for me to have the wrappers?”
“I mean, sure, not like I have a use for them.”
The next day, Logan had a small stack of seven. Now his experiment could really begin. Now he just had to think of something Roman wouldn’t want to give him.
“Roman, I want your sash.”
“You—What??? Why?”
“The reason why is immaterial. What matters is that I want your sash and I am willing to give you something in exchange.” Logan held up one of the wrappers, which he smoothed out into a perfect rectangle.
Roman’s face, which was already comically confused, now had a distinct note of greed in it. “I can conjure you one—“
“No.” Logan interrupted. “I want the one you’re wearing.”
Roman’s face went back to confused. “But why?”
“As I said, the reason why is immaterial.” Logan said, pulling another foil from a different pocket.
“How many do you have?” Roman asked breathlessly, his eyes widening.
“At the moment, I have three.” Logan replied, which was true, he had left the others in his room.
“I’ll give it to you for three,” Roman said, already pulling the sash off.
Logan completed the trade successfully. As he left, Roman conjured himself a new sash.
The results were as he had expected. The next step would be to see how far Roman could be pushed to go. He would probably have to get more than four wrappers.
••^*^••
“Roman? Did you need something?”
Roman shuffled, embarrassment clear in every line of his body, if the beet red of his face wasn’t enough to go by. His head snapped up.
“Logan is the best side. He’s the smartest and always knows the right thing to do. He knows more than we do and we always need his input. You should listen to him more often than you do.”
Then he tried to sink out.
“Oh, no you don’t!” Thomas said, pulling him back. “What was that all about? Did you lose a bet?”
Roman groaned and slouched onto the couch, covering his face with his hand. “Don’t make this any worse than it has to be, please.”
Thomas summoned Logan.
Logan was full out giggling. He had his hand over his mouth and was hunched over he was laughing so hard. “I-I’m so-sorry, Thomas, this is-is unpro-“ his words were broken up by another round of laughter and Roman groaned again.
Thomas started laughing despite himself. He was inclined to feel bad for Princey, but it really was funny, and Logan’s laughter was surprisingly contagious.
“Oh, not both of you!” Roman wailed, sending them both further into hysterics.
Thomas was distracted enough that he missed Roman sinking out. He’d have to summon him back.
“Let him—let him have some time,” Logan said, as if he could read Thomas’s mind. Though that was actually very possible.
“What was all that?” Thomas asked.
“I can’t. I already laughed at him, if I told you too he really would get upset.”
And so Thomas was curious about it. His curiosity remained, waxing and waning, for about a month, before being sated.
“I—“ Roman cleared his throat. “I have a present for you.”
Thomas gasped. “A present? That’s so sweet! It’s not even my birthday.”
Roman shrugged, but a smile crept up over his face. He turned to the wall. “So to make sure it gets here alright, can we move some of these?”
“Uh, sure. Is it that big?” Thomas took down a picture.
“It’s… not very small.”
They cleared the wall and stood back. Roman snapped, and a massive picture hung on the wall. It was a branch of a tree, covered in glittering flowers of all colors, with origami leaves that were a bright metallic green, against a dark night.
“Roman… this is beautiful.”
Roman swelled up with happiness, and his smile looked ready to split his face. He looked at Thomas, his eyes bright with hope. “You really like it?”
“I do. I really do.” Thomas grabbed Roman in a hug. “It’s amazing. Thank you.”
#roman sanders#patton sanders#logan sanders#virgil sanders#deceit sanders#sympathetic deceit#platonic logince#character!thomas#more than the sum of our parts
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Fic: Terra Incognita
Title: Terra Incognita
Author: Kairos
Summary: Rocket had a very limited number of people he loved, or even tolerated, and most of those are dead. What now? Why bother? And what happens when they come back?
Wordcount: 4345
Warnings: Some violence, some language. No sex and no spoilers for anything post-Endgame.
Read it on Ao3 here.
“So what did you think of Earth?”
In the moments after Groot slipped through his fingers, the battleground became a graveyard. That wasn’t so bad; what was a graveyard but a place of remembrance? Rocket would have stayed there, just remembering, but it changed again. Time kept moving, people kept reacting, and the battleground turned into what it had been before Rocket had ever seen it -- a stretch of savannah that belonged to the nation of Wakanda, a nation of Earth.
The people changed too. They had been brothers in arms, and now they were Terrans. It shouldn’t have mattered; Rocket had never had his own kind anyway, but there was something unsettling about an entire world that was populated by just one sentient race. They all had the same biology, the same history, the same prejudices in spite of it. They all called him a raccoon. He never bothered to make one of them show him some justification for it.
Thor was the only exception, and Thor was broken. It took only a few days of sheltering with the so-called Avengers for Rocket to realize that he would never have a real friend among them. His only hope was for the survival of some part of his family, and that was no hope at all.
He held on anyway, long enough for Nebula to win her throw of the dice and make it down to Earth to confirm everyone else’s loss. It was as hard for her as it was for Rocket, he realized. There had been a time that understanding another’s pain would have been beyond him, but that was from before he had met Quill and the others. Losing them didn’t erase the way they had changed him. Nebula needed him now. He needed her.
“So what did you think of Earth?”
In the early days, once Thanos had been executed, all of Rocket’s work was done alongside the Avengers. They explained as much about their world as was needed for him to help reconstruct it, and they asked him whatever they thought they needed to know. The same went for Nebula, but since she and Rocket were usually together and she looked more like them than he did, they asked her first.
There was plenty of living space for everyone at the Avengers headquarters, but Rocket didn’t officially claim a room. He strung up hammocks near his current projects, or found beds that nobody was using. Sometimes he fell asleep in Nebula’s room, which contained a few achingly familiar weapons that she had salvaged. She never remarked on it, though she tossed him a blanket if he needed one.
One day, Rocket finished updating all of the power sources in the building, and for the first time, was left with nothing to do. Instead of lowering himself to asking someone to help keep him busy, he took a walk outside and began to cross the expansive lawn. Footsteps soon took up behind him, and he didn’t have to look to know that it was Nebula.
At the edge of the property he stopped, sniffed the air, and said, “So Quill grew up here.”
“No wonder he never chose to return,” Nebula rasped.
Rocket’s impulse was to agree, but he knew that looking out to a distant city from a secluded compound wasn’t seeing a world. He hesitated, then ventured, “I might go check it out.”
She betrayed no emotion. “We could take a vehicle.”
Nebula drove. The transport units that Terrans used were mostly earthbound, difficult to maneuver and impossible to adjust for greater comfort. As soon as they had reached a living town, Nebula parked, and they left the car to explore on their feet.
Of course there was nobody but more Terrans, and few enough of those. They gawked, some shouted, but none approached, apparently too full of fear or apathy to investigate the foreign species in their midst. A Flerken strolled by, which raised Rocket’s hackles, but Nebula explained that they were called cats here and that none had ever been known to use its deadly power.
Quill’s frequent boasts about his home planet seemed to have no basis in reality. Rocket hadn’t expected much anyway, but he had been harboring a small secret hope that something would remind him of his late human friend. All of that, apparently, was back at the base. Even the music that the Avengers played was more like Quill’s than whatever was now drifting out of someone’s apartment window overhead.
That made sense, he had to admit. The Avengers were more like Quill than the other Terrans in almost every way.
“So what did you think of Earth?”
Rocket knew the real reason that Quill had never returned to his home, although he suspected that Nebula didn’t: like everything about Quill, it had to do with his mother. He had said more than once that he would never be able to set a foot on the planet without grieving for her all over again.
When the team was still together, Rocket had quietly wondered how true that really was. Maybe it was an excuse for something else, or maybe Quill thought he meant it but would have changed his mind if he ever found himself on Earth again.
What would Quill have thought about this version of Earth? About the Avengers?
Rocket still didn’t particularly like them, but he tolerated some better than others. Rhodey had a kind of pragmatism to his despair; his grief was shared and not personal. When Rocket gave him engineering tips, he listened. Banner was intelligent, for a human. His goal of fusing his two personae into a single mind and body was one of the only ideas on Earth that had interested Rocket for its own sake, and Banner didn’t mind him coming into the lab to observe.
Tony Stark had earned Nebula’s respect, which was enough to get Rocket’s too, but he was never around and the Avengers said he wouldn’t be back. Something about having a baby. That made Rocket think about Groot, so he tuned out every time it was mentioned.
The Terran that Rocket saw most often was Natasha Romanov, which he found unfortunate. She was as subdued and miserable as any of them, but she retained a detached amusement over anything she found incredible, and that included Rocket. When she spoke to him, it was after a brief pause, as if each time she had to convince herself all over again that he was real. He overheard her referring to him as “the raccoon”, long after she had learned his name. She turned all her attention to Nebula when he was standing right next to her.
All of that was typical enough to be barely worth the notice, though, and he found he didn’t want to get back at Romanov even if she were openly laughing at him. Everyone had to find something to not be subdued and miserable about.
For him it was Terran food. They had a knack for combining their meat and produce and grain and artificial flavors into unexpected and delicious snacks, and Rocket tried whatever was available and liked most of it. He seemed to like it more than the Terrans did, actually. They were all so goddamned picky.
One of the first times that he heard any of the Avengers laugh was when Rhodey gave Rogers some kind of candy that made him crease his brow and turn it over in his hands. “Marshmallow...Peeps?”
Rocket pricked his ears. He loved marshmallows.
Rhodey shrugged and ambled over to the monitor where he always checked the daily statistics. “It’s the week after Easter, they’re practically free. What, you didn’t have Peeps in your basket back in the old days?”
Rogers shook his head, smiling. “I think I’ll pass. Nat, you want these?” He tossed them over to her without waiting for an answer.
“Not even if you paid me,” she retorted even as she caught the cellophane-wrapped packet out of the air. She barely spared it a glance as it travelled in a smooth arc from her hand to the nearest wastebasket.
The humans began reminiscing about the holidays of their youths, so Rocket took it upon himself to liberate the Peeps from the pile of crumpled paper they were sitting on in the basket. The packet hadn’t been opened, but it still smelled strongly of sugar. He tore off the plastic and pulled out one of the soft pink shapes inside, inspecting it with his hands and nose.
“Rocket, man,” said Rhodey suddenly, just as Rocket was stuffing the sweet blob into his mouth. “That is nasty.”
Rocket swallowed and glared. “Wastin’ good food, that’s nasty.”
“Yeah, but from the garbage?”
“I wouldn’a had to get it outta there if one of you dweebs offered me some before you trashed it.”
Rogers sat up straighter, his mirth fading. “I’m sorry, Rocket. Should have thought of that.”
Rocket shrugged. “Don’ matter.” He bit into a second Peep, glad that he wouldn’t have to share them, but the atmosphere in the room had changed. His ears flicked back and forth, sensing that the humans outside of his line of vision were trying to have a silent argument with gestures and facial expressions.
Not Rhodey, though. “I can get you more of those things,” he offered. Rocket nodded emphatically, unconcerned about whether this was going to become a running joke for them.
As he was leaving, absently licking sugar from his hands, he saw Romanov shoot him a quick but unmistakably disgusted look. It was a relief to find Nebula again, although there was no chance she would have understood why he liked the Terran candy. Nebula had never enjoyed any kind of food, as far as he could remember.
“Hey,” he said suddenly, after they had both been silently engaged in their own engineering tasks for a few hours. “Y’know they don’t need us here, right?”
She nodded. “Where should we go?”
“So what did you think of Earth?”
They went to Xandar. Rocket knew that it wouldn’t be easy to see it again, and it wasn’t, but there was work to be done there.
Rhomann Dey’s wife and daughter, he learned, had been taken by the Snap. Dey himself was among those slaughtered by Thanos’s army when it had come to retrieve the Power Stone. The wave of rage and hatred that swept over Rocket when he heard the news was stronger than anything he had felt in months, though still a dim reflection of what he had felt before this new reality had begun to sink in.
It was energizing, in a way, and he channeled it into restoring the planet’s technology so that the remainder of its people could have some kind of comfort to rely on. They were grateful, in their deadened, glassy-eyed way, but Rocket wished that they blamed him and demanded satisfaction. He explained who he was to anyone who didn’t know, detailing the story of how the Guardians had defeated Ronan but left the Orb instead of keeping it safe from Thanos, and how he was the only Guardian left to atone for their mistakes.
They simply didn’t have the heart to care. Sometimes they interrupted him just to ask when he thought the television would be back on.
“I dunno what else to do,” he said quietly to Nebula, one day when they had retreated to the Benatar, which was the only place they could bear to live. She had been going through the same thing that he had, but moreso. When she told the Xandarians in no uncertain terms that she had last come here as an enemy and a killer, it barely raised eyebrows.
“Keep moving,” she answered promptly.
They went to Contraxia, Tetra, A’askvaria. Everywhere it was the same. People accepted the help they gave, asked for nothing more, cooperated as needed, and showed no will to survive. Rocket and Nebula ended up spending much of their time chasing down opportunistic criminals, although their stated mission was still research and exchange of information with the team they had left on Terra.
One other, the woman they called Danvers, was moving freely around space. She was both powerful and knowledgeable about the universe outside of one little solar system, and that made Rocket curious about what she could accomplish. Before long, though, it became evident that damage control was all she had in her arsenal, just like him and Nebula and the Avengers and Stark with his baby and absolutely everyone else. Danvers was just one more Terran, and she didn’t even listen to good music.
By the time Rocket was summoned back to Earth, he didn’t have any expectations of hearing an idea with even the possibility of providing the slightest chance of a meager improvement on the current state of reality, but it didn’t matter. It turned out that Earth wasn’t any worse than anywhere else.
“So what did you think of Earth?”
The battle was raging all around him when he found them. Drax first, broadcasting his presence with mad laughter. Rocket dispatched the enemy between them to catch his eye, hailed him through the smoke, and moved on with a grin he couldn't have dropped if he tried.
Mantis was nearby, as he had expected. She reached up with one bared hand, timing it just right for Rocket to reach down and touch her fingertips as he leaped overhead. She laughed in sheer delight, which he transmitted right back to her as it echoed through the empathic contact.
He saw Quill and Groot at the same time, apparently right after they had found each other. They were hugging, and though it only lasted for a second, Rocket’s first impulse was to cuss them both out for dropping their guard in the middle of a battle. Quill should know better. Quill was a seasoned fighter. The only time he ever left himself so open was...was when he was overcome with emotion.
Rocket’s anger ebbed away, and he watched the two of them without letting himself be seen so he could cover them until they broke apart and went running back into the fray. It wasn’t hard to decide which one to follow; Groot needed him. He had been alone when he died and must have come back alone, scared and confused.
But when Rocket caught up to him, he only looked happy -- and determined. “I am Groot!” he insisted, extending a branch to point out the next enemy he wanted to slay. Rocket had never felt so proud in his life.
He stayed by Groot’s side for as long as he could, though still keeping an eye out for Quill. The chance for a real reunion, even the split-second kind he had had with the others, seemed to keep slipping away. The first thing that Quill said to him, between heavy breaths, was, “Did you see Gamora?”
Rocket shook his head, dazed. Gamora was dead with no chance of resurrection; Nebula had told him about it. Had Quill gone mad?
“No. Listen, you gotta gimme a lift. I figured out this move with Rhodey, if you got the jets on your boots I can--”
Quill opened his mask, and Rocket saw his eyes for the first time, frustrated and wild. “Who’s Rhodey?” he demanded. “Forget it, there’s no time. Captain America’s in command, he’s the one with the shield--”
“I know who Captain America is!” Rocket snapped. “That’s what I’m tryin’ to tell you!”
The rest of the discussion was cut short; they both had to get into formation and there was no efficient way to make it work together. It didn’t bother Rocket that this had been their first conversation after so long, but it did bother him, even as he spotted Rhodey and jumped onto his back for the move they had invented, that it might be their last.
So what did you think of Earth?
Quill started packing up the Benatar as soon as Stark’s funeral was over. Rocket was sure he hadn’t even begun to process what happened, let alone taken a moment to explore his roots.
“So you meant it, huh?” Rocket asked him after completing the final check on every gauge. “You really don’t wanna be on Terra.”
“Of course I meant it,” Quill muttered, tossing a sack into the hold. “Why, do you?”
Rocket knew better than to respond to what was obviously a sarcastic question, but he did have a silent, unexpected brush with doubt about his answer. On one hand, he couldn’t wait to leave Earth; on the other, there were a few goodbyes coming that would be harder than he had expected.
Rhodey was standing solemnly outside the hatch, eye level with Rocket, halfway up the steps. “You ever need anything, you just ask,” he said.
Rocket laughed. “From Earth? Yeah right.”
Rhodey laughed along, but wouldn’t withdraw the offer. “You just ask,” he repeated. He handed Rocket a packet of Peeps, and then he was walking away, waving flippantly. “Catch you later, mister ringtail. Keep an eye on Thor.”
Rocket didn’t realize that Quill had been listening until after the Benatar had left the solar system. It was quiet, almost meditative, if you were into that kind of thing. Quill was in the frontmost seat on the right, Rocket on the left, and everything felt so right.
“Was that guy an Avenger?” Quill asked in that too-casual tone he used when he was feeling pissy about something.
It was a tone that Rocket hadn’t heard in five years, and there was no way he could have reacted the way he used to, with rolled eyes and a barb. He wanted to cry for joy, just being here again, sitting next to this sulky idiot. Instead he grinned and replied, “Eh, they call all of ‘em Avengers now. Probably even us.”
“I’m not an Avenger!” Quill protested.
As he was getting even more upset, Rocket was feeling even happier. “Who cares? The job got done. Nobody’s tryin’ to tell us we ain’t Guardians.”
Quill’s voice dropped under his breath. “Figures.”
“What?”
“Nothing. You’ve got other friends now. It’s fine.”
It was stupid as hell but it was still funny, and even a little bit touching. Rocket let him change the subject to their flight path, and then Thor came in and started telling some off-the-wall story and it was a while before Rocket and Quill were alone together again.
But the next time it wasn’t funny. They were charting a routine supply run, and Rocket had to keep correcting him because of all the ways that the routes and businesses he had known had changed over the past five years, not to mention the various upgrades to the Benatar itself. Quill’s fuse kept getting shorter and shorter until finally he unstrapped his holster and slammed it onto the table, blasters and all, like that was the only gesture that could match his words. “Fine! You want Thor to be captain so bad, Thor’s captain now!”
Neither of them had been saying a thing about Thor, or who should be captain. The topic hadn’t even come up since they had left Earth. Rocket bared his teeth. “Whatever’s got its claws in you, Quill, you better start dealin’ with it. The rest of us did already.”
“How the fuck am I supposed to deal with it? Gamora’s the only one who ever understood me, and she’s dead! And now there’s another Gamora out there somewhere who doesn’t know us and hates my guts! And you - you -”
Rocket was down on all fours on the table, his fur bristling under his clothes. “Me what? Me went through hell all this time while you got to skip past it? Had a family one day and then nobody but Nebula the next? Gave everything I could to try to get you losers back?”
Quill crossed his arms and locked eyes with Rocket. “Yeah,” he said, making it sound like a challenge. “All of that.”
There was a short but echoing pause. Rocket stood up. “I’m still here, Quill. Gamora’s not the only one who understood you. She never was.”
“After that battle…” Quill’s voice broke slightly, and he swallowed and took a deep breath before going on. “I saw the way people talked to you. How they respected you. And I thought, man, it took us four years to get to know each other that well. And then I thought, oh, right. They had five.”
That wasn’t news. Rocket had done the math himself, counting the days since Thanos won, and dismissed it as meaningless trivia. But the idea that the Terrans had respected him? Why would they?
“I get it, y’know,” Quill stated bitterly. “Why the Avengers and all of them didn’t like me. If you feel the same way, I get that too.”
Rocket tilted his head, genuinely confused. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re all still mad because I screwed up the plan on Titan. Stark probably told everyone how I flipped out because...you know.”
“That’s your problem? Friggin’ mushbrained…” He inhaled, then bellowed, “THOR! Get your royal ass in here!”
Thor didn’t hurry, but he did come. He was looking better, although his depression had taken a toll on his body and his full recovery would take time. “Hello Rabbit, Captain Star-Lord,” he said, nodding to each of them. “Is there a cause for concern?”
Rocket jerked his head at Quill. “Yeah. Look, I need this moron to know what you did while he was gone, so just interrupt me if I get anything wrong, okay? Like, we all caught up to Thanos in the Garden and we’re debatin’ what to do with him and you just decide to swing your fancy axe and kill him dead so’s we never get any more answers outta him, is that how you remember that?”
The jovial expression that Thor had been wearing vanished. “Yes,” he replied. “That is how it happened.”
“And then how about when you and me are in Asgard tryin’ to snag the Reality Ooze and the whole future of everything depends on us and that’s when you have your meltdown ‘cause I guess it’s all about you in the end?”
Thor nodded solemnly, but Quill, plainly aghast, muttered, “Geez, dude, let up…”
Rocket shot him a glare. “You think you’re the only one who screwed us all over? This here’s a friggin’ god, calls down lightning an’ shit, and he still blew it. Why are we keepin’ him around, huh? What makes you think he’s gonna be a better captain than you?”
Quill gave Thor a hard look, then turned back to Rocket. “Maybe you’re the one who should be our captain.”
“Right,” said Rocket sarcastically. “Because I’m the one who never made a mistake. You’re a clown, Quill. Think back a little.”
As memories of life with the Guardians played openly across Quill’s face, Rocket took the chance to confront his own past. He had been born in a laboratory and raised by scientists who had barely acknowledged his capacity to feel pain. With everything that had happened, it no longer seemed so important, but he clearly remembered the days when he had thought that all he could be was what they had made him. Time hadn’t taught him differently. The Guardians had.
Thor stepped forward and put a hand on Quill’s shoulder. He spoke softly and with infinite kindness. “I was the king of my people. I chose to abscond. I have no desire to take your place, Peter Quill, and it’s you that your people need.”
“They need each other. Not me.”
Hearing those words from Quill was as painful as death, and Rocket knew what that meant: there must be some truth to them. The team was fractured. Groot was Groot and Drax was Drax, and Mantis could bypass hours of heartfelt talk with one touch. But Gamora had left an open wound, and Thor was welcomed by all but still an outsider to the ones who had been gone.
Most of all, Rocket and Nebula now stood apart from the others. They had grown. They had changed a little, maybe a lot. It didn’t matter to Rocket, so he didn’t know what to do when he saw how it mattered to Quill.
“Yeah,” Rocket heard himself saying. “Five years without you, an’ I survived it. Never woulda thought it myself, but I guess that’s proof I didn’t need you.”
Thor’s eyes were wide; Quill’s were bloodshot and unfocused. “Are you…” He paused and inhaled deeply. “Are you going to go back and join the Avengers?”
“Like hell!” Rocket growled. “I’m a Guardian of the Galaxy, not some pansy-ass Avenger, no offense Thor.”
“None taken.”
“There’s nothin’ left for me on that d’ast planet. Just bad memories. People dyin’ who I didn’t want to die. You oughta get this better than anyone, Quill.” Rocket raked his claws through the fur on his head. “If you don’t, then why did we leave?”
Quill’s response was plainly automatic, and it took a second for his brain to catch up to his words. “Because my mother--!” He blinked. “Oh.”
Thor was grinning broadly, all of a sudden. “Well,” he announced, “I think I’ll go and have a salad.”
After he had left, Rocket and Quill were left staring at each other for a few moments, and then finally, both sighed and sat down at almost the same instant.
“Five years, man,” said Quill.
“Still waitin’ for you to ask what I was doing all that time,” Rocket replied.
The laugh that Quill let out was as real and familiar and sweet as his anger had been. He sat up straighter and asked with cautious eagerness, “So...what did you think of Earth?”
Rocket felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth, making his whiskers twitch. He cocked an ear at his friend. “You ever had a Marshmallow Peep?”
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🌼pick a random oc surprise me
Write a short drabble from your OCs POV meeting their Love Interest.
😳😳😳😳 ok i havent written in. a while tm and im very much not happy with this but! ive been obsessively working on it for the past two days so i think its time to just Stop and hit post.
Aja had been hiding out in the woods. It was isolated enough to be safe, but still within walking distance of the nearest town. She’d made it her home for the past few weeks, taking a break from travelling for the moment. Winter was coming soon. There wasn’t any snow on the ground, yet, but there was less and less readily-available food. That wasn’t usually a problem for her, but recently it was. There was a stray dog, a big black mutt with short hair and a long face, that had been sticking around her camp since she’d come here. It was a sad, skinny thing, and she always made sure it had something to eat. But today had been particularly cold, a bitter wind and dark clouds on the horizon, and by the time the sun went down, she had nothing.
The dog nuzzled into her hip as she stood at the edge of the treeline, looking out at the small town not too far away. She took a deep breath, slung her bag over her shoulder, and started walking. The dog followed.
She slowed down as they neared a fence, the backside of a house. All the lights were out, as they should be at this hour. She stepped around to the other side of the house and found her prize, two metal garbage cans. She made a shushing motion at the dog, before she quietly removed the lid and started digging.
It didn’t take long to find enough scraps of meat and discarded food for the dog to be satisfied, which she was grateful for. She didn’t want to dig around in garbage any more than she had to, especially when she had no idea when she’d be able to clean herself properly. She sat with the dog while it chewed on the bone from a ham, stroking its matted fur. For a moment it was almost peaceful.
The peace was short-lived, interrupted by a loud clanging as something else disturbed the trash cans, something far less concerned with stealth than Aja had been. She stood and stepped over, looking into the can. It was a raccoon, filthy and hardly more than skin-and-bones.
“Get out of here,” she whispered at it, shooing it away. She felt awful for the poor thing, but with the noise it was making, it was putting them both in danger. “Get your own, we’ve already got this one.” It didn’t seem to understand her, and all it did was dig further into the garbage, making an awful noise as it’s paws clanged against the metal. She was panicking, knowing the noise would wake someone up soon if it hadn’t already, and she grabbed at the raccoon, trying to pull it out as it hissed and screamed, scratching at her hands, the dog barking at it as it did.
The door to the house slammed open, and an older man walked out, holding a shotgun and murmuring about the god-damned vermin. He stopped in his tracks as soon as he saw her, and she froze as she saw him, dropping the raccoon to the ground.
“What the hell?” he said. Aja took a moment to consider her options, looking from the old man to the gun in his hands, to the street behind him. While he was still sitting there, dumb-struck, trying to figure out what exactly he was looking at, Aja took a deep breath, and broke into a sprint, pushing past him and into the street. She didn’t know where she was running or where she intended to go, but she couldn’t stay here.
The old man swore as she bolted, running into the street and firing a few shots. Lucky for her the old man was a lousy shot, and in the dark of the night he missed. The noise roused the other houses on the street, lights clicking on in the windows as people woke.
She didn’t know what to do. She kept running.
---
Parked in an alleyway was a mint-blue pickup truck, with more than a few dents and scratches along the sides and a crack in the windshield. Sleeping in the driver's seat was Hutch. Or at least, they were sleeping, until gunshots rang out through the night and they jumped awake, scrambling to shove their keys into the ignition. They had no fucking clue what was happening, and they weren’t going to stick around to find out.
As the headlights blinked to life, they caught a figure. She froze in the bright white light, staring directly at them like a deer crossing the road. She was panicked, and tall, really fucking tall, with wild dark hair and all-black clothes complete with a cape that draped over her shoulders. She looked terrified.
Within a moment she’d snapped out of it and kept running. Hutch leaned out the window and called out after her, trying to get her to wait, but she didn’t stop. Fuck.
They started the engine and pulled the stupid truck out of the alley as fast as it would go.
---
If Aja had panicked when the headlights had turned on, she was fucking terrified when the truck actually started following her. She had no idea what was about to happen, but even she couldn’t outrun a car. So when it pulled in front of her and stopped abruptly, she stopped too, ready to face whatever was about to happen.
She was speechless when the passenger door popped open, and the driver looked up at her, smiled, and said:
“Need a ride?”
“Pardon?”
“I heard the shots. If they have anything to do with you, you probably wanna get the hell out of this place before they start forming a good-ol’ fashioned angry mob,” they paused, still with a cocky grin on their face. “I have a car, if you haven’t noticed, but we gotta get moving. Do you want in or not?”
She paused, deliberating. She could keep going, alone. She’d survive, and she’d find her own way out, and it would be fine. She didn’t need this person. On the other hand… she hadn’t had a real conversation in years. And here someone was, talking to her like a peer, not even flinching as they looked at her.
Noise of shouting townsfolk echoed down the street.
“Last chance,” they said, starting to look worried. “If you aren’t getting out of here, I am.”
She took a deep breath, and got in the car.
---
They drove until morning, mostly silent. There had been some one-sided conversation at first, Hutch asking questions and Aja giving one-word answers, but they’d stopped trying at some point. The radio droned quietly, some country song on the radio, Hutch tapping their fingers on the wheel and muttering the words.
In the morning sun, she was able to get a better look at them. They were short, with tanned brown skin and a number of scars across their face and arms. Their hair was blond, pink at the tips, looking as though it had just begun to grow out of a neat cut. Their face seemed to be in an almost-permanent grin, their silver eyes twinkling with a mischievous energy.
And looking closer at them, it became obvious that they weren’t human, at least not entirely. Their ears were pointed and animal-like, flicking about like a cat. Their fingertips had short black claws, and tucked around their waist was a thin, wiry tail that looked almost like that of a mouse or a lion, with a tuft of fur the same pink-golden colour as their hair at it’s tip.
She must have looked for just a moment too long, because they turned to look at her with another stupid grin, and they winked.
Her face felt hot as she quickly turned away, staring at the window as they laughed.
“I’m just messin’ with you, you’re fine,” they said.
“Why did you help me?” she asked, changing the topic.
“I dunno,” they shrugged. “You just looked like you needed help, is all. Anyone would’ve done it.” Their voice was thick with a southern accent.
“Nobody else did. Nobody else has ever done what you did.” She paused. “Not for me, anyways.”
“Anyone decent, I should say,” they laughed. “Those people? Not decent. Towns like that never are. Don’t really know how to treat anyone different.”
“I suppose so. Still. Thank you.”
“Yeah, ‘course.”
“If there’s ever anything I can do to repay you…” she trailed off, not really sure how to finish that. They looked her over for a minute, their silver eyes shining.
“Y’know what? There is something.”
“Oh?” She wasn’t certain, but she didn’t think people usually actually took someone up on an offer like that.
“Sure!” they laughed. “Just stay with me a little while. It gets lonely out here all by myself. Whenever you’re ready to leave, you can go, I ain’t gonna stop you. Just thought it might be nice for both of us to have some good company for a change.” That… didn’t sound too bad. She wasn’t really sure why, but she trusted them. Besides, even if they did try something, she was fairly sure she could take care of it. And they were right, after all. She was lonely. Incredibly, painfully lonely, in a way she had to force herself not to think about.
“Okay,” she said, after a pause.
#oc talk#ALSO. its aja and hutch because im predictable sorry#ive not felt super like myself the past few days and i think it shows because the vibes? the writing style? all over the place#also this is probably the 4th different scenario ive tried for their meeting. i dont love it but it works better than what i had before so#progress#also. is it obvious enough yet that i dont know how to do endings? i just kinda leave it lmao i dont know how to end something in a Good Way#oc: aja#oc: hutch#asks#demondiice
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dialogue prompt #14 pls! (for whoever the hell you want)
I've been meaning to start a Trollhunters au forever and this was a great place to start! Thanks a bunch!
#14 “Take a deep breath and please calm the fuck down.”
If he was being honest, Aaron had been suspicious for a while. For one thing, Andrew’s laundry was always full of rock dust. He’d started keeping strange(r) hours. He was spending all his time in whispered conversations with Kevin and that other weird kid, Phil something? And there were a few times when Aaron had ran down into the basement and the three of them just stood and stared at him, breathing hard and faces flushed.
If it was a sex thing, he really really didn’t want to know. But if they had found some way to exclude him from a way to break the constant boredom of his days, he was pretty pissed they hadn’t told him.
He was walking back from the library. Katelyn had needed help with her biology homework and Aaron was so in love with her that he’d studied himself into the top mark in the class in order to spend an hour or two with her once a week. Their regular two hour session had stretched into five as they’d transitioned into other topics of conversation once Katelyn finished her homework and completely lost track of time. Aaron grinned. He thought maybe they were finally becoming friends.
But as a result of that conversation, it was way later than he wanted to be walking home. Aaron had figured out why yet, but nobody in Palmetto liked being out alone after dark. Katelyn had offered to give him a ride when her dad came to pick her up but he had refused. He was regretting that now. This town really needed to invest in some working street lights. He came to an intersection and he had a choice, walk ten minutes out of his way and stay on the reasonably well lit main street or duck down the pitch black back alley and be home in less than five minutes.
He made a decision, breathed deeply, pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight function, and walked down the alley. Something had knocked over a garbage can and was rooting through the trash, making a weird grunting sound. It didn’t sound like a cat. Maybe it was a raccoon? He slowed down trying to get a good look at it in the light from his phone.
It was qrotesque. It had a big round body and four limbs that were jointed like a spider’s. It looked at him, mouth stretching to reveal way too many pointed teeth. It’s eyes were red and it was...laughing?
The thing leapt at him and it was far too late to run. Aaron dropped to the ground, curling into a ball, and waited for the feeling of jagged teeth.
He heard the sound of metal, swishing through the air, and instead of tearing claws and biting fangs, he was pelted with some kind of slime. He stayed hunched down for another long moment before angling up his phone’s flashlight and looking around. A blond boy, no taller than Aaron himself and dressed in a beautifully ornate suit of armor, stood over him, looking up and down the alley. He had a giant sword held at the ready.
“What the fuck was that?” Aaron wheezed, heart still beating madly in his chest.
The boy peered into the darkness before lowering his sword and turning around to help Aaron up. Aaron was not prepared to see the face of his brother on the man in armor.
"What?" Aaron shouted. "What? This is what you've been doing? I thought you were sneaking around with Neil and Kevin because you didn't want Bee to know you were sleeping with two guys at once! But you...you're out here in the dark, in a fucking suit of armor, as you just killed a creepy trash monster? Seriously what the fuck is going on?"
Andrew shot him a look. "Take a deep breath and calm the fuck down. I was trying to keep you out of this because it is dangerous. But that thing was a goblin. There is a whole world under Palmetto full of creatures called Trolls and I am the Trollhunter."
"You're trying to keep me out of it? We have the same fucking face!" Aaron glared.
"But you were always so good at being home before dark so it didn't matter," Andrew growled.
A giant figure appeared out of the shadows. It looked like it was made of rock. It had six eyes and four arms.
"Holy fuck, behind you!" Aaron shouted.
Andrew whirled but stopped short and lowered his sword.
"Master Andrew," it said in a surprisingly genteel sounding voice. "Your double is making quite the racket and it will scare the remaining goblins into hiding. If you don't wish to still be hunting them tomorrow, I would suggest a different tactic."
"Is that a troll?" Aaron asked faintly.
"He's one of the good ones," Andrew said, looking around. "Where the fuck is Neil?"
Moments later, while Aaron was still trying to wrap his head around the idea of a good troll, a whirling darkness opened in the middle of the alley and Neil stepped through, a strange curved staff in his hand. Kevin followed him, carrying a giant hammer with an orange flaming head. As Aaron watched, the fire dissipated and the handle grew shorter and suddenly Kevin was carrying his Exy racquet, the same Exy racquet he carried around every day at school.
"I managed to drive them into a dead end but they won't stay there forever. If we're going to do this, we've gotta go now," Neil said, opening up another hole in the air with the top of his staff.
"You can get yourself home?" Andrew asked. He didn't wait for Aaron's nod before he was heading through the hole to god knows where.
The alley was silent once more and were it not for the green goop that spattered his skin and clothing, Aaron would have been sure it was just a vivid hallucination. "What the fuck."
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Need to Be Needed, Want to Be Wanted
Note: I went a wee bit (ok about 900 words) over the 1000 word maximum, but man, this story just wanted to be written. That’s why it’s under a cut.
She blended so well with the shadows that he almost didn’t see her in the inky gloom of her surroundings. The Horrortale Sans bitty, a Shears type, scavenged the alley behind the restaurant, searching for discarded foodstuffs or fresh prey, whichever he found first. She listened to him scurry about, silent, unable to see his movements due to her blindness but able to pinpoint his location nonetheless.
“There’s dinner scraps from the steakhouse in the middle dumpster. Some of it’s still warm,” the young woman offered helpfully without even turning her head in the bitty’s direction. He glared at her, suspicious that she might be trying to trap him.
Giving the human a wide berth, the Shears bitty circled the dumpsters and trash cans, sniffing here and poking there. The rats and raccoons had long since departed, having taken their share of the refuse earlier in the night. A tantalizing aroma wafted from the middle dumpster. The little skeleton scratched and scrabbled at the rusted metal, but he couldn’t gain access to the morsels inside.
“Do you need help?” the woman asked, shuffling forward with an awkward gait, hands outstretched in front of her. The feral bittybones darted behind some haphazardly stacked cardboard boxes to hide just in case she decided to attack. She didn’t. Instead she patted the empty air in front of her until one of her hands brushed the corner of the dumpster.
Surely the dim glow of the far-off streetlights was enough for her to detect an object as large as a dumpster, thought the Shears. That’s when he noticed that her eyes were closed.
“you’d be able to see where y’were goin’ if ya opened yer eyes,” growled the Shears bitty from his cardboard fortress. She laughed softly in response, lifting the plastic cover from one side of the garbage receptacle.
“Not likely,” she said. “I’m blind. Eyes open or closed, it all looks like darkness to me.” She rifled around from a moment, and the bitty couldn't help leaning forward in anticipation. He hadn't eaten in days, and the scents from the garbage were absolutely mouthwatering.
Peering out from his refuge, the hungry bitty watched the woman fish a bone with a large bit of meat still attached from the dumpster. She crouched down, dangling the prize a few short feet from where he hid.
It was hard to identify the type of meat on the bone. It might be lamb. It might be beef, but the Shears bitty didn’t care what animal it came from. He wanted it badly, so badly, but he did not trust the allegedly blind human. He heard stories on the streets of humans capturing stray bittybones for fighting rings or to sell to science laboratories for experimentation. He avoided those fates by being street smart, and that involved a great deal of mistrust.
As if she sensed his misgivings, the woman sighed and placed the delectable morsel on the ground. She took several steps backwards before addressing him. “I’m not trying to hurt you, but I’ll give you space while you eat if it makes you more comfortable.”
Unable to wait another moment, the starving bitty rushed from his hiding place, grabbed the proffered food, and quickly dragged it back under the cardboard. He tore into the meat with gusto; he hadn’t tasted anything so delicious in his entire life. It wasn’t even moldy!
“so what’re ya doin’ hangin’ out in a place like this?” asked the Shears once the meat had been consumed, licking grease from his phalanges. Probably waiting to kidnap unsuspecting Horrortale bitties, he thought, gnawing the bone for any possible remaining flavor.
The woman smiled. “I was walking back to the shelter where I’m staying, and I took a wrong turn,” she admitted. “I had to rest a moment and reorient myself. It’s easy to get lost in the city even if you have perfect vision.” She chuckled a bit at the weak joke.
The blind woman’s harmless demeanor didn’t fool the Shears bitty in the slightest, but he never got the chance to confront her about it because thunder crashed overhead, making him jump in fright and bump his skull on the cardboard above him. He hadn’t noticed the gathering thunderclouds in the already dark night sky. Lightning flashed, throwing the alley in sharp relief briefly then plunging it back into darkness. Thunder crashed again, louder this time, and the clouds let loose. Rain poured down hard enough that the Shears bitty’s shelter immediately began to buckle.
Yelping in surprise, the woman spoke quickly to the Shears bitty, making him an offer he couldn’t refuse. “You can’t stay out here in this weather. If you want, you can hop in my satchel, and I’ll take you back to the shelter with me.”
“shelter?” asked the bitty, though he was already unfastening the satchel flap to climb inside. The woman made no effort to touch or grab him, which he appreciated.
“It’s a homeless shelter,” she explained, “but at least it’s dry and warm.”
The Shears bitty grunted his agreement, and the blind woman set off. She walked purposefully, counting her steps and turning corners with confidence.
“stop!” shouted the bitty as she stepped out into the street and right in front of a moving vehicle. The car swerved, narrowly missing her.
“I didn’t even hear it through the rain,” she whispered.
“s’alright,” mumbled the miniature skeleton, “i don’t wanna end up as roadkill any more'n you do.” He blushed, embarrassed by his own good deed. They arrived at the shelter a few moments later. An attendant at the front desk greeted the blind woman, referring to her as Void; she nodded a greeting without pausing on her way to the dormitory area.
Beds lined the walls of the dormitory rooms, some occupied, some empty. A quick count revealed a relatively small number of humans in residence, but their presence still made the Shears bitty nervous. Void noticed his growing unease as she brought sheets and blankets over to make her bed for the night.
“You can sleep up on the bed with me, or if you’re more comfortable keeping a low profile, I can tuck the satchel under the bed and you can sleep there,” suggested Void. The Shears bitty opted to set up his own little camp under the bed. He fell asleep quickly to the sound of rain battering the homeless shelter roof.
Sometime in the early morning hours, movement nearby awakened the Shears bitty. Peering out from his improvised nest, he spotted another human attempting to drag the satchel out from under Void’s bed! Snarling, the Horrortale bitty sank his fangs into the offending hand. When the hand withdrew, the bitty followed it, confronting its owner with further snarls.
“takin’ what ain’t yers is a good way to lose a hand,” he growled. Without a word, the thief fled, and the bittybones returned to his temporary satchel home, pretending he didn’t hear the softly whispered “Thank you” from the bed above him.
The next morning dawned with a clear sky, warm golden sunlight, and not a rain cloud in sight. The Shear bitty emerged from the satchel to see Void’s upside down face greeting him as she leaned over the bed.
“Would you like to join me for breakfast? I wash dishes at a local diner, and the owner lets me eat breakfast there before I start my shift. It’s all I can really offer to repay you for your help last night.” She didn’t mention which she was thanking him for- saving her from the car or protecting her belongings- but it made no difference to the ravenous bitty. He never said no to a free meal.
The little skeleton rode in the satchel on the three-block trip to the diner. On the way, he and Void struck a mutually beneficial bargain. Void would keep him fed and sheltered if he would be her seeing-eye bitty. The job sounded easy enough, and the payoff was well worth it. Void gave him a big slice of ham for breakfast with a promise of more food later! Eating twice in a single day? Unheard of in his former life!
The Shears bitty and his human companion settled into a routine that evolved as their relationship with each other progressed. The bitty eventually moved from sleeping in the satchel to claiming a spot on Void’s pillow next to her. With a service bitty to help her, Void found a better paying job. She even moved in with a friend from her workplace a few months after the two of them started dating. As her living situation improved, so did the Shears bitty’s.
As time passed, Void worked her way up to a job in which she didn’t really need an assistance bitty to help her. She assured the Shears bitty that he would always be welcome at her workplace, but he could also stay home if he preferred a life of leisure. The formerly feral bitty never could’ve imagined the life he had now: a home with all of the amenities he could ask for, including all of the food he could eat, with no expectation of repayment.
The Shears bitty missed Void’s company though, and he often chose to accompany her to the workplace. Watching her work without his help only made him feel more useless and out-of-place in her new life though. One night, he overheard a conversation that confirmed his deeply rooted and entirely new fear of abandonment and loneliness.
“I don’t know why you keep that creepy bittybones around. If you feel like you still need a service bitty, we could get you a real one.” The voice belonged to Void’s significant other, and it drifted from the kitchen into the bedroom where the Shears bitty laid curled up on Void’s pillow.
“He’s not creepy,” Void’s voice insisted, “and honestly, I really don’t need a service bitty anymore anyway.” The Shears bitty froze. Void didn’t need him anymore. Dejected, the Horrortale bitty trudged across the mattress to the bedroom window.
“You’re lucky you can’t see him, Void,” the significant other continued. “He’s got a gaping hole in his skull. He has an eerie red eyelight that glows in the dark, and his other socket is blank and empty. He is one hundred percent creepy.”
Exerting every bit of strength he possessed, the small skeleton managed to push the window open a few inches, just enough for him to escape back to his old life… a life where he didn’t need to fear being rejected by someone he had begrudgingly come to care about.
“You’re right, I am lucky I can’t see him. Thanks to my blindness, instead of judging him based solely on his appearance, I can judge him based on his actions. He protected me and helped me when I needed him most. I fed him, sure, but he could find food on his own. He didn’t need me, but I needed him, and he was there for me. How could you even suggest that I replace him?” Void spoke with a quiet passion that touched the Shears bitty down to his very SOUL, but she wasn’t done speaking yet.
“I would rather be homeless again than get rid of my darling Shears.”
Lowering the window, the Shears bitty climbed back up onto Void’s pillow. He feigned sleep when she entered the room, but she knew his breathing patterns too well and wasn’t fooled in the slightest.
Void laid down on the bed, placing her head on the pillow next to him. “I was so scared that you left. I’m glad you stayed.”
Of course she’d heard him opening the window; Void had excellent hearing. Wiggling closer to her, he nuzzled her cheek.
“me too.”
More Drabbles | INDEX | Read on AO3
#vex does drabbles#bittybones#bittybones au#horrortale#horrortale bittybones#shears bitty#bittybones adoption#service bitty
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Smokey brand Movie Reviews: Stop, It's Already Dead
I’ve been trying to watch Army of the Dead since it came out but every time i start, i end of bailing on it because it’s trash. Yeah, that’s it. This movie is trash. You can literally stop reading this review right now because that’s the verdict. Army of the Dead is shallow, inconsequential, zombie murder porn wit that trademark Zack Snyder, edgelord, spice. It’s f*cking ridiculous and i hated every minute of it. That’s it. That’s the review. Don’t watch this rancid spooge. Now, if you want to know why i hated it so much, read on. But it really is one of the worst things i have seen all year.
The Adequate
Dave Batista works magic with the material on hand. Zack Snyder isn’t know for having emotional bite or a realistic edge to any of the characters in his films but Batista was able to hone in on something and does a decent job of letting me tolerate this clusterf*ck. His Scott Ward is easily the best thing about this flick.
The carnage displayed while the opening credits rolled was almost as dope as Zombieland and i appreciated that. Literally the only time during the film where i didn’t feel like someone was standing on my sack and twisting.
Also, Hiroyuki Sanada is in this. I don’t know the name of his character and i don’t care i just genuinely enjoy Sanada’s work. He is an excellent actor and, similarly to Ken Watanabe, makes everything he’s in better, regardless of his role’s size or relevance.
The integration of Tig Notaro was kind of seamless. That sh*t was surprising because every one of her scenes was added in post. She had no interaction with any of the cast, not even in pick-ups. That’s just her, in front of a green screen, talking to herself. Of course, there are scenes where that is very apparent but the fact she was even able to replaces an entire actor wrapped month beforehand, is kind of a miracle and testament to the absurd technical skill Snyder wields as movie maker.
The Horrid
Zack Snyder. Literally everything i am about to unload, is Zack Snyder’s fault. This “film” is pure Zack Snyder. More so than the Snyder cut of Justice League. More so than BvS. Even more than f*cking Sucker Punch. Netflix gave this man a bunch of money and told he to go “create” and, to his credit, Snyder did just that. Unfortunately, he created hot dumpster water topped with soggy diarrhea.
Seriously, everything i have a problem with, has Zack Snyder’s name on it. He was the director, the writer, the screenplay writer, AND the f*cking cinematographer. What the f*ck, dude? Like, you want to be an auteur director, fine. Be good at it. Be good at movies if you’re trying to wear all of those hats. Zack, as a filmmaker, is bad at ALL of them. At best, he’s pedestrian, so doing all of that, just infuses abject mediocrity throughout this movie and it shows.
I’ve seen a lot of cats haring of Snyder’s depth of field choices but I'll take it one step further; What the f*ck was up with the shot composition as a whole, in this film? It was bad! All of it was so bad! There was no substance, no dynamism in the camerawork or the way the shots were set up. I’m not going to sit here and say it was just a bunch of static work, like how someone would film a play for theatrical exhibition, but it wasn’t that much better. I was watching this sh*t and thought to myself, “Hamilton had better camera work than this. F*ck.”
The whole ass plot is paper thing. I’m watching these first few minutes and it’s readily apparent that the guv’ment knows zombies be doing a zombie and Vegas is lost. Why the f*ck didn’t they nuke that motherf*cker off the face of the earth. Straight up Raccoon City that b*tch. There is nothing, no plot contrivance or mental gymnastics that could make believe that Las Vegas wouldn’t have been scrubbed off the map, within a week of this outbreak. Not after seeing actual paratroopers floating in to their deaths and straight up napalm strikes on the Strip. Why did anyone think building a fence out of shipping containers was a good long term option for containment! And that’s literally just in the opening credits! It gets worse as the flick progresses, man! The actual plot is trash!
Now, the actual premise? Interesting. It could have been interesting. But then Zack Snyder snyder’ed it up with the f*cking execution. Look, in order to write a great zombie flick, you need a strong human element. That’s where the audience is going to focus. They’re going to try and find the humanity in a sea of despair. Every great Zombie flick has a laughably strong lead and fantastic supporting characters you come to care about, usually withing the first act. 28 Days later is a fantastic example of how to execute your Zombie disaster apocalypse. You do not give a sh*t about any of the characters in Army. Snyder tries with Batista, thus the father-daughter relationship, but that cliche sh*t was cookie cutter from a whole different movie, which I'm going to get into next...
Army of the Dead is Aliens. It’s just a popularization of Aliens. It’s the same f*cking movie, but worse. There are shot-for-shot recreations in this movie, with just enough changed so Snyder won’t get sued. Just, off the top of my head, the ending. It’s exactly the same as f*cking Aliens! Literally the same goddamn ending! Heroes survive a gauntlet of monsters, rush to the top of or roof. Pilot of escape flying contraption kissing. Hero curses pilot of said whirly dervish. Queen Alien or Zombie King shows up. Pilot returns at the last minute to save survivors. Same. F*cking. Scene. And that’s just one. There are SO many in this thing you’d think Snyder watched Aliens everyday on set and just stole sh*t from that flick to add to his. It’s real bad. Real f*cking bad, man. which exasperates my next point...
This movie is f*cking boring. i was bored. If you’re stealing the entirety of Aliens, how do you f*ck that it up so bad? The same movie, which thrilled and entertained me thirty years ago, sh*t the bed so hard, today, and i don’t know how that happened. It’s infuriating when i think about it for too long. Speaking of long...
Why the f*ck is this anal prolapse, two and half hours long?? Why did you need this much movie to tell so little story? Seriously, how the f*ck is there this much run time yet, no actual f*cking characters outside of whatever the f*ck Batista was able to save with his sheer screen presence? How do you have all of this time and still not craft a character in which to invest?? In a f*cking Zombie movie?!
Also, he hired a rapist.
The Verdict
This movie sucks. For all of the reasons outlined above. I told you that in the beginning. You didn’t have to rad this far. You knew i hated this movie within the first sentence. This sh*t was a waste of my life. Batista is good in it and that sh* Snyder did with Tig was pretty cool, but everything else is bad. All of it. None of this movie is good. It was boring. It wasn’t entertaining. There are no characters. The plot is dumb. The execution is worse. The run time is absurd. Did i mention how bored i was? Army of the Dead is garbage. This is a bad movie. This is what you get when you just let Zack Snyder do whatever the f*ck he wants with no limits or boundaries. Snyder is bad at movies and he keeps proving it. I have no idea why people keep giving this obvious fraud work.
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