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laundrybiscuits · 1 year

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(wait for the season to come back to me tag)

“We still on for dinner this Thursday, or are you gonna reschedule again? Because I swear to god, Steve, I will break into your apartment and set up camp if I have to. It’s been years. Centuries.”

“It’s been a month, Henderson.”

“I barely remember who you are anymore. What’s your name again? How do I know you? We’re actually very happy with our current cable provider, thanks.”

God, that kid is such an asshole. Steve loves the shit out of him.

“Listen, I’ll see you on Thursday and explain everything, okay? Actually, uh—I’m kinda calling to give you a heads-up. Got some big news, so you should, like…brace yourself.”

Dustin’s quiet for a long, worrying moment.

“Steve. You have got to know that that’s the least helpful thing you could possibly say. You’re not even gonna give me a hint, man?”

“Wish I could. It’s not a bad thing, okay? Just big. Like…Upside Down big.”

“Okay, for my own peace of mind, I’m going to pretend you’re completely overreacting about the fact that you, like, got a dog or something.”

“I’m not—”

“Peace of mind, Steve! See you Thursday at my place! Don’t cancel or I’ll kill you!”

Steve’s left laughing into the dial tone. Honestly, he’d mostly called so Dustin couldn’t complain afterwards about not getting an advance warning. There’s just no way to hint at the whole Eddie thing without Eddie being present and accounted for; it would be the worst kind of cruel.

Steve can’t imagine what he’d have done to anyone who tried to tell him Eddie was alive without any kind of proof. It wouldn’t have been good.

“So we’re telling Henderson on Thursday?” Eddie jostles Steve’s shoulder. Steve thinks he’s been doing that a lot more lately.

“Seems like,” says Steve.

———

They take the train to Dustin’s place in Wilmette as soon as it gets dark out. Eddie’s bundled up in a nondescript hoodie and one of Steve’s denim jackets, looking like every other Chicagoan braced against the cool evening air.

They haven’t been going out all that much. Robin keeps asking if Eddie wants to do any tourist stuff, maybe the museums or something, but he always shrugs off the offers. Steve would’ve maybe expected him to want to get out and explore, now that he’s not cooped up anymore, but Eddie mostly seems to want to sleep, read, and watch TV.

Robin’s been on a campaign to educate Eddie about the ten years of pop culture he missed. “It’s essential for rehabilitation,” she says. Steve is pretty sure it’s just an excuse to make them rewatch all of Robin’s favorite movies, because some of the stuff she brings home was definitely already out in 1986.

Eddie draws the line at letting Robin show him music, though: “Nope, nuh-uh, no freaking way. I wouldn’t have listened to that shimmery synth shit if I’d been alive and free every single day of the last decade, and I’m not gonna listen to it now.”

Steve does have a few metal cassettes, but he feels weird about bringing them out. It feels like he’s crossing a line, somehow—admitting to something. So instead, they’d all traipsed over to the Tower Records a few blocks over, and let Eddie roam around sampling things.

To Steve’s surprise, Eddie hadn’t actually picked up that many metal albums. He'd grabbed the new Accept and some Alice in Chains, sure, but he also picked up Nirvana and Soundgarden. He had gotten into a conversation with a very helpful clerk that ended with the clerk scribbling a number on a business card and handing it over with a grin and a promise to make Eddie try some local act called Wilco next time.

Obviously Steve’s happy that Eddie’s making friends and charming people. He’s legitimately fucking thrilled that other people are finally seeing how great Eddie is, because Eddie deserves that. Eddie deserves the world, and if he wants to date some random clerk, he should get to.

It’s just that if Eddie Munson comes back from the dead to start dating some random clerk, Steve is going to have to go live at the bottom of Lake Michigan. That’s all.

#fic: wait for the season to come back to me #steddie #so! I have put CONSIDERABLE THOUGHT into what kind of 90s music this Eddie would be into & what might catch his eye #nothing too obscure at this stage; he's still learning what's out there #he'll always be attached to his faves but his fuck-the-world thrash energy has changed considerably due to all the yknow trauma #thrash/death/black metal isn't cathartic for him rn because there's too much baggage wrt who he used to be #so I feel like early grunge would appeal to him as long as it's not too polished; it borrows a lot from metal esp with the guitars #(he's not gonna like wilco tho.)#honestly I'm rly regretting going with a 2008 artpop/altrock song for the title now

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evilsatisfaction · 1 year

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#sexmag #sex metal #thrash metal #black metal #polish black metal

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kyuoki · 1 month

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"Czy płaczesz tam? Nikt się nie dowie Człowieku! Czy płaczesz tam? A może drwisz? Z tego co wiem to robaków mrowie Tańczy, klaszcząc w dłonie, powoli zjada cię..."

KAT, Roman Kostrzewski, utwór pt. "Robak" z płyty "Ballady", 1992.

#felt like sharing this on tumblr because it's one of my all time favourite songs of theirs #KAT #KAT band #metal #black metal #heavy metal #thrash metal #polish metal #roman kostrzewski #polski metal #KAT zespół #jebać luczyka 👍

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bizarrobrain · 2 years

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youtube

"Darkness and Evil" by Sabbat - From "Polish Demonslaught" Compilation (2008)

#Sabbat #Polish Demonslaught #Music #Blackened Thrash Metal #Thrash Metal #YouTube

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catinfroghat · 11 months

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If I said I liked petrodragonic apocalypse more that infest the rats nest out of their metal albums would everyone be mad at me

#i don't think it's even recency bias this album is soooooooo sexy to me....#it feels elevated compared to their previous metal songs which sometimes is a bad thing with metal because the less polished the better #but in this case idk it just feels sooooo slick and layered and proggy whilst still being solidly thrash

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metalhoops · 1 year

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Corroded Coffin didn’t ‘do’ love songs.

It wasn’t some unwritten rule or unspoken theory that they were too ‘cool’ for love songs. Hell, metal ballads were a whole subgenre. Even W.A.S.P. had a love song.

It was just that in their three years as a band, they’d never written a single love song. If Corroded Coffin had a lyricist, it was Eddie. It wasn’t as though other members hadn’t tried their hand at writing. Gareth and Jeff had written a handful of songs between them, as well as helped Eddie polish a couple of verses. Grant had even written a chorus, but generally, the lyrics of a Corroded Coffin song were, first and foremost, Eddie’s brainchild.

The closest they’d ever gotten to writing a love song was ‘Killer Konnection’, and that was all Jeff. Though it was more about lust than love. So you could imagine the boys' shock when Eddie showed up to band practice and played them a love song.

It was unlike any of their other material. Since Eddie disappeared back in March after being framed for a series of murders, the songs he’d written had changed. That hadn’t surprised the boys. Being proverbially run out of town with pitchforks could really change a guy’s view of the world. He pulled out some killer prose about red skies filled with bats and dark wizards out for deathly revenge. But they’d never heard Eddie write anything like the song he played for them that morning. He hadn’t even named it. Though Gareth caught a glimpse in Eddie’s notebook and saw it was going by the tentative title of ‘S’. A mysterious name for a mysterious song.

Sure, ‘S’ had all the hallmarks of a Corroded Coffin song. It had the killer beat spurred on by the anxiety-inducing pounding drumbeat and base, accompanied by thrashing guitars and raw vocals, but the lyrics? Downright Robert Smith or Morrissey vibes. Maybe ‘love song’ was too harsh. Really, it was a song about longing. Even the guitar chords appeared to ache under the weight of the song.

The song left the three other members of Corroded Coffin asking one question. What the hell happened with Eddie? They’d known Eddie was gay since before they’d become a band. It wasn’t like the boys were the type for adhering to societal conventions anyway.

It’d be another year before Gareth decided he didn’t particularly have any preference as to who he fell in love with, and Grant? He decided he’d rather play D&D and work on creating his own tabletop RPG than date anyone, anytime soon. Thank you very much. Jeff was the token straight friend, though he did like wearing eyeliner and painting his nails, so people thought what they would.

They knew Eddie had dated guys — maybe ‘dated’ was too strong a word. They knew Eddie had hooked up with guys but none of them had inspired such a response. They made it their mission to work out who the hell ‘S’ was about, and maybe try to knock some sense into him. Eddie’s song sounded so damn heartbreaking. They were his best friends. They had to do something.

It wasn’t until their next Hellfire session that all the pieces fell into place. Since Hawkins burst of Satanic Panic, D&D at the high school was no longer an option, so they’d been couch surfing across different members’ houses. How they ended up at the Harringtons’ the Corroded Coffin boys would never know. They knew Dustin and the younger kids were friends with the guy, but since he’d gotten off the hook for the town murders, Eddie and Steve had gotten close.

The men had eyes. It was clear to see by the way Eddie’s focus honed in on Steve the second he entered the room, the guy was equal parts smitten and grief-stricken. It was also painfully apparent Steve was oblivious. Not Eddie falling for a straight guy, again. That always ended poorly.

Yet there were moments, the boys questioned how one-sided the affair was. Gareth noticed the way Steve went straight to Eddie after the session was over. He asked about the game. He knew Harrington didn’t give two shits about D&D but he listened attentively, nodding his head and narrowing his eyes as though in deep concentration as Eddie spoke. Weird.

He was also nice to the Corroded Coffin boys. Uncharacteristically nice. Harrington got a little snarky with the kids. He’d make jabs about them making sure to use coasters or get their feet off the coffee table, but the Corroded Coffin boys? It was nothing but small talk and platitudes, as though he was trying particularly hard to be nice and non-offensive. Why would Harrington care what they thought?

Eddie was always the last to arrive at rehearsals, which left plenty of time for the men to discuss. One pressing question: was Steve actually queer? Gareth said yes, Jeff said no and Grant wanted to be excluded from the conversation. The next, had anything actually happened between Eddie and Steve? After going through ‘S’s lyrics with a fine-toothed comb, they all agreed on ‘maybe’. Which was less than helpful. The boys weren’t usually the type for meddling but Eddie had been downright mopey all month. They needed to do something.

Gareth took one for the team at the next Hellfire session held at the Harringtons’. They’d been playing for three hours straight and were taking a well-deserved break. The kids were eating lunch while Eddie was smoking out back near Steve’s pool. Harrington was cleaning plates in the kitchen, so Gareth offered to help. He’d never been subtle, so he began the conversation with a sentence that seemed to hit Steve, much like a sledgehammer to the face.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Steve looked at Gareth wide-eyed, all deer in headlights, dull doe eyes. Gareth didn’t understand Eddie’s seemingly deep and aching love for the guy, but he was easy enough on the eyes.

“No. Not currently,” Steve fumbled.

“Oh. Okay cool.” Gareth paused for too long. He should’ve had a better plan than just ‘talk to Steve’.

“Do you want one?”

“A girlfriend?” Steve clarified, still looking both alarmed and dumbfounded.

“A friend. Who doesn’t happen to have to be a girl,” Gareth circumnavigated. People said Harrington was dumb, but the guy appeared to catch onto what he was implying too quickly for an entirely straight ex-jock.

“I-uh. I don’t know you that well,” Steve mumbled, his eyes suddenly glued to the dishes in the sink.

Holy fucking shit, Steve Harrington thought he was asking him out. Nope. NO. Abort. Gareth needed to crawl into a deep, dark hole for the foreseeable future. He had no clue what he’d said to Steve. He just got himself the hell out of there. Steve spent the rest of the session being annoyingly nice to him, without mentioning the awkward moment in the kitchen. Gareth spent the time wanting to crawl inside himself and puke. Eddie was going to be so mad if he ever found out.

With all his inner turmoil, it wasn’t until he left the Harringtons’ that he realised, Steve hadn’t turned Gareth down because he was a guy. He’d turned him down because they didn’t know each other. Holy shit. There was hope.

At the next rehearsal, he managed to sway the other band members into believing that despite their (and likely Eddie’s) assumptions, Steve Harrington wasn’t as ‘totally straight, off limits’ as they’d assumed. It was Jeff’s turn to have a plan. He kept the other members in the dark, besides his exclamation of ‘I have a plan’. By the time the plan came to fruition, it’d sunk into the back of the band members’ collective subconscious.

The band was playing at The Hideout and Jeff insisted they change their setlist to include ‘S’. There wasn’t much argument. When it was time to play the song, Jeff quickly introduced it, dedicating it to ‘someone special in the crowd’. It was then that the other Corroded Coffin boys were suddenly on hyper-alert, searching the crowd for whatever poor girl Jeff had decided to fall for, when all three sets of unassuming eyes found the familiar face of Steve Harrington lingering in the back booth. He stuck out like a sore thumb amongst their regulars.

Eddie looked ready to puke or run but the boys quickly counted him in, and they were off to the races. Eddie couldn’t resist a catchy hook. Once the setlist was over, Eddie remained hiding backstage, pacing and looking ready to actually commit a string of murders while muttering ‘what the fuck did you do?’ whether to himself or the rest of the band, they didn’t know.

Eventually, a familiar figure appeared at the backstage door. Steve knocked tentatively before peeking in. He gave an awkward half-hearted wave to the other members before making a beeline for Eddie.

“I got your note,” Steve said, the note all band members were now sure Jeff had somehow engineered.

“I liked the song, it was kind of sad though...” Steve muttered, gazing down at his shoes: dentist’s teeth fresh, white reeboks. Who wore reeboks to a metal show at a bar?

Much to the dismay of the other Corroded Coffin members, Grant chose that moment to get involved. He ushered Gareth and Jeff out to the front of house, out of earshot. Leaving Steve and Eddie to have their conversation in private.

The next week, Eddie arrived at rehearsals early, with Steve Harrington and a new, real Corroded Coffin love song in tow.

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fictlet #drabble #steddie drabble #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #corroded coffin #outsider pov baby #everyone is a disaster #stranger things 4 #stranger things au

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missmungoe · 5 months

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YOU ARE A WRITING GODDESS 🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹your stories about Makino and Shanks are so beautiful, humbly bless us with your works 🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

(HI, I am so glad you like them!!) From the next chapter of Tideswept, which is where my mind currently lives:

She watched as he bent to pick Siren up from the ground, the melting snow running off the blade in rivulets, gleaming silver in the frost-fogged air.

Running his fingers over the cresting wave of the hamon, “Nice,” Blackbeard said, and with such a genuine appreciation, it made her recoil, but then seeing her sword in his hand prompted a visceral reaction in her, as he mused, “Someone’s been keeping secrets. Gotta say, I didn’t think you had it in you.”

But considering the beautiful blade, not even a scratch on the polished metal, he conceded, “Then again, doesn’t look like this girl’s had any blood on her. Real shame, for a sword like this.”

Shifting his grip on the hilt, his gold-toothed grin widened, as his eyes lifted from the sword to seize hers. “Let’s see how she likes the taste.”

He turned to Shanks, on his knees between the guards, and her breath ripped from her chest, but Makino hadn't even taken a step towards him when the hands around her arms hauled her back. “No!”

Across the clearing, Odysseus whinnied, before the guard holding him yanked him back by the rains, although Blackbeard didn’t even spare it a glance, and Makino watched in horror as he lifted her sword, a soft hum stirring the cold air.

Shanks' eyes met hers, the look beneath his scars apologetic, before he closed them, just as Blackbeard brought Siren down.

The sword sang, but hers was the louder cry, a ravaging scream where it filled the clearing, and she was still screaming when his body fell forward, thrashing against the guards holding her, the last note of the steelsong ringing in her ears and her wide eyes locked on his unmoving figure on the ground, the red of his hair bright against the new snow where his hood had fallen back.

#Shanks x Makino #opfanfic #One Piece Makino #Shanks #Marshall D. Teach #WIP meme #mungoe writes

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glitterp0prhaps0dy · 1 month

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Staring contest

In the depth of the night, Floyd awakened, enveloped in darkness. The rhythmic snoring of Barb, however, pierced the stillness, a comforting reminder of companionship. Since Thrash had welcomed Floyd into their abode, he had been sharing Rebel and Barb's room, furnished with a bunk bed distinctly marking the territory of the teenage rock trolls. The room, a vibrant testament to their personalities, was adorned with posters of rock legends and scattered with instruments, reflecting the chaos and creativity of its occupants. In one corner, a beanbag, fashioned from segments of old concert tees, offered a soft counterpoint to the room's hard edges.

Tonight, as usual, Barb claimed the upper bunk, her breathing steady and deep, with Rebel beside her, an arrangement altered to accommodate Floyd on the lower bunk. The unfamiliar environment hadn't dampened the parched feeling in Floyd's throat, his need for water momentarily disrupting the sense of belonging that had begun to take root.

Floyd carefully maneuvered to avoid a collision with the bunk above as he sat up, the dim light casting long shadows across the room. He reached out, pulling the electric wheelchair closer with practiced ease. Balancing on his good leg, he settled into the chair, silently grateful for the mobility it offered. As he wheeled out of the bedroom, the cool air of the night brushed against his face, a stark contrast to the warmth of shared living spaces.

The kitchen he entered was a spectacle of rock troll aesthetics, blending the raw, rugged beauty of their culture with the practicality needed for daily life. The walls were a tapestry of volcanic rock, interspersed with metals that glinted under the dim lighting, giving the impression of being inside a cave lit by the soft glow of lava. A large, sturdy table made of petrified wood stood at the center, surrounded by chairs that resembled polished boulders, complete with cushions for comfort.

The countertops were sleek, black stone, and the cabinets were crafted from dark, aged wood, adorned with intricate carvings of rock troll history and legends. Various kitchen gadgets, each with a rock motif, from a blender that looked like a stack of mini drums to a toaster resembling a small amplifier, added a functional yet whimsical touch to the space. Overhead, a chandelier made from recycled guitar picks cast an ambient light, illuminating the room with a soft, warm glow.

Floyd reached for a glass cup, its surface etched with intricate bat patterns.He filled it with water from a sink whose faucet mimicked a guitar neck, the water flowing smoothly from its silver strings. Just as he was about to turn around, glass in hand, he choked on the water in surprise.

In the kitchen's deepest shadow stood Rebel, silent as a statue, her presence unnoticed until now. Her eyes, reflecting the faint light, fixed on Floyd with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. The question of how long she had been standing there, silently observing, hung heavily in the air, adding a layer of mystery to her already enigmatic demeanor.

Floyd's voice stumbled over the words, a futile attempt to slice through the thick silence between them. "I, uh... I was thirsty, so, um... I got... some water," he managed to say, his gaze darting between Rebel's piercing red eyes and the glass in his hand. The air between them felt charged, heavy with unspoken questions and curiosity.

For what felt like an eternity but was merely two minutes, they remained locked in this silent standoff. Floyd shifted uncomfortably in his wheelchair, the weight of Rebel's gaze feeling almost tangible against his skin. Meanwhile, Rebel stood unmoved, the only sign of life being the occasional flick of her tail.

Finally, Rebel turned away, her departure marked by the distinct click-clack of her hooves against the volcanic rock floor. Floyd exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

'She must have been in here before me, considering if she came in after, I would have heard her,' Floyd reasoned internally. The encounter, brief and wordless, left a lingering sense of intrigue and unease.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Floyd, having settled more comfortably into the dynamics of the Rock trolls' household over the week, found himself increasingly curious about their lives and interests. Today, his curiosity was piqued by Barb's artistic endeavor.

"Hey, Barb, that design looks wicked cool," Floyd said, leaning closer to get a better look at the sketch Barb was working on. The design sprawled across the page was intricate and edgy, fitting for a rock guitar. "What inspired this pattern? It looks like... are those lightning bolts mixed with skulls?"

Barb glanced up from her drawing, a spark of enthusiasm lighting up her face. "Yeah, exactly! I wanted it to have that raw, electrifying vibe, y'know? Like it's not just an instrument, but a declaration of who I am," she explained, her fingers tracing over the lines she'd drawn, emphasizing the fusion of elements.

Floyd nodded, impressed. "That's so cool. And these colors here," he pointed to a section of the design, "they're gonna look awesome under stage lights. Have you thought about what materials you want to use for it?"

Barb leaned back, tapping her pen against her chin thoughtfully. "I'm thinking something that'll really stand out, maybe a metallic finish? And I want the strap to have spikes. It needs to scream 'rock' from every angle."

Floyd chuckled. "Definitely screams 'rock.' It's gonna be amazing, Barb. Can't wait to see it come to life."

From the corner of his eye, Floyd caught Rebel glaring at him, her stare sharp and unsettling, before she abruptly shifted her focus back to the TV. Rebel had never uttered a single word in his presence, maintaining an air of silence that Floyd found increasingly intimidating.

Each time their gazes collided, he couldn't help but feel a chill run down his spine, leading him to wonder if perhaps she harbored a deep-seated dislike for him. Despite the warmth and welcome he'd received from Barb and Thrash, Rebel's silent judgment left Floyd questioning his place among the Rock trolls, and whether he'd ever bridge the gap with the enigmatic Rebel.

Ten minutes had passed,and Rebel left for her room. Floyd hesitated, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt before finally mustering the courage to ask Barb. "Hey, uhm, Barb, I have... a question," he began, his voice tentative. Barb glanced up from her drawing, her brows furrowing slightly as she attempted to grab the red crayon without looking at it. "Yeah, what's up, dude?"

Floyd swallowed hard, his nerves getting the best of him. "Does Rebel... hate me? She always seems so... cold, and she glares at me anytime we're in the same room. It's kinda scary," he admitted, his voice tinged with uncertainty and a hint of fear.

Barb snickered, her laughter filling the room as she finally looked at Floyd. "Dude, seriously, no sweat," she began, shaking her head with a chuckle.

"That's just Rebel's vibe with new faces. She's all 'mysterious lone wolf' with everyone at first. And hey, no snitching, but she even gave Dad the cold shoulder for like, half a year. Only one who's never gotten the 'Rebel glare' is yours truly, but that’s because she’s only known me since I was three."

Floyd's confusion was apparent. "Since you were three? But I thought Rebel was your older sister. I'm... kinda lost here."

Barb looked at him with a playful smirk. "Oh, adoption, genius," she said with a chuckle, her tone dripping with her typical sarcasm. "Rebel's adopted, that's the twist," she explained, her laughter softening as she shook her head, amused by Floyd's moment of confusion.

Floyd blushed in embarrassment. "Oh, uh... I didn't think about that," he admitted sheepishly, scratching the back of his head.

Barb rolled her eyes playfully. "No sweat, rookie," she teased, a smirk playing on her lips as she leaned back in her chair. "Hey, speaking of not thinking things through, remember that time you tried to cook pancakes and ended up setting the kitchen on fire?" she added with a snicker, clearly enjoying the opportunity to tease Floyd.

Floyd's cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red at the memory. "Oh, come on, that was one time! And I did put out the fire eventually," he protested, trying to defend himself with a grin. "Besides, you were the one who said adding extra syrup would make them taste better!"

Barb laughed, shaking her head at Floyd's protest. "Hey, don't blame me for your culinary mishaps, pal. You're lucky my dad didn't ban you from the kitchen after that disaster," she retorted, her laughter filling the room as they shared another moment of playful banter.

Floyd chuckled, attempting to defend his culinary skills. "Hey, in my defense, I'm sixteen and had three older brothers and a grandma doing the cooking," he pointed out, a playful glint in his eye. "I never had the chance to master the art of pancake flipping before that fateful day."

Barb chuckled, flipping her mohawk back with a flick of her head. "Fair point, but maybe stick to playing music instead of playing chef, huh? At least until you figure out the whole not-setting-things-on-fire part," she quipped, grinning broadly at Floyd.

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As the days went by, Floyd noticed a subtle shift in Rebel's behavior. She seemed to stare at him less and less, while he found himself stealing glances at her more and more. He couldn't help but feel a growing curiosity about her, with countless questions swirling in his mind. Yet, he knew he might never get the chance to ask them.

On this particular day, Floyd was engrossed in scrapbooking. The materials in Volcano Rock City were different from those at the Troll Tree, resulting in a unique twist to his usual hobby. Across the room, Rebel sat on the beanbag, scribbling away in a journal of her own.

While working on his scrapbook, Floyd found himself quietly singing to himself, the lyrics of a familiar tune escaping his lips. "♪ The energy just shifted, When we dropped in, Ooh, let it drop in, hmm ♪"

Suddenly, a quiet, raspy voice broke the silence. "What song is that?" Floyd froze, stunned by the unexpected sound. It was a voice he had never heard before, and considering he and Rebel were the only ones in the room, he realized it must have been her. She had spoken.

"What?" Floyd replied, his voice barely above a whisper, still processing the momentous occasion.

"What song were you singing?" Rebel repeated, her tone soft but curious.

"I, uh... it's a song my brother wrote for the band we were in," Floyd explained tentatively, his surprise slowly giving way to excitement at the prospect of conversation. "He called the song 'Baby, Baby, Girl,' but on the official record, it's called 'Perfect.'"

"Band... you were in a band?" Rebel's inquiry came out slightly cracked, hinting at a possible reason for her reticence. Was her voice not used to speaking, or was it just naturally raspy?

"Yeah, it was called Brozone. It was a boy band... but just me and my brothers," Floyd shared, a mix of nostalgia and amusement in his tone. He used air quotes as he continued, "My oldest brother was 'the leader.'" He couldn't help but laugh at the memory. "Spruce was 'the heartthrob,' and he had these abs that, honestly, looked pretty odd on him. And then there was Clay, 'the fun one.' My brother John Dory insisted he wear this ridiculous underwear dubbed 'funerdrawers.'"

Floyd's recounting turned into a fond rant about his family's band, his words painting a vivid picture of their quirky dynamics and the roles they each played.

Floyd's voice softened as he mentioned his youngest brother. "And then there's my youngest brother... Branch," he murmured, a gentle sadness coloring his expression. "He was the baby... because, well, he's a baby."

As Floyd glanced up at Rebel, expecting her usual stoic expression, he was taken aback. Instead of her usual blank demeanor, her face was a mix of shock and disbelief, as if she couldn't quite comprehend what she had just heard. It was a rare glimpse into her thoughts, leaving Floyd wondering what emotions lay beneath her silent exterior.

"Who the hell puts a baby in a band?" Rebel blurted out, her voice tinged with incredulity and a hint of amusement. It was a rare break from her usual silence, revealing a glimpse of her personality to Floyd.

"John Dory," Floyd replied rather quickly, his expression shifting to one of slight annoyance at the memory.

Later in the day, as Floyd was getting a glass of water, Barb walked in, prompting him to maneuver his wheelchair over to her.

"Hey, what's up, F—" Barb began, but Floyd interrupted her before she could finish.

"Rebel spoke to me," he blurted out, unable to contain his excitement.

Barb's grin widened, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Whoa, seriously? That's epic! Means she's actually considering you part of the scene now. The real puzzle is figuring out exactly what she's thinking," she said, injecting her voice with that unmistakable, rebellious spirit she always carried

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As Floyd settled into his room for the night, his mind replayed the day's events like a catchy tune on a loop. Rebel speaking to him was a significant highlight; it was like unlocking a new level in a complex game, one he hadn't been sure he'd reach.

Her voice, raspy and seldom heard, echoed in his thoughts, a reminder of the progress he'd made in this new, rocky world he was temporarily calling home. It was both exhilarating and daunting, knowing he'd sparked some kind of reaction from the most enigmatic person in the house.

But as the excitement of the day's interaction began to fade, Floyd's thoughts drifted to a more familiar and comforting place—his family. The warm, vivid memories of his brothers filled his mind, each one a colorful thread in the fabric of his past.

He could almost hear their laughter, see their smiles, and feel the reassuring presence they had always provided. Among these memories, his thoughts lingered most tenderly on Branch, his baby brother. Branch, with his curious eyes and easy giggles, had a special place in Floyd's heart.

He wondered how much Branch had grown since he'd last seen him, what new words he'd learned, and whether he still clung to the same stuffed animal as he slept.

The longing to see them all again, to share stories of his adventures among the Rock trolls and to hear about their lives in his absence, grew stronger with each passing day.

Floyd hoped, with a deep and earnest hope, that the day of their reunion would come soon. He imagined the joy of embracing each other, the laughter and tears that would undoubtedly follow, and the comfort of being surrounded by his family once more.

As he lay there, surrounded by the unfamiliar yet strangely comforting walls of his temporary home, Floyd made a silent promise to himself. He would make the most of his time here, learn all that he could, and perhaps even bridge the gap between his world and this one. But most of all, he vowed to return to his brothers, to Branch, with stories to fill their nights and laughter to brighten their days.

The thought of that future reunion, filled with love and shared joy, was a beacon of light guiding him through the uncertainty of the present. And with that comforting thought, Floyd allowed himself to drift off to sleep, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

#trolls #dreamworks trolls #trolls movie #trolls au #trolls world tour #trolls fanfiction #trolls floyd #trolls fanfic #trolls barb #trolls band together #floyd trolls #fanfiction #fanfic #trolls oc

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raccoonfallsharder · 2 months

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꧁･:☁︎⋆. cicatrix .⋆☁︎:･꧂ chapter two. ambedo. [new 3/4] ❤︎❤︎

18+ only | rocket x f!oc | 2/25 | wip | word count: pending.

the monster makes his intentions known. wyndham’s bride proposes an addendum. DARK chapter. see below for warnings & notes.

No matter how she twists and stretches on the floor, she can’t get her hands on the once-raccoon digging his knee into her spine. Anything that might have reached him is batted away easily. Thunder groans, and her captor chuckles behind her. The sound is dark and broken like gravel, and far more dangerous than the storm outside. His claws let go of her ruined chignon for just a second and she scrambles to her knees, still twisted and trapped in silk like a net-tangled butterfly. He snickers, and his fingers clamp like a vice on her ankle, bruising and prickling even through the diaphanous layers of fabric. He jerks her toward him with such force that she sprawls again, the air slamming out of her lungs as the momentum sends her skidding her back to him and beneath him, dress sliding on the polished wood floor as he hauls her under his wide-spread legs. There’s the renewed skitter of pearls across the floor, and before she can draw a breath, he flips her — easily — onto her back. Her lungs are slammed against the ground, airless all over again. Her ribs strain. “Nuh-uh, pretty pearl.” He laughs down at her, teeth and eyes all bright and sharp in the darkness. “W-wait,” she tries again, but he’s already dropping to his knees and straddling her torso, knees squeezing in on her ribs so hard that she can feel them creak. He’s so warm, though — a furnace — and heat radiates from his thighs and groin where they press snugly against the underside of her breasts. The part of her that aches for warmth and for touch batters against her weary survival instincts, willing to put up with the pain and the threat of imminent death if it means lying beneath him for the next few minutes. Then she remembers that he needs to leave and she thrashes against him frantically, but it’s too late. His clawed fingers are circling her neck and they tighten, claws sinking in at her nape. His tail lashes behind him: a dark plume, painting the shadows. She flies her fingers to his wrists, trying to peel his grip away even as bright spots swim back into her eyes like little supernovas and moons. Her hips buck beneath him instinctively, wriggling, lips parted and bloody and begging for air. Tears burn in her eyes, streaming into now-loose curls at her temples, and she kicks and tugs helplessly as the hands that shouldn’t be this strong, but are. There’s another skeletal flare of lightning, and she can see him again: narrow, scorching red eyes, teeth bared and gleaming, all scars and wet fur. Metal flashes in the electric light. Horrifying, yes. Not in and of himself, of course — but what it all means. All the pieces that had come together the moment he’d entered the little halo of golden candlelight. Herbert had kept her in the dark, but now she knows. Now she knows. And her thudding, panicked heart is broken.

read chapter two. ambedo. on ao3 :･꧂

WARNINGS: arguably one of the darkest chapters. things will get better before the chapter’s end. dubcon (wyndham’s bride is very into it but there’s definitely an argument for coercion here), lots of non-affectionate degradation and name-calling (slut, whore, etc), bad dom/sub dynamics, choking, hair pulling, pussy slapping, spanking, overstimulation. single, brief threat of mutilation. use of claws. continued references to non-sexual child abuse and grooming. animal/pet death. canon-typical violence.

sorry babes, this chapter is mostly a direct pull from the og oneshot. it's also almost twice as long as a normal chapter because i couldn't find a good place to cut it. but i hope you enjoy anyway?? enjoy seems like a weird word but yeah

꧁･:☁︎⋆. masterlist, notes, & moodboard .⋆☁︎ :･꧂

some explicit statements or references ✩ abbreviated explicit sequences ❤︎ detailed/prolonged explicit sequences ❤︎❤︎

taglist ♡ @evolvingchaoswitch ♡ @glow-autumz ♡ @wren-phoenix ♡ @suicidalshitstick ♡ @pretty-chips

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baughtio · 3 months

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Falling into Honey

tw: violence, eye injury, implied suicidal thoughts, creepy whumper

Whumpee lay on the floor. Through the foggy mush of their mind they could hear the Hero thrashing about, pleading under those black polished shoes. The shoes glimmered in and out of focus like the blade of a knife swinging tauntingly before their ripped eye socket. Who knows what Whumper was doing to them.

By the time Whumpee had propped themselves up to a sitting position, Whumper had already left. It'd been a peaceful day, just lying about for hours with their back on the cold floor, rusted with their blood. The long gash on their torso still dripping with blood was their perfect excuse for not being a well-functioning adult who contributes to society. If only they could slide down a little more into the dark bliss of pet life; if only Whumper would pull hard enough on the chains around their neck, then nobody could blame them for falling even deeper into a selfless state...

"Go away..."

Whumpee opened their remaining eye at the sound of the Hero mumbling to themselves. Despite their gooey vision, they could feel the Hero glaring intently at the basement door. They still had both of their eyes which were glowing a brilliant gold. Pulling vivaciously against the heavy chains, they seemed to be taking a stand, as if the light in their eyes alone would burn this institution down. Whumpee gazed at the Hero, holding their breath as the gold jumped into their eye and flickered against their grey pupils.

"Die."

"Die..." wheezed the Hero.

Then they collapsed into fitful of wet coughs and the chains easily brought the Hero bowing on their knees. Whumpee blinked as the gold disappeared from their eyes. They'd turned back into the two puddles of honey which Whumper loved to let spill and feast from.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Click. Four cartridges left.

Whumpee bit their lips as they saw the bullet rip into the Hero's shoulder. The scalding metal crunched the bones above their palpitating heart.

"You take it very well honey."

Hero let out an agonising groan.

"It's honestly a bummer," said Whumper as he stroked the revolver, "that it fired when we were still on the second round. I wanted to build a bit more tension..."

Hero tried supporting their broken shoulder with their right arm, but the chains just dug deeper into the wound.

"...because it's fun seeing you scared like this. You know what? I'm going to get another one of these toys and let Whumpee over here pull the trigger for me."

Whumper threw the empty revolver at Whumpee's head.

"If you don't Whumpee, I'll drop you off at the company. And what will they do with a useless body that can't even speak, huh?"

And just like that, Whumper twirled around and left Whumpee stealing concerned glances at the whimpering mess of Hero. Whumpee wanted to comfort Hero, but even a broken Hero might not want to associate with them. They thanked the chains for making the choice to do nothing for them. They despised themselves for it.

"Die..."

It was Hero's voice again.

"Die..."

Whumpee closed their eye this time. Maybe Hero was telling them to die and that could come true if they kept lying in the pool of their own blood.

"... kill... "

How long had it been since the dreams of those sleepless nights had become their reality? Once dreams are fulfilled, the night becomes void.

"Go kill..."

Whumpee sat in the shadows of a beach. The empty revolver lay with them. Before them was the sea in its golden hour, dark waves flapping beneath an incandescent surface. They couldn't tell if the sun peering just above the horizon was rising or setting. When they blinked it blinked with them, and just for a moment, Whumpee felt like falling into its golden embrace.

#whump #multiple whumpees #exhausted whumpee #intimate whumper #captive whumpee #conditioned whumpee #I don't know where I'm going with this #but it's longer than I thought it'd be #complacent whumpee #pet whump #maybe I should think of a back story

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undeadvinyls · 3 months

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Hi!! Do your characters have any favorite bands? If so, what are the bands?

of course they do!!!

Sylwek - big fan of olds cool heavy/thrash metal, especially megadeth, judas priest, black sabbath and venom. recently he has gotten into black metal as well (hes a satanist :3) and his fav bands so far are darkthrone and bathory. Ilona also convinced him to try out gothic metal and he seriously ended up being a big type o negative fan. he also listens to polish metal bands such as tsa, kat, acid drinkers and turbo.

aurelia - HUGE fan of hardcore punk, esp the bands that kick capitalists right in their nuts. that is, dead kennedys and bad religion. she also loves polish punk bands such as ksu and dezerter. other bands among her favourites are black flag, the clash, suicidal tendencies and more! also sylwek got her into motorhead while ilona made her have a soft spot for christian death and some other goth bands with a more aggressive tone

ilona - total goth! the cure, siouxsie and the banshees, the damned, sisters of mercy and bauhaus are her eternal favourites. unfortunely the goth polish scene wasnt as big as today in the 1990s but shes a lover of closterkeller, a polish goth rock band. ALSO she and aurelia listen and dance to the misfts together. influenced by her two friends, she has recently started to listen to horror punk more too

#tysm for asking <3 #ff/dp: sylwester “sylwek” kostka #ff/dp: aurelia dąbrowska #ff/dp: ilona poranek #faraway fields #dalekie pola #phantom answers

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shownumetal · 2 months

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@girlbloke wow ok some interesting choices on here…

roots by sepultura is absolutely nu metal but arise is just straight up thrash so i have no idea why that’s on here. also surprised there’s 2 sepultura albums but no soulfly, same singer but soulfly was more firmly nu. lots of big huge drums in roots, i love it.

i will never listen to devil without a cause because we live in a world where kid rock was invited to the trump white house

follow the leader is like half a good album? there’s a track where jonathan davis and fred durst are just homophobic at each other for several minutes. but also i’m not a huge korn fan, i could probably cobble together one album i enjoy from the 4 that i’ve heard. the bass strings are so floppy. i enjoy their first 2 albums more bc they sound like shit, this one is more polished for sure and that’s not what i want lol

system of a down s/t A+

slipknot s/t 💕💕💕💕 i front to back this album all the time. drums are insane. all hope is gone is another odd choice, it’s way more thrash/straight up metal. after their 3rd album they moved away from nu for the most part. i really like at least half the songs on it tho. shocked iowa isn’t on here

hybrid theory is great for baby’s first heavy album bc there is no cursing so your parents would let you listen to it. incredibly vague lyrics by design so you can apply them to whatever is happening to you. a technically very good album, v polished and well thought out. kind of like the nexus of what nu metal could achieve, like where to even elevate from here. they were like the last super popular nu band. a place for my head rules

make yourself also an odd choice! i would have gone with fungus amongus or SCIENCE. SCIENCE is SO fun, my mom loved it lol. for the 311 connoisseur for sure. the elements are still there with the turntables and the bass but it’s definitely more alt rock imo. also brandon boyd said it made him sad to be lumped in with nu metal bc of all the machismo lmao

i have yet to listen to chocolate starfish bc i cannot sanction fred durst’s buffoonery. rollin’ is great though obviously. there’s a ben stiller shout out in livin’ it up. he also says he’s seen fight club “about 28 times” which i believe

the jane’s addiction pull is insane. in no way is this nu metal. probably influenced some groups wrt funkiness but that’s all i got. also just a sidenote my mom and i saw jane’s addiction like 10 years ago and we realized simultaneously that perry farrell looks like michael douglas as liberace

i was going to say i’m shocked there’s no deftones but i assume white pony or around the fur is on there, ppl just love to say they’re not nu metal bc they’re “good”

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xombiriot · 4 months

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TOP 3 Metal Albums I Enjoyed from 2023

A lot of great metal came out this year and it was hard to narrow it down to my Top 3. There were some great EPs released this year— Spiritbox’s The Fear of Fear, Brand of Sacrifice’s Between Death and Dreams and Knosis’s The Eternal Doom among them. Singles I enjoyed include: "On the Verge" by thrown, “Masterpiece” by The Anchor, “Enemy” by The Gentle Men (ft. Andy Cizek), “Weight of the World” by Harper (ft. We Came as Romans and Brand of Sacrifice), “Viking” by Slaughter To Prevail, "III" by DEATHPHONK (Nik Nocturnal's weird project); and Knocked Loose had the double, “Deep In the Willow”/“Everything is Quiet Now”.

My Top 5 honourable mentions: 5. [m]other by Veil of Maya, their newest does everything I want it to do, good riffs, cool effects, great vocals; 4. Soul Elegy by Termina, Nik Nocturna, Andy Cizek and friends deliver an awesome metal album; 3. Chaos Horrific by Cannibal Corpse is a strong entry and shows why they're still so loved after so long; 2. The Fox and the Bird by Ok Goodnight mixes folk, rock, metal and whatever else they want to create this really entrancing album; and 1. Take Me Back to Eden by Sleep Token is one of the albums I listened to the most because it's easy to put on when you're tired of being relentlessly pummelled by deathcore, but though its highs are super high, it just misses out landing on my top 3 because there are a few spots it lags

3. ...And Everything In Between - Unprocessed

Manuel Gardner Fernandes has quickly become one of my favourite guitarists between this release and Unprocessed's previous album Gold. The combination of styles on this album exemplify modern metal: bludgeoning heaviness, thumpy prog riffing (à la Animals As Leaders or Polyphia) and a mix of harsh and clean vocals. Despite the polish of these 9 tracks, some express such raw emotion and a ferocity that they really get me hyped up. The variety of tones and vocals kept me engaged throughout, and they blend and balance heaviness and melody so well. The guitar sounds so angry sometimes–especially the part of "Thrash" where Manuel beats the shit outta his guitar after screaming, "But you're just a fucking lie!" I love that. Other songs like "Blackbone" and "Die on the Cross of the Martyr" continue the trend of excellent instrumentation, the latter featuring guest solos by Polyphia's Tim Henson and Scottie Lepage. It's so well done and so engaging. In the short time I've had this album, it's become one of my favourites of 2023.

2. Periphery V: Djent Is Not A Genre - Periphery

When Periphery released "Wildfire" as a single I immediately bought into what they were selling. The way they transition through the various parts is seamless, the mix of vocal techniques and the jazzy interlude are all fantastic. It really captures the spirit of the whole record. Songs like "Dying Star" and "Zagreus" are also so hard. Periphery continues to show off their musical dexterity, and the band members prove once again they're not only some of the best musicians djenting their way through the world but as a collective they add up to more than the sum of their parts. My hottest take when it comes to this album is that I love "Silhouette" — it's like if you ran 80s soft rock and 90s/00s boy bands through a progressive music filter. I think they wrote this song and put it on the album just to prove they can do anything. And if Periphery is Djent, and Djent isn't a genre then why shouldn't they go in every genre direction they want to explore?

1. War of Being - TesseracT

In other years this top 3 could have been entirely deathcore or melodeath or metalcore, but this year it was djenty prog metal through and through. It's the music I gravitated to the most this year and nobody did it better than TesseracT. Daniel Tompkins vocals are incredible throughout, his cleans sounding particularly great on "Echoes" – giving us one of the best choruses before following it up with another great one on "The Grey". The album offers engaging lyricism throughout and the instrumentation is at a pedigree one would expect for a band in the vanguard of this genre. The album gives us atmospheric moments, synths, meditative passages before blasting us with metal. In many ways the whole album does what the best tracks on Sleep Token's Take Me Back To Eden do. Each song and the album as a whole provide an expansive experience. And that's why it's my number one. More than any other album released this year, TesseracT's War of Being makes me want to sit down and listen to it from beginning to end.

Other great albums: SUPERBLOOM by Silent Planet; Fatalism by Polaris; Feral by Left To Suffer; Foregone by In Flames; Ashen by Humanity's Last Breath; The Sin of Human Frailty by END; Symptoms of Survival by Dying Wish; and The Death We Seek by Currents.

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thrashingmaniac · 6 months

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𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𓆉︎ ࣪ 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒ 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ ࣪🫧ㅤ 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𓇼 ࣪ 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒ 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ ࣪

hihi helloe!! im mary. i 💖 the 80s and 90s, and reposting silly things! u might also see me skip around tumblr, too 🐠🎶

♍, agnostic jew ✡︎, 🇵🇭🇵🇱 ˚｡𖦹 𝄢

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𓇼 ࣪ 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒ 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ ࣪𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ⭒ㅤ𓈒ㅤׂ 🫧 ࣪𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𓆉 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

hi again !! this is an in depth of who i am since that tiny sliver of information isnt enough.

im neurodivergent, and im currently hyperfixated on (not in order of fixated-ness)

thrash metal, specifically exodus and testament

old school death metal

jazz fusion

shred players (hi richie kotzen 😊)

thin lizzy (and the spinoffs, and whatever john sykes did before and after thin lizzy excluding whitesnake...ish, its growing on me)

thr 80s and early 90s

ocean and marine life

fun facts about me 😋

i am interested in topics like psychology, linguistics, tech, and marine biology!

i am on the asexual spectrum D:

my mom is filipino, and my dad is polish, czech, russian, and ukrainian

my dad was also involved in the late 80s/early 90s thrash movement in the southwest! he and i are friends with some bands

i use sarcasm and irony very often so pls take everything i say with a grain of salt

my favorite food is pasta. any type idgaf!

my favorite shows are friends, metalocalypse, seinfeld, chips, stranger things (im a casual fan pls dont attack me xoxo.) gilmore girls, brady bunch, full house, and adam-12

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

heres some of my socials to find me elsewhere:

insta: ridemaryslightning

last.fm: auringslovesme

spachey: live4metal

that's all for now yay

last updated: march 30th, 2024 𝄞

why did rob give gary a little tap on the head poor guy

#silly #intro post #blog intro #thrashmetal #Spotify #80s thrash #thrash metal #shitpost

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junkydrawr · 8 months

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Snively fic shite. Another brief scene, this one with some good ol' Robotnik abuse when Sniv's still in Robotropolis.

"Robotnik made you lick his boots, did he not?"

Snively blushed. Had Naugus seen that from the Void?

"He found it amusing to relay stories of his cruelty to you." The wizard frowned.

He remembered the times, more frequent in his younger years. Robotnik shoving him downward, while leering with the various accusations. Your tone was too insolent. You asked too many questions. I don't like that look on your face. You suggested too much - implying you know better than the Mighty Round One. And sometimes, I caught those nasty little comments you made under your breath.

Pain wasn't the only effective deterrent. Snively loathed equally being ordered to clean those wretched red boots until they shone like rubies.

He rubbed at his cheek, the flushed skin speaking for him.

Naugus clicked his claw. "Slave. I see a smudge on the Small One's boot. Be a dear and clean it for him."

Robotnik was suddenly pulled down to his hands and knees, his mustache brushing the floor.

"No," the ex-tyrant hissed.

Naugus smiled languidly. "Crawl to him."

Robotnik let out a gasp. Snively saw nothing, but imagined it was something magically painful. Still the fat man remained, until the mystical motivation grew too great. Sweat gathered on his egg-shaped head.

Panting for breath, his uncle shimmied across the metal floor. One of his gloved hands nudged the black toe of Snively's boot.

"I will not do this!" Robotnik snarled. His entire body jolted and that hand flopped like a fish. Still he groaned and shook his head.

"Why, Slave! Are you too good to lick a boot?"

More flopping and thrashing. A long whine came from Uncle's throat - and a delighted shiver ran down Snively's spine. What a lovely sound!

He smiled viciously as Robotnik's body stilled, his uncle panting heavily. He traced his foot along that fat bottom lip, and then kicked him in the teeth. Robotnik yelped.

"Not so nice on the receiving end, is it?" Snively rasped. "Now, Julian, shut your bloody mouth and polish my boots."

The red eyes rolled up, glared at him in deadly fashion. For a millisecond, Snively nearly stepped back, he very nearly averted his eyes.

Don't you dare. He's nothing. He's always been.

"Slave. We have asked nicely," Naugus cooed.

The glare continued until another jolt rippled his flab like jello. The red eyes clamped shut. Tongue extended and touched the toe of Snively's boot.

"Oh, that's not adequate! Keep going!"

The tongue trailed along the side.

"Tsk. If I had done such a pitiful job, you would have..." Snively delivered another hard kick to Uncle's precious ivories. Robotnik sputtered, blood oozing over multiple chins.

The fat man snarled, lashing his hand at Snively's leg. Snively dodged it, kicking again, as Naugus unleashed another bout of torture. Snively swore he smelled flesh burning, felt the charged energy radiating from Uncle's shivering form.

His defiance sputtered out, just as Snively's had so many times before.

The ex tyrant wilted and finally relented, cleansing the entirety of the boot, growling under his breath. Snively set his hands on his hips, his teeth gleaming. His heart was thumping, his blood roiling through his veins, his breath heavy - enjoyment bordering on the obscene, but it was a delightful lechery.

He stepped back, chuckling, and tempted to give a pat to the sweaty and humiliated egg dome. "Good boy, Uncle. Maybe I won't deprive you of your dinner tonight."

Naugus raised an eyebrow. "Small One. You have another boot."

Snively grinned. "Of course." He held out his other foot. "Carry on, Slave."

#snively #satam #junkysnivfic

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