#I'll write it eventually (maybe) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

total-drama-brainrot · 22 days

Note

TD World Tour AU, where Noah doesn't tell Owen that Alejandro is an eel in London... In Area 51, Noah is accidentally splashed with an alien truth potion (which wears off after a few days) and he talks to Owen... Owen asks Noah what he truly thinks about Alejandro, and Truth-Potion Affected Noah says this: "I have mixed feelings for Alejandro. He's a brilliant, interesting guy and I like him, but I don't trust him. He's like a slippery eel dipped in grease, swimming in motor oil. Basically, Heather with social skills. Wait a minute, why am I telling you this?!"... What if Alejandro secretly heard Noah call him all those conflicting things + Alejandro also learns that Noah is affected with an alien truth potion? 👽

Alright, you got me. I'm an absolute sucker for truth potion plots, especially when the character(s) effected by them are usually either pathological liars or incredibly secretive- of which Noah absolutely falls into the second category, given he shares so little personal information.

I'll gloss over why Noah declined to shit-talk Alejandro in London (though there's so many ways this change in behaviour could be justified) since the focal point of this hypothetical centred around their time in Nevada, so let's start from the beginning of the Area 51 challenge.

Area 51:

Before we start, it'll have to be established that no one was eliminated in London. Let's say that the majority vote went towards Duncan (team CIRRRRH voted him out immediately because they found his re-admission to the competition unfair, I guess. I imagine he'd also vote himself, if not as a plan to escape the competition he'd been actively skiving from, then just as an act of spite) but Chris instead claimed it was a rewards challenge- much like he does in Greece- because he doesn't want to let Duncan slip away again so soon.

I see no reason to alter the first part of the challenge- the sneaking into Area 51 portion- since team CIRRRRH's course of entry is fairly straightforward. Noah's presence doesn't make much of a difference to how it would play out; the majority of them throw their rocks and run, Owen gets lasered over the fence and Owen-napped, ect ect.

When both teams have managed to make their way into the Black Box Warehouse, Noah immediately suggests they should prioritise rescuing Owen. Tyler's quick to agree, since he's a firm believer in the "no man left behind" mentality (and he probably makes a not-so-subtle jab towards Noah for his chance of tune compared to London, where both he and Owen did leave Tyler behind) leaving Duncan and Alejandro to split from the group- Duncan in search of Gwen, and Alejandro just takes the opportunity to finally be free from his 'incompetent teammates' and prioritises finding an artifact.

Noah and Tyler come across the contraption Owen's trapped in, Tyler punches it in a futile effort to break it open, and the face hugger cube drops into Noah's hands. This is where the point of divergence comes into play; Tyler has his E.T. moment with one of the face huggers, but Noah- who's a tad bit more observant than Alejandro, and used to dodging surprise attacks from his various older siblings (and Izzy)- anticipates his own face hugger attack and promptly starts a game of cat-and-mouse with a taser alien hot on his heels.

The commotion of which attracts the rest of his team. Alejandro and Duncan arrive on the scene to see Tyler being electrocuted by an alien and Noah running in circles evading another.

Duncan attempts to rip the face hugger from Tyler's face, finding success at the cost of sending Tyler trampling into Owen's captive contraption (essentially taking Alejandro's canonical place in this scene) and inadvertently freeing Owen.

Meanwhile, Alejandro swipes up the nearest box he can find and snags the alien chasing Noah, who's still very loudly panicking as he flees, and succeeds! The alien is swiftly captured into the box, netting team CIRRRRH their artifact, and Noah promptly goes careening into the nearest tower of junk in his face hugger-fuelled hysteria. This causes another box to topple from the peak of the tower, landing directly on Noah's head and spilling its contents onto the bookworm- glass vials filled with a mysterious, luminescent cobalt blue liquid shatter into pieces drenching Noah in whatever they contained. (i.e. truth potion.)

Owen has his false-amnesia moment, characterised by his Joker makeover, and Alejandro enacts his revenge post-hypnotic suggestion after being addressed as "Al" one too many times.

Noah, understandably, swiftly objects to Owen's treatment and demands that Alejandro snap him out of it. Alejandro concedes, and Owen's brought back to himself. At least, for a moment, before the fatigue of having his mind messed with sends Owen into near-catatonia (the same as canon), meaning he has to be ferried through the Warehouse and back to the Jet by Alejandro and Duncan.

Things carry on canonically from there; Noah's just sort of there for the most part, though there'd be a minor hint to his newfound proclivity for honesty. Something along the lines of him giving an uncharacteristically honest answer to Owen as to who he's voting- Tyler, of course, since he was the one who ultimately threw the challenge for them... and also because Tyler still holds some resentment towards Noah for what happened in London, and Noah feels guilty about it every time he looks at the jock. Wait, why did he say that?

Sometime between this and the elimination scene, Noah wipes the truth-goop off of himself, but not before the effects have already started.

Tyler's voted out, yada yada yada.

The Jet:

Thus begins the start of "Picnic at Hanging Dork". Team CIRRRRH, consisting of just Alejandro, Duncan, Owen and Noah, are slumming it up in the Economy Cabin. Alejandro tries to rally his team by asking how to break apart Courtney and Heather's tentative co-operation. Owen suggests having Alejandro seduce Heather, since it worked for both Bridgette and Leshawna. Duncan makes his "Babe Olympics" comment. Noah pipes up that playing with someone's feelings is pretty scummy, even for someone competing for a million dollars.

Alejandro takes Noah's reluctance towards his methodology poorly; he hadn't spoken up before, when Alejandro had utilized the same strategy against other girls- and even Owen noticed that, so surely Noah did too- so why was he to outwardly against him using the same tricks? Duncan agrees, and offers ''his'' idea of having Alejandro flirt with Courtney to throw both her and Heather off their games (since Heather has an obvious crush on Alejandro), and things follow canon.

Then, the scene between Alejandro and Courtney happens. Noah scoffs at the display from the side lines, prompting Owen to ask him why he's so against Alejandro's plan.

"I mean, you never said anything before, when he flirted with Bridgette and Leshawna." Owen comments, light-hearted in nature but with an underlying questioning tone.

Noah's eyes flicker with a cobalt glow, easily mistaken for a trick of the light, and he speaks without even thinking.

"Yeah, because I was trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. Bridgette was happenstance, and Leshawna's whole deal could've been a coincidence, or some massive misunderstanding. But this?" Noah extends an accusing hand out towards a smug looking Alejandro, then pans it over to a flattered Courtney, "He's outright toying with Courtney's feelings after she was cheated on in front of an international audience. It's scummy."

Owen nods in understanding, momentary contemplation evident in the pouted curve of his lips, and he chimes in.

"Does that mean you don't like Al?"

"I never said that."

"Well, how do you feel about him, then?"

Again, a flash of blue light against the hickory backdrop of Noah's eyes, and he responds thoughtlessly.

"I guess I have mixed feelings about him. On the one hand, he's slippery, like an eel dipped in grease, swimming in motor oil. He's like if you took all of the worst aspects of Heather, wrapped them up in a pretty package, and gave them social skills..." He holds his hands out before him in a scale-like manner, with the left tipped downwards and tie right raised by his chin. Then, the two hands swap positions.

"And on the other hand, he's brilliant. I've never met anyone as talented as Alejandro; he's smart, he's athletic, he's funny. It's almost unfair just how perfect everything about him is- even his face is perfect. It's ridiculous! Infuriating, even. It's so hard to dislike him, even when I know he's bad news, but that doesn't mean I trust him."

Owen stands slack jawed beside his best friend, both impressed and stunned at the raw honesty of Noah's tirade. Noah, now a little more aware of himself, realises that he's said more than he intended to- more than he thinks he's ever spoken in one go throughout the entirety of Total Drama. He's not usually one for speeches, after all, let alone honest ones.

He's always been the type to play his cards close to his chest, so why...?

"I, uh, didn't mean to go off like that."

And he also didn't mean to admit it, either. What was going on?

The look Owen gives him is, in a word, vivid. The blonde has a shit-eating grin stretching across his face, a sort of elated smugness practically glowing from his features.

"Sounds like someone has a cruuuush!~"

What? No? No! Not at all, where would Owen even get that idea?!

Noah splutters to correct Owen's assumption (to disastrous results, because he does sort-of has a crush on Alejandro, so the truth potion doesn't allow him to outright deny it), and in his preoccupied state he misses how a calculating pair of sage green eyes never seems to stray from him.

Alejandro has a lot to think about in regards to a certain cynic, it seems.

#I'd like to apologise for taking this idea and running with it.#Cutting myself off here before I breach 2k+ words or else I'll be here all day.#Sort of entered actual Writing Mode at the end there instead of Outline Mode but this idea is. So Full Of Potential I couldn't help myself.#But from here it'd basically be Alejandro using his newfound knowledge of Noah's crush on him to his advantage.#Whilst Noah's doing his best (and failing) to deny that he has any feelings for Alejandro.#Eventually leading to the two of them having a Bonding Moment where Alejandro gets Noah to divulge some personal information.#And in turn- or an effort to garner some trust (to be abused later)- Alejandro also lets himself be vulnerable towards Noah.#Something something Alejandro tries to use Noah as a pawn but ends up catching feelings of his own.#Then of course the potion wears off and Noah goes back to being just as prickly and standoffish as he was before.#A point of conflict maybe? Imagine bearing your soul out to someone only for them to close themself off to you not even days afterwards.#...Also imagine being practically forced to divulge information about yourself to someone you don't trust because of a truth potion.#Oh yeah. That's some good angst material right there.#Especially is you have Alejandro be- if not fully aware- than at least suspect that Noah's not being agreeable on his own terms.#Anon why have you given me The Thoughts?? I can't keep brainstorming AUs when I already have fics to work on!!#ophe's ranting in the tags again #total drama #td noah #td alejandro #team chris is really really really really hot #alenoah #-ish #silly ideas #other's ideas #long post #replies #kinda drafty in here (posts from the drafts)

54 notes · View notes

violetsteve · 1 year

Text

“And that doesn’t scare you?”

Steve gives a half hearted shrug, his hands still stuffed into the pockets of his jacket and his shoulders slowly starting to crawl towards his ears.

“I don’t know. Kind of, I guess?” Steve’s eyes finally kick up from the floor, meeting Eddie’s gaze with so much open vulnerability that Eddie feels his chest go tight.

“Mostly I just like being with you, man. You have this way of—“ Steve cuts himself off, shrugging again like he can’t help it. “I don’t know. Making all the bad shit disappear for a while? Or maybe not disappear, not really, but more like…you make the big stuff smaller. Like yeah, sure, the worlds fucked and we all have enough trauma to fill marinas fucking trench, but also I look at the way you light up when I reference your nerd game, or the way you put on a fucking show without even thinking about it when you can sense one of the kids needs a distraction, and it makes me feel…” he trails off again, eyes jumping around for a moment like he’s trying to find the right words, before they finally settle back on Eddie. “Whole. Hopeful. Safe. Like, sure, we’ve lost a lot to the upside down, but we haven’t lost everything. I mean, your terrible sense of humor is still intact, after all.” Steve finishes his small speech with a wry twist to his mouth, like he was going for a joke to lighten the mood and missed by a mile.

Eddie feels his chest burst with static, an overwhelming sense of something for this man in front of him. He should be offended—or at least play offended at Steve’s last few words, but he can’t find it in himself to pretend at this moment. There’s so much to unpack in everything Steve’s just said, least of all the fact that he called the Mariana trench marina—which Eddie finds so endearing. He’s aware Dustin finds the slip ups to be annoying at best, but, lord help him, Eddie thinks they’re cute. He thinks Steve is cute.

And here Steve is, standing in front of him and telling Eddie that he makes things less scary—that he makes all of Steve’s biggest problems feel so much less daunting just by existing. He’s standing in front of Eddie telling him that Eddie makes him feel fucking safe and cared for, and oh, fuck he’s so, so unbelievably in love with this boy that it makes him dizzy in this moment. Eddie extends a shaky hand to grip the back of the couch just so he doesn’t fall over.

He’s staring into Steve’s completely unguarded eyes and feeling like he might throw up with the affection and absolute fear he feels in this moment because—

Because it’s absolutely undeniable at this moment.

The sky is blue.

The sun rises in the east, sets in the west.

Eddie Munson is head over heels in love with Steve Harrington.

#sorry this little idea would just NOT leave me alone #what is the context??? no idea!#what were they doing before this started? you decide!#maybe I'll actually flesh this out eventually #lots to think about #steddie #steddie fic #steddie fan fiction #steve harrington/eddie munson #steve harrington/eddie munson fanfiction #my writing

728 notes · View notes

inkskinned · 1 year

Text

you told me there was this way of exploring our own memories that was "over-distanced" - the idea that we can learn to stand so far away from our lives that it cannot hurt us. the problems shrink when they are so far away. we can keep our souls tethered at the end of a long leash, holding them above where the sharp things can reach.

i said - oh, i always just say "that thing is too hot to touch right now." my life like learning to stand as far from the fire as possible. my life like watching the pot boil over. my life, a little scattered. the air up here is so thin; it is almost froth. it's a little sad trade off - down there is joy, i know. but that is also where sorrow stalks.

don't i want to be happy? don't i want to be whole?

on the phone, i heard your breath catch a moment. for a horrible, terrible instant, i thought you were going to notice the truth of it: that i haven't been on this earth in a while. if this is all happening to me, i've felt exactly none of it.

oh, my beautiful life is changing again. oh, my one beautiful life. the way it turns in the wind; wild and frantic - so funny, at this angle, at this distance: it kind of looks like a fevered & caught animal, doesn't it?

#warm up #ugh i tried to write 2 poems at once so u get 1 poem that isn't as good and me SULKING #bc my brain wants to say TOO MUCH #and i don't have time #i'll write the other one.... ??? maybe #eventually???

835 notes · View notes

hauntedpearl · 1 year

Text

Endverse, Kind of MCD, 2.4kwords, Gen (ao3)

At the end of everything, there is still him. Cas. There is still Cas.

It's just that Dean doesn't know if it's a blessing or a curse.

His brother — Lucifer — is long gone. So is the other him. The one whose world hasn't gone to all shit yet. Who still has the chance to do the right thing.

Dean hopes he's doing it — whatever it is, because he sure as hell can't figure it out, even now.

Hopes that whatever happens, it doesn't end like this.

It hurts to move, hurts to breathe, hurts to think.

(He's doing all those things anyway. What else is new?)

"Reckless," Cas hisses from somewhere to his left. "I fucking told you it was reckless."

Dean doesn't respond, stares at up at the sky instead.

It's a good sky, all this considered. Here, at the end of everything.

Cloudless, and blue, like the world on the cusp of a warm summer. Like ice cream on a park bench. Sunglasses and sundresses.

Like his —

Like Cas' eyes. Or like they used to be.

It's a nice blue, is all.

Dean's glad to be looking at it.

"Sorry," he says, and his throat is scratched and torn, voice drenched in his own blood. He swallows, tries not to choke on it. Then, "Should've — Should've just stayed back, huh?"

Cas laughs, and it sounds like the rattling of the world. Like it hurts.

Dean's sure it does. Cas had looked like death warmed over when he'd crawled up to Dean on his hands and knees after everything, collapsing at his side.

He'd sighed, and the world went quiet, and it was selfish, but Dean was so fucking glad to have him, just then. Beside him. With him. Here, at the end of everything.

Dean doesn't know what exactly happened to Cas — if it was demons or the Croats or even Lucifer himself. Or a shitty fucking combination of the three. Cas won't tell, he knows, and Dean's not going to waste his last breaths asking.

It's the end of everything. And Dean's just glad for the company.

"Like that was ever a choice," Cas says, now, and he sounds bitter. He sounds helpless. A little smug, too. Sounds a lot like he has been for the past couple of years.

Dean blinks, drinking in the sky one last time. Rolls his neck so he's facing Cas instead.

"Fuck!" he swears, because it hurts like a motherfucker but atleast he can see Cas now. He can look at his face — human, and divine, all at once. It looks bashed in. Dean tries to not focus on that. Or the trickle of blood that carves its way down his chin. Tries to look at his eyes instead. The whites are shot with red — a burst blood vessel, if Dean would have to guess — but the irises are as blue as ever. Not the same as the sky, no, but close enough.

Dean loves them, always has. Loves looking at them.

"Of—Of course it was a choice," he says, now. "I — I didn't m—make you."

Cas smiles at him, close-mouthed, all bloody lips and regret. "Oh, you did, Dean. You always have."

And Dean knows what he means. Understands.

(He doesn't want to, though. But that's nothing new, either.)

"Th—Think you've got one last miracle in you, Cas?" he asks, and it's mostly in jest. But—

If—

Well.

Here's the thing about life— it can suck as all hell, but you'll still want to keep living it. All the time in the world, and it'll still never be enough. And Dean's here, at the end of everything, on purpose. By design. He chose this. Still — somewhere underneath all that hurt and hopelessness and the drive to just end it, he wants to live.

He's always wanted to.

He'll keep wanting to until there's nothing left of him to want with.

Cas pauses for a moment, almost like he's taking stock. Then, "No," he says. Groans as he turns onto his injured side, facing Dean. "'Fraid we ran out of those a while ago."

Just as well, Dean thinks.

Who knows what else he'd have had to endure if they did live to see another day. Atleast there's the sky, on this day.

Atleast there's Cas.

"Did he make it?" Cas asks. Coughs. Sprays blood everywhere. A drop of it lands on Dean's cheek.

Dean watches him as he wheezes, moans. Quiets a little. His eyes grow slightly unfocused.

It hurts to look at him.

Dean keeps looking anyway.

An angel who smote demons with a thought, reduced to the indignities of mortality by his calloused, human hands. Dean's done a lot of fucked up shit in his life but this — this takes the cake. When he's back on the racks in Hell this time, and for good, he'll deserve ever fucking second of it.

"Yeah," he says, shaking himself a little. "Yeah, he did. Just in time, too."

"Good," Cas breathes. Lets his eyes slip close. "That's — that's good."

There on his lashes is a tear.

Dean looks at it — a little universe on the edge of Cas' lashes. It's silver and blue, and shines in the light of the day. Dean wishes he was in it.

He thinks about the other version of him who went back in time. He wonders if he'd fix the fuckfest that this world has become. If it's even possible to fix it.

He wonders if it would matter.

Once, when things hadn't been so bad, Cas would talk to him about these things — Timelines and multiverses and the effect of the flapping of a single butterfly's wings. He bets Cas would know what would happen if the other Dean made a different choice this time around.

Bets he would know if it would matter.

Then, the tear rolls down Cas' cheek, across his nose. Falls to the ground in a bloody splash.

It's all — it's too much. It's overhwhelming.

"Cas—," he calls. Cas hums. Doesn't open his eyes. Dean wants him to open his eyes. Wants to look at the blue of them. He wants to see them smile, one last time. He wants —

"Lo—look at me, man."

"No," Cas says. There's the tinge of something horrid in his tone. Dean hates himself for being responsible for it. For being responsible for everything.

"Pl—Ple-ase, Cas," he begs.

Cas breathes. Dean watches his bruised chest swell, the slight rise in his shoulders. The way his too-long hair, matted and sweaty and bloody, flops in a lazy curve over his forehead.

Then, he opens his eyes.

Duller, now, but there, atleast.

Yes. There.

"Hey there, Cas," Dean says. Tries to smile. The skin across his bones stretches painfully.

Cas' face softens, then. Something that mirrors Dean's own smile carves itself into his bloody cheeks. There's something old, and quiet, and familiar about the shift. "Hello, Dean," he says, and Dean's heart lurches.

There you are, he thinks. There's my Cas.

After all these years. After everything.

It's still him, it's still them. At the end of it all.

Dean doesn't know if it's a blessing or a curse. He doesn't know.

He's not a big fan of deathbed confessions, but — well. Here they are. Cas is fading, he can tell, and his own thoughts are starting to scatter. They don't have long and this — this one thing.

Well. Dean's life has always been a cliche filled nightmare. Why would it be any different now?!

"C—Cas. I wanna—," he starts. Pauses when his breath sticks against the sharp edges of his broken ribs. Groans. Forces himself to keep going.

Just a moment, he prays to a God who's never listened. Give me one fucking moment.

"Dean?" Cas calls. Watches him struggle to breathe. "Dean!" He crawls closer, wiggling on his side. Presses a shaky palm to Dean's chest. Something cracks under his hands but somehow, somehow, the breath whooshes out of him.

He gasps. Then gasps again. And again.

"Th—Thought we were out of miracles," he manages between breaths.

"Wasn't one," Cas replies.

"Right. O—Okay."

But it feels like one, anyway. Every fucking thing about Cas feels like a fucking miracle.

The world is quiet, and Dean's dying under a bright blue sky, Cas' hand on his chest.

That feels like a miracle, too. And, well, isn't that something.

"Thank you," Dean says, after a moment. "For. Fo— for everything. I ne-ver do s-ay it—," and he doesn't. Dean doesn't. Even on frenzied nights that they spend trying to sate the hunger buried under their skins, or the morning-afters when the world is quiet and soft, and easy, if only for a moment. Dean never says it. He's a right fool for not saying it. "B—but. I couldn't — Not without you."

That didn't make sense, he thinks.

Cas just looks at him, his hooded eyes fending off exhaustion, fighting to stay open.

For him, Dean tries again. Says, "Every— every day. Always. I've needed you. And you've been here. Even when I — I didn't de-deserve it. Even — now. I need you, and you're here. You're always here. So— th-thank you. I just—," he trails off.

Cas is quiet.

Dean wonders if maybe he's gone. If perhaps the slight light in his eyes is not life but the echo of it. He cannot stand the thought. It keeps coming at him anyway.

Wake up, Dean pleads. Prays. Say something!

Then, Cas laughs.

And the world keeps spinning. If only for another moment.

"Fuck you, Dean Winchester," he says, and it bleeds the anger and resentment Dean's poured into him for years. "Fuck you. I do— don't. I don't accept your confession. I will not— grant you — this— this absolution."

Dean wants to think that he isn't seeking absolution. But he doesn't know anymore.

Maybe he is. Maybe he wants to be forgiven. Maybe he wants to know that it was alright to want Cas. To love him. To need him.

To be told that it was excuse enough for everything.

Dean laughs, too, then. Because what else is there to do.

His bones rattle in his chest under Cas' hand. He wonders if Cas can feel them. If he can feel the way his heart slows.

"Do what you wa-nt, ass-hole," he says. "For-Forgive me for try-ing, I guess."

"No," Cas says. Heaves himself closer, still. "I won't. It's all too late."

Yeah, okay.

That much is true. It's the truest thing of all.

It is.

It really is too damn late.

"I know," Dean says. "I'm so-sorry."

And he is. He's so fucking sorry. He wishes— Well.

What does it matter anyway.

Then— he screams.

Pain blooms in his chest, sharp and bright, and the edges of his vision turn white. He tries to move, but cannot. Tilts his head down, just so. Watches as Cas presses his palm flat against his chest and pushes once more.

Another scream tears out of his throat.

Cas uses his leverage to push himself closer, until he's flush against Dean's side. He drops unceremoniously, then, sprawling on his stomach, his body half on top of Dean's broken ribs. His chin settles on Dean's shoulder, and Dean feels his every laboured breath against his neck and collarbone.

"I hate you," Cas says. Wheezes, really. "But I—," and Dean thinks Don't. Don't say the word. " I guess— Guess I needed you, too."

Dean's relieved when Cas borrows his words. His arm's pinned between their bodies but he wiggles his fingers until he's got a fistful of Cas' shirt in his hands.

"'S'alright," he says to him. "'S'okay. I'll t-take it."

There's only Cas' messy hair in his line of sight, so he closes his eyes. Counts the dark spots on the back of his eyelids so he doesn't fall asleep.

Not yet, he begs his body. Not yet. Not yet.

"Hey, Cas?" he asks.

"Hmm?"

"Th-think they'll figure it o-ut in ti-me?"

"The other ones?"

"Yeah," Dean says. Thinks about the ease in his other self's skin that seemed to have left him forever ago. Wonders if he's sane enough to make use of it while it's still there.

"I—I don't know," Cas says. Dean hears rustling as he moves against his side. (It doesn't hurt so much, anymore. Everything's numb.) Cas pushes himself up, and Dean feels the tip of his nose against his cheek. Cas' forehead falls against his temple. Dean presses into the touch. "I hope so."

"Yeah," Dean says. "Me-me, too."

Dean thinks about what it could've been like, if they'd figured it out sooner. If they'd had the luxury to figure it out. What his future could've looked like.

A log cabin, he thinks. Some place to come home to. Hunting together, maybe. Holidays where he would cook. A guitar. Birthday sex, and pie, and holding hands under the covers. A couch. Dean would've loved a good couch. Memory foam on the bed.

Dean loses himself in this dream that seems real, and vivid, and bright. So fucking bright. Brings his lax hand up to the Cas' on his chest. Threads their fingers together.

"Sing for me," Cas asks. Curls his fingers around Dean's. Holds tight.

Dean's too far gone to sing. So he hums instead.

Cas mouths the lyrics against the skin of his neck.

Take a sad song, and make it better.

They tried, he thinks. Despite everything. They did try.

The sky is the kind of blue that means sandalled feet, and busy beaches. But Dean's not looking at it anymore.

At the end of everything, there's still him. There's still Cas.

And the sound of a song in the air.

It's not too bad, when all's said and done. It's not bad at all.

#doe's writing #destiel fic #endverse #mcd #end of all things or whatever #i watched eeaao and had the first line of this fic stuck in my head and also A Concept!#so i wrote it!#it's not going on ao3 bc I'm not convinced of its quality rn but maybe eventually #should I even tag my taglist I DON'T KNOE #I'LL LEAVE IT UP AND WE'LL SEE AFTER A NAP #okay thanks i hope you like it!.#spn fic #this one is sad!#angst

302 notes · View notes

weird-an · 1 year

Text

A stupid advertisement for Surfer Boy Pizza. Along Route 1, starting in San Francisco and ending up in San Diego. Photos in every city they have a store at. A job that pays ridiculously well according to Billy.

"C'mon, do you really want to spend all your summer here?" Billy waves at their tiny kitchen where he just had to fix the sink again last week.

"You'll die here in fucking Hawkins, if you don't get out, Harrington!"

Moving in a shitty apartment with Billy Hargrove was the worst and the best decision Steve ever made in his life after his breakup with Nancy. It never gets boring and staring at a nice ass and abs whenever Billy decides shirts are a nuisance definitely helps to forget about broken dreams of a white picket fence and six kids.

"Why did they ask you to model for it? Don’t they have enough models in California?"

"Let’s just say I know a guy," Billy licks his teeth and winks at Steve. Sometimes Steve wonders if Billy really slept with all the guys he has been hinting at or if he's just a big fat liar - he tries not to think about it too hard though, because there is unreasonable jealousy hidden underneath these thoughts.

"And we both got the job."

"Both," Steve echoes. "I'm not a model."

"You've got a pretty face and I sent them the photos from graduation." Billy shrugs, but his ears turn a little red like always when he isn’t as unbothered as he seems.

Wait. Graduation. Billy isn't talking about the photos when they both put on his mother’s evening dresses after spending too much time at the keg stand with Tommy, is he?

"You fucking asshole!" Steve's cheeks burn, but its more because he remembers how good Billy looked in that flimsy blue dress.

"Takes one to know one." Billy gives him a dazzling smile like he's already on a poster. "So, whatcha sayin'?"

Steve thinks about the bunch of rejection letters sitting on his nightstand, his father’s disappointed rant about his son not able to get into college for another year and Robin's last postcard encouraging him to come see her in San Francisco.

"Fine. Whatever." Steve tries to ignore his twisting stomach when Billy's face lights up.

"Great, because I already signed us up."

Steve is sure Billy's name is just a synonym for audacity sometimes.

He rolls his eyes. "So thoughtful. Someone really needs to teach you some manners."

Billy laughs, all white teeth and sunshine. "You can try, pretty boy, you can try."

#maybe I'll write the whole thing… eventually #in the mean time have this snippet #okay so this is an idea for an au i had for a while #argyle will be there to represent the pizza company #is there any canon in sight #no #do i like it? yes.#harringrove #billy x steve #billy hargrove #harringrove ficlet

156 notes · View notes

joelscruff · 11 months

Text

idk if it's just cause my brain is still all muddled from covid but everything i write just doesn't seem very good 😭😭 i've been working on the new FoF chapter for 2 days and idek if i even like where it's going or how the smut is written. i just feel so disconnected from my writing right now. pls bear with me, i'm not sure when it'll be ready. just gotta push past this last bit of covid i guess.

#its like i cant get in their heads properly atm or something #and maybe i just have too low a sex drive rn after being sick for so long so i cant figure out if what im writing is actually hot #UGH i'll get there eventually #c

108 notes · View notes

angeart · 8 months

Text

hey look what i found in the mess of my hmtb notes-

#scarian #ange writes #this may or may not be used in the fic eventually #who knows how things will develop #and i'll most likely forget about this note again #it's buried deep #there's too many notes #(i checked there's like 50 pages of scattered notes jnbkxb)#but MAYBE #you know #the possibility is out there #wouldn't it be fun?#wouldn't it be nice?

68 notes · View notes

afflewoom · 25 days

Text

sometimes i think about chilchuck's childhood and how it affected him...............i would write fanfiction about it but i am Too Lazy this also kind of goes for marcille, i wanna see more about her childhood!!!!! i wanna see angst!!!!!!

#chilchuck tims #marcille donato #delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi #maybe i'll find time to write eventually.....

31 notes · View notes

raiiny-bay · 1 month

Text

finished dhes & kel's character pages so here are the lil edits i made for both of em :-)

#myedits #kelly #dhestyn #ik i posted kel’s already but now i am posting both pictures together #i have read through the bios so many times atp that i don't even know if they make sense anymore #i cannot look at them again #i'm just gonna say they're good enough #i might change some stuff here & there but for now #i am over it lol #i'll probably do the rest of the characters eventually..........#maybe...........#but idk. i only really post the boys here so like. yea. yk.#plus i still have the mbz character page to do #which. that has like. so many characters on it. it's a daunting task #i hope the boys' pages are at least somewhat coherent. i tried to be concise & to the point. uh. idk if i was successful in that #but. n e way. i have a few edits & writing things i wanna work on so. character pages are moving to the back burner #i may or may not finally start writing the 90sAU #which btw ty guys for being so nice on that edit???? the comments & tags were all so sweet?????#i really liked that one so i'm glad y'all liked it too

35 notes · View notes

gingiekittycat · 1 month

Text

Things I overuse in my writing: line breaks, em dashes, commas, semicolons, adverbs, run-on sentences, the word "says"

Fucks I give: 0

#I hate editing #This should really be “fucks I'm TRYING not to give”#But maybe if I write it that way I'll eventually manifest that level of confidence #Writing #Editing #Fanfic #ao3

21 notes · View notes

bomberqueen17 · 5 months

Text

yeet

the kitchen is empty.

the more i look at it the more it's obvious that the original owners of the house, who bought it as new construction in 1950, remodeled the kitchen sometime in the 1970s, probably around 1974.

anyway the only thing i'm actually sorry to lose is the milk delivery door in the wall. it's been covered over from the outside, and we never used it for anything-- there were random items in there that were still from the original owner of the house-- but it was a funny little "wait what is that" feature in an otherwise extremely uninteresting house. (photo and more wittering behind the cut)

[image description: a panel in a beige wall, like a small cupboard, set into the thickness of the wall, next to a built-in kitchen counter. Inside is unfinished brown wallboard, with a shelf near the top.]

i am getting lake effected on at the moment, which is inconvenient, but our neighborhood is only supposed to get 1-3" this morning and maybe another 1-3" tonight when the band swings back through. RIP to the southtowns, as is right and proper. (Hamburg got 16" yesterday. It's what you get, living in the snow belt. Outsiders don't understand, when everyone says "Buffalo gets a lot of snow" they don't mean the city itself they mean the region just to the south of it. The blizzard last Christmas was so devastating for a number of reasons but a large part of it was that the lake effect band swung north and dumped on all of us soft City-And-North neighborhoods that mostly just sort of gently chuckle at the travails of the Southtowns. We do NOT have the driveways or snowblowers for this. Sure we can drive in it because we have to commute through it half the time but we are not used to this happening to OUR houses. Also the City is run by incompetent grifters so there's a compounding factor.)

Anyway. Everything is out of the kitchen. I'm prepared to hole myself up in the office for the day once I make sure the workmen have what they need. I'm trying to simultaneously be available and also unobtrusive. Unfortunately the things I could work on are mostly in the basement, which I can only enter through the kitchen. But I also think I'm not going to try to do anything useful today. So I'm not really worried about it. I'm going to sit in the office and veg the fuck out most of the day. I have some hand-sewing and maybe will do some writing and maybe I will just fucking. Sit there and listen to the banging noises or whatever. I don't care. i've been go-go-go-go for weeks at this point and I'm just going to stare at a wall. Who cares. The house is a disaster but the kitchen is cleaned out entirely and they can do whatever they want.

I only hope they don't need me to move the cabinet sitting against the exterior kitchen wall, which is full of fragile glassware and has a bunch of fragile shit on top of it. Probably they'll want me to move that or something. I'll worry about it once they say so. They're demo-ing the other exterior kitchen wall but they're not touching that section, which is why I did not attempt to pack up that cabinet yet. But they might want me to. I'll deal with that when they say so. Give me fifteen minutes to clear everything off the top and then I bet we could just gently push the cabinet into the middle of the room and not fret any more. Whatever man.

OK maybe they were coming at 8:30? IDK. IDK.

#personal #about the author #maybe i'll have time to write!#maybe i'm so burned out i'll just stare at a wall #better times are coming #eventually #sure

29 notes · View notes