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🪐 — EDWARD TEACH for izzy !
smoke fills his lungs slowly and for a little while there’s nothing but the faintly sweet taste of tobacco mixed with poppy in his mouth. but edward knows it won’t take long, it never does and he only has to count to sixty three times before it finally hits his brain, sudden and sure like an anchor holding him in place. coiled muscles relent until they go utterly slack, pain fades to a distant afterthought and edward finally groans with relief. for a blessed moment all he can think about is that someone ought to thank those poor fuckers in china for him. without drugs he would have been in paralyzing pain for hours, unable to get even a few hours of half decent sleep. a miserable ordeal, truly. he would know, having gone without plenty of times.
without cracking a single eye open, he knows izzy is still right at his side. he is not that far gone he can’t hear the man breathing — and talking — next to him, but it’s more than that: edward would recognize him by smell alone, by that leather and salt scent and something else that’s entirely his own, by the pattern of his feet on the wood, even. ‘ you could kill me with that shit. ’ rather than accusation, his voice is tinged with the faint echo of laughter. to edward it makes perfect sense why he would bring such a notion up, when surely izzy is well aware of that ( when surely he remembers how awfully sick edward had gotten on what must have been a bad batch once ), but he realizes with some delay that maybe a follow up would be in order. izzy can’t read his mind, as edward seems to forget rather often. ' wouldn’t trust any of those other fuckers with it — with me like this, y'know that. guess that’s why you’re my first mate, huh? ’ edward has his eyes open now, stare fixed on his first mate. he feels a little fuzzy around the edges, but no less certain, wholly confident in what he just said. he has always let izzy manage the doses, trusting him to deal out the right amount, a matter of not too much and not too little that took some trial and error, and trusting him to not let it become too much of a habit too. although edward trusts himself fairly enough on that front. thing is, he is almost completely unable to move right now and there’s no sign of reasonable panic to show for it through his brain, something that would be unattainable with anyone other than izzy in the room. izzy, who chanced upon edward chained and bleeding within an each of his life on an english vessel and followed him through hell ever since. here they both are, both alive and getting grey in their hair. and really, who the hell would have thought? — with the shit life expectancy that comes with being a pirate and all that.
' ’m really glad you’re here. ’ his voice wavers a bit as he utters this, a rush of honesty crawling up his throat as warmth takes over his chest, steady and familiar and having nothing to do with the drugs in his system. ' don’t tell ya enough, do i? ’ a frown, izzy suddenly seeming too far away even though that’s hardly true. it scares him for half a second, so he reaches out with his ungloved hand until he finds the side of izzy’s neck, warm and pulsing with life beneath his fingers.
HE TAKES NO JOY in seeing edward like this, does not enjoy watching him slip beneath the opium’s thick haze. no, izzy prefers his captain when he is sharp & certain, when he knows who & what he is. but even this addled state is far preferable to seeing him in pain. & it is the least izzy can do for him to stay of sound mind while his captain dabbles in the more dangerous substances, to help him moderate the addictive pull of the poppy, to oversee his dosage & ensure that he’s using it safely. & it is a privilege, to be trusted so. in this, too, he will always act as his captain’s own right hand. still, he can’t help the low chuckle that comes from his throat at edward’s words. you could kill me, he says. but the truth is that izzy couldn’t, even if he had a mind to. such a thing was impossible to imagine; he would sooner turn his blade on himself than willingly let any harm come to his captain. the scar tissue on the back of his right hand itches suddenly, a constant reminder of all that he was willing to endure to see edward safe. & he opens & closes his fingers in an attempt to chase the sensation away, leather creaking when his knuckles pull against the tight material of his gloves. but when his captain’s voice turns uncharacteristically soft, bare fingertips curling around the column of his throat — just above his collar, skin on skin — izzy feels his heart leap into his throat, pulse pounding suddenly beneath edward’s palm. & were they anywhere else, perhaps izzy would pull away for fear of losing control of himself. but here, in the privacy of the captain’s quarters, he allows himself to press into the touch, eyelids fluttering as he revels in the sensation of the other man’s bare hand on him. ❝ you don’t have to. i don’t do it for thanks, boss. you know that. ❞ accolades were rare at sea — no one was entitled to gratitude or praise for simply doing their job. & it had been part of his duties as first mate to protect his captain, not to give up his location to the english even when they had threatened izzy with that horrible iron glove. only the weakest of men needed to be coddled for doing what was expected of them, & izzy hands is not weak. & yet, he cannot stop himself from leaning a little closer still, even letting his cheek press against the outside of edward’s thigh as his stares up at him through his dark lashes, eyes tracing the handsome planes of his captain’s drug-softened face. ❝ it’s the greatest honor of my lifetime to serve you, edward. here, like this, for you — this is where i belong. ❞
Of course it was Dean that Cas had to beat the shit out of. And, of course, in return, Dean was the one getting beaten up because he's the only one who could've gotten through to Cas like that and stopped him.
Charlie and Cas are now my new favorite unlikely friendship ever.
Sam and Eileen are so amazing. I love them.
so they get married and then throughout the years there are moments when andrew just stares at neil and with a bit of amazement in his voice says “we’re married” and is so happy about it or just goes around calling neil “husband” and neil is so happy because andrew is so happy and I just
i've been playing a lot of ace attorney recently so i drew up the fruk lads (based off of the manga comic chapters 369-370)
bad influence
ENEMIES TO LOVERS SAPPHICS?!?!? UMMMYES PLEASW
Freak Show Talk | 3racha, lmh
𝙫𝙞. 𝙛𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙨𝙤 𝙙𝙞𝙧𝙩𝙮 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚’𝙨 𝙨𝙤 𝙨𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙩
! fwb, free use ft. all, fujoshi fem reader, poly, enm, angst, smut, dead dove do not eat. <1k wc. 18+ readers only !
「Contents List」 「Act 1」 「© Sept 2023 by jl-micasea-fics」
Sinner’s is a buzzing hive.
It’s busier than you’ve ever seen it, crammed with people from edge to dark edge. Black papered walls much abused by old live music posters and faded stickers match the sea of glossy black flooring, its specks of glitter reflective under the crimson purple spotlights. Stale booze and the amalgamation of people hovers on the air; staying near Minho quells the bouts of pungent body odour you pick up when navigating the crowd— the man smells like sex and apple candy.
He’s dressed to impressed; as if he has another code. Skintight black jeans and a sleeveless almost-cropped vest teases at tan skin when he moves just enough, the lines of muscle mouth-wateringly tempting. He’s fucked his fairy tonight, too. His skin glitters like uncut diamond. His ashy hair is loosely waved, a sweep of dark liner juxtaposes the way his almond eyes sparkle under the lights; he draws heads and attention. That’s the way it’s always been.
Midway through the crowd, the lights dim until snuffed out. Minho makes a grab for your hand. The infectious tension sinks and penetrates as deafening static fizzles from the stage and three young men jog into view. The screams are instant; cheers and raucous cries blend to a din that rings in your ears pleasantly. Front and centre of the stage, Minho makes space, drags you in front of him, hands braced on the barrier at your either side. His heat at your back, solid and strong, almost detracts from the spectacle in front.
Almost.
The introductory beats of ‘Runner’s High’ kick off, and the three break into their roles, each of them a unit in their own impressive right. Han Jisung, in a sleeveless red flannel that accentuates his lean arms, fires up the crowd and raps flawlessly at unconscionable pace between smirks of white that do something physics-defying to your knees. Sweat coats him already, collecting in the dips of his collarbone. He holds the microphone like it’s weightless, twirling it among the obnoxious gold rings on his fingers. His shaggy blonde locks fall over his eyes, his Adam’s apple strong and prominent. God, the kisses you could ply to that lovely, long throat.
Bang Chan ad-libs and paces the stage, black skinny jeans and an open black blazer revealing taut, pale muscle. His vivid red and black undercut is a fierce match to the slit in his brow. His confidence holds in his stature. He’s a god. Knows he could spit on the crowd and they’d thank him. You’d be among them. The glint of his piercings catch the light— the words you could whisper into those sweet, pink-tinged ears.
Seo Changbin takes over in verse, his voice of liquid metal reeling off the rap, his on-beat gestures and sharp eye contact scanning the crowd that jumps in unison with his rhythm. He’s the puppeteer. The ringmaster. Cracks his whip and crowd trip over themselves falling to their knees for him. His slim waist is cinched by the thick leather belt on his stonewashed jeans, his shirt straining across his chest and biceps— the things you could do to those delicious fucking arms.
“Goddamn...”
Minho leans down to your ear, his breath an arousing tickle. “They everything you thought they’d be, babe?”
Everything— the lights, the noise, the heat, the closeness, the suggestion of foreboding that hovers on your skin like skittering electric critters. There is potential in this night. It’s pregnant. Almost terrifying.
Putting that into words seems unachievable.
“This is insane. They are insane.”
Minho laughs. “And super hot.”
The little black box quakes with glee.
“And that.”
𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚, 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙞𝙣 𝙖𝙣 𝙖𝙨𝙠 ♡ 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙪𝙥𝙥𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙢𝙚 𝙤𝙣 𝙠𝙤-𝙛𝙞 ♡
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Love it when Rolling Stone puts out an article about the 25 most influential internet creators and I've only heard of 7 of them
The way I've watched and rewinded this scene so manY TIMES- is not even funny. The tone, the animation, their bond- like, Al owns Niffty's soul, but she clearly sees him as a friend, and I just love her so much. The way they look at each other while laughing maniacally is perfect.
I just love this little scene between Alastor and Niffty. Their crazy laughter is so fucking funny.
HI YES EXCUSE ME WHILE I GO INSANE!!!
Should I be working on stuff rn? Maybe. Am I instead thinking about and drawing stuff for @yourlocalabomination's Time Bastard/The Stanley Parable au concept? Yes. Am I sorry? No :)
“…all my walls stood tall painted blue, but I’ll take them down and open up the door for you.”