Gift of Gab

Gab, she/they :) alt account @gibgobgub

[gooobert]

JUSTICE FOR JOHNNY

[hauntedjohnny]

THE SEARCH CONTINUES IN MUERTO COUNTY FOR A MISSING UNIVERSITY OF TEXAS STUDENT. THE SHERIFF’S DEPARTMENT SAYS THAT MARIA FLORES, A NATIVE OF UVALDE, WAS LAST SEEN NEAR THE TOWN OF NEWT MORE THAN TWO MONTHS AGO.

THE TEXAS CHAIN SAW MASSACRE (2023)

[korkusts]

[rattlung]

i’m so ashamed of it but must admit the sleepless nights i’ve had about the boy

“man, i’m begging you.” 

felix doesn’t have to be looking at steve to know what face he’s making. something that’s caught between a pout and a displeased grimace. he can hear quentin -  a few paces back - huff a quiet laugh but otherwise, steve is mostly ignored.

they’re heading north, leaving novac and trekking back toward vegas. a few days’ walk and they’d only left that morning, so steve bitching and moaning while only a few hours in doesn’t bode well for the rest of them. though, to be fair, had felix wanted to put forth the energy, he has a lot he could be complaining about right now, too. 

Keep reading

[ell-clavel]

[gooobert]

im manifesting this becomes a future dbd skin

[gooobert]

Now what did I tell y'all

[ireallyshouldbewritinginstead]

Popular opinion: If you hate a ship, stay out of their tag🤦

[gooobert]

A Slight Detour

Alright SO I'm coming at you all with a Harringsmith fic. It was inspired by a conversation I had with @trevsawriter, and I know I'm a total novice when it comes to fics but I thought I'd at least share it :) gimme some consctructive feedback!

Word Count: 1.5k Reading Time: ~5 Min

If there was anything Quentin hated more than hot, muggy weather, it was running. But when they're all put together? It made him agitated and on the verge of hyperbolic violence.

Sure, he's good at swimming, but on land? No better than a fish out of water.

Their graduating class is back from summer vacation; it's around the second or third week. Quentin couldn't remember, every day was a blur - same shit, different curriculum. He'd have to admit, he isn't used to this heat. Especially when he had been in his air-conditioned room, spending his free time trying to catch every Pokémon on his Switch.

Or, as Steve liked to call them, "little Pokeymen."

No matter how many times Quentin corrected him, Steve wasn't changing. He could handle the retro classics like Metroid or Dr. Mario, which Quen loved - Steve knew a fair amount of cheats that aren't readily available on the web.

And so what if they spent the summer playing games all day? They didn't have to be harassed by their parents, and as long as Steve got to drag his boyfriend to the beach every couple weeks, he couldn't complain.

Speaking of which, it was Steve that threw his hand on Quentin's shoulder, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"Didja hear me? We're starting soon."

Quentin couldn't help but expel a groan. Since they were starting a new school year, the gym teachers were performing routine fitness assessments. He couldn't care any less, but he knew his dad would chew him out for not at least getting a baseline grade.

That, and Steve had been talking about a detour they could take to avoid both the coach and sweating. As much as Steve wouldn't turn down a time to show off his athletics, he was not going to let the muggy weather and his sweat ruin his absolutely perfect hair.

"I want you to just follow my lead, 'kay? Try to keep up."

"And what if I don't?"

Steve stopped stretching his shoulder to snap his head in Quentin's direction, eyebrows furrowed as he made an artificially-dramatic glare. "Hey. Do you want my help or-"

Their banter was cut off by the shouting of their teacher, who immediately blew the whistle; their run only beginning. The mass of students moved like a large blob, sneakers reverberating off each other's steps on the asphalt.

The high school didn't have the money for an actual track; all of the funding essentially went to their competitive swim team, leaving the cross country students to have to make their own warmup track with what they had. One part of Quen would normally felt pity, but he would have rather given them his middle finger.

Quentin liked to eat anywhere but the cafeteria, the dining hall was too loud, the food was some type of Lovecraftian horror, and it wasn't like he had a large group of friends to chat with. One time, he tried to eat his lunch in the backwoods of the school, preferring a quiet area to cram before his exam the next period. The track team boys, practicing for their upcoming meet, didn't seem to like a swim team member on their "turf" - kicking up some dust into Quentin's lunch. He honestly couldn't give less of a shit, but hey - that's karma.

And he couldn't complain, now both he and Steve have a ritual of eating together on the hood of Steve's car. Harrington was a sucker for older cars, caring for his BMW like it was his own damn baby. Quentin liked to tease him over who Steve was really in love with.

And God forbid Quen ever gets behind the wheel or else Steve acts like a helicopter parent; scolding him for driving too fast, or not easing into the breaks as gradually as Steve thinks he should, grabbing hold of the car frame as he braces for his boyfriend to crash. Quentin would be offended by it, but who else would be there to intentionally swerve the car and scare the shit out of Steve?

The sound of feet hitting asphalt - now turning into tightly packed soil - brought Quentin back to the present, where the group of students began to disperse, their varying speeds creating distance. He was more towards the back of the group, disinterested with the athletic kids in front - as if they had a point to prove. Like some Olympic recruiter had nothing better to do; deciding to go to bumfuck Ohio to scout for prospective talent.

Steve was the only one Quen could focus on - now near the front - the faster group beginning to rush into the woods.

He wasn't sure how, but it only took a few, mere seconds to lose track of Steve. There were too many paths to discern where he went, the only obvious one being the path the teachers chose, which had painted arrows on the cedar trees. Once out of the teacher's eyesight, Quentin went from his jog to a walk, running a hand through his curls as he caught a breath. The final stragglers went past him, leaving Smith all by himself.

Or rather, he thought he was by himself until a hand placed a firm grip on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks-

"Woah, easy, it's just me," Steve cooed, trading his firm grip on Quen's shoulder for a few reassuring pats.

His body relaxed at the sight of Harrington. You could still see his reddish-pink splotches of skin; sunburnt from when they went to the beach the other day. Most of it was encased around Steve's neck, which was covered by the lower tips of his mullet. He circled around to face his body towards Quentin's, leaning his back on the bark of a tree.

"You have no idea how much I've missed you," he fondly stated, looking up and down at his boyfriend.

"It's only third period."

"Only," he mimicked in a retort, Steve's back now leaving the tree to get closer to Quentin. Their faces were now less than a foot apart; the smell of Steve's cologne and musk overwhelming the former scent of the outdoors.

"Then let's make up for some lost time, mm?"

That's all Steve needed to hear, the only thing holding him back from throwing himself at Quen. Steve wrapped one arm around Smith's back, nestled under the shoulderblades. The other hand was busy leaning on another tree, coincidentally behind Quentin's back.

It's not insurmountable that the former king of Hawkins High is a great kisser. Steve's cheek grazed Quentin's nose as the former tilted his head.

It tasted sweet, and was faintly reminiscent of their breakfast from that morning; something of a routine between the two. Steve would pick Quentin up before school, and Quen would buy them both a pair of coffees or even a muffin or two depending on how hungry they felt. It made Quentin want more, leaning into Steve and allowing his eyes to remain firmly shut.

Once they broke apart for some air, he opened his eyes to see how burnt his boyfriend really looked in the sun. The skin on the bridge of Steve's nose was slightly peeling, despite how much his mom nagged him to apply sunscreen from their beach day, and even lotion, now.

They went back in for kissing - to the point where Quentin was too busy picking at Steve's sunburns to the jock's dismay - for a little while. It was only a matter of time before the echoes of a whistle were heard, signifying their time was being cut short. Steve made some whines of annoyance before turning Quen to face alongside him.

"I'm going to run through those two trees there and take a right, then a left at the large rock, y'can't miss it. Just go, like, 20 seconds after me, 'kay?"

"What, don't want the kid who doesn't try at gym to finish with the all-star athlete?"

That made Steve click his tongue, his eye roll not matching the growing smirk on his face. He began to turn away before his head snapped around to face Quentin for a final time. "Oh, and one more thing - what're we doing after school today?"

Quentin crossed his arms and gave Steve a puzzled look. "I thought we'd go to practice, unless you have a better-"

"Nonononono, I was just curious…" he paused, pursing his lips. "I'll see you after last period."

And off he went, running a hand through his hair and returning to a jog.

"I'll see you!" Quentin shouted, waving Harrington goodbye. Man, he could kill to have practice begin early. This weather will be the death of him someday, he's sure, but then how else could Steve heroically save him from heatstroke? He thought about that scenario as he began to resume his run, their gym teacher being none the wiser as the two boys joined the rest of the class.

[dumb-post-cowboy]

I'm going feral

[open-candid]

December is only,, 7 months away

(Ft the Ace and Felix cosmetics I use)

[rattlung]

i revisit the old men. i miss the old men. i write the old men again. 

domestic riconti. a lot of words abt gardening written by someone who doesn’t garden.

–

-

the sun, for the first time in a little over half an hour, peeks through the clouds that litter the sky in scores. it warms ace’s back and he soaks it in gladly, as does pepper. she’s sprawled out in the grass a few yards away and she sighs deeply as the light washes over her, dusty brown fur glowing bronze. there’s half-chewed icicle radishes by her head that ace shakes his head at. it’s no real loss. he’d seen this one coming, planted plenty and hidden the red radishes on the other side of the house. he’d give those up, too, though. anything to keep her out of the asparagus. that shit took four years to spear through the soil. she can’t seem to keep her nose out of them, though. he might have to convince felix on a pepper-proof fence in that area of the garden, and that area only. 

a comically small one, with a little gate and a sign that says NO DOGS ALLOWED. he could probably swing it if he makes it seem like enough of a big deal. 

Keep reading

[open-candid]

Love these goofy ass guys, my favourite rarepair :]

[waterandsilver]

my favourite genre of fictional men are those ones who should be cool and badass because of their powers or character designs, but are pathetic instead. never had a good day in their life. an insult from a child could probably make them cry. wet paper bag men. you know the ones

[gooobert]

They get themselves into whacky hijinks during trials. Their power grows stronger when the killer leaves them to plot stupid builds during the match

Idea by @trevsawriter

[dumb-post-cowboy]

I feel threatened

@gooobert

[gooobert]

you seem interested in the fruit. Please come to my account and check out our produce section

[gooobert]

can we talk about these

i have achieved nirvana

[rattlung]

could we get a harringsmith fic of them going to see some fireworks? At a carnival maybe? :)E

no :)

-

-

--

quentin is where steve left him, perched on one of the many picnic tables at the end of the fairgrounds. the distance from all the games and rides - and the heady stench of farm animals - made it no less busy. the food stalls are located here, one of which steve stood in line for so he can pay two dollars for a bottle of coke he didn’t even really want.

quentin puts his phone down when he notices steve approaching but he doesn’t shift over to make room. doesn’t have to given how he’s the only one there, sat on the table with his muddy shoes kicked up onto the bench. if the message wasn’t clear and a definitive do not sit here, there’s also the massive stuffed bear. it’s sprawled out on the table like it’s been shot dead, limp and lifeless and too big for it’s own good. steve loves it, is over the moon that he was able to win it. 

“thank god,” quentin’s saying as steve offers out the bottle. there’s very little time between the sound of the seal cracking open and quentin taking a few pulls from it. he makes a mildly disgusted sound, mutters, “jesus,” and sticks his tongue out like he can’t stand it being in his mouth. 

steve scoffs at him and takes a seat on the bench. he leans heavily on quentin’s leg, using his thigh as an arm rest and tells him, “no one told you to eat the whole thing.” 

“i paid for it,” quentin says miserably. he very pointedly keeps his eyes away from the trash can he’d thrown away the wrapper to some fried... thing that he wouldn’t disclose to steve, only asked him to try it because of how awful it was. 

around them, the string lights hung between the vendor’s stalls flicker on now that the sun’s sunk far enough behind the tree line. the dusk is blue and purple now that summer is bleeding into fall, no longer a burning orange that holds some of the heat of the day. it chills after sunset now, only by a little bit. steve thinks this might be his favorite time of year, this transitioning period. not sweltering during the day, not freezing enough at night. temperature that warrants a sweatshirt and jeans, nothing more. 

when quentin leans forward to put the now half-empty bottle on the bench steve can see how goosebumps have risen on his forearms, up to his biceps, probably even underneath the t-shirt he’s wearing. as a point, when he settles back, steve tugs at one of the sleeves to the flannel quentin’s had tied around his waist. he pulls at it until it comes undone and slips onto the table underneath quentin. 

he gets the hint. struggles with putting it on without lifting up all the way and dislodging steve who makes no effort to make the ordeal easier. for that, he gets a playfully rough hand running through his hair with enough force behind it to mess up what little he did with it that morning. he makes a whining noise of complaint but doesn’t try to pull away from it. he moves closer, actually. shoves his face further into the shirt quentin’s just put on because he likes it. it’s red and black with soft, thick fabric. steve sees himself stealing this in the near future as it gets colder. 

quentin’s touch eases after a moment, his hand going to the back of steve’s head. the fair moves on around them, still full and lively despite the darkening sky. steve tries to keep track of it for a little while, watches kids wrestle with their parents about putting on a jacket. watches groups of friends point up at the chalkboard menus hanging from food carts. a couple trying to share a flimsy paper plate full of fried dough while standing. there’s speakers set up underneath a tent somewhere a little further in and the music playing is peppy, fast paced.

but quentin’s play-rough tugging has turned into gentle petting and it’s making his head quiet. quentin laughs when steve sighs deeply. drops his hand down to the nape of steve’s neck and pulls on his hood, tells him, “c’mere.” 

steve lifts himself up until he’s sitting on the table next to quentin, shoulder to shoulder. 

“it’s barely even nine o’clock yet,” quentin says, nudging him. “what are you, seventy?” 

“yeah,” steve replies. 

“you wanna go?” 

he shakes his head. “no, i - “ 

a sudden shrieking sound cuts him off, immediately followed by a high whistle. steve feels quentin tense beside him, jump a little at the thundering boom that explodes high in the air. at the peak of the line of smoke that blazes against the sky, a burst of color pops and glitters with the stars. first white, then another smoke trail that lights up red, another that’s green. 

around them, the crowd murmurs with awe. a few children screech in delight. steve tears his eyes away from the sky and puts them on quentin, grins at what he sees. the other’s expression is soft in his genuine surprise, lips parted just slightly as he gazes up at the fireworks. steve doesn’t have to see them to know what colors they are because they show enough in quentin’s eyes, light them up bright. 

quentin notices him staring, blinks away and looks at him, gets a bashful smile on his face as he shakes his head. “you’re such a sap.”

steve’s grin only gets bigger. he takes quentin’s hand and squeezes his fingers around the other’s. again, like always, quentin gets the hint. turns enough to meet steve halfway, leans into him when steve does. 

the sound of the fireworks feel like they’re inside of steve’s chest when he kisses quentin. crackling, fizzing pops that fill up his lungs. they sway a little; quentin has to steady them by resting a palm on the table, knuckles brushing against the soft fur of the massive bear still laid out behind them. steve doesn’t help in anyway once more, just presses in further. reaches up to thumb at the corner of quentin’s jaw. 

then he decides to be cheeky, pulls away, then moves even further back when quentin tries to follow him. laughs a bit at his annoyed, little pout and says, “you’re gonna miss it.” 

“oh my god,” quentin mutters, and then reiterates, “sap.”

steve doesn’t give a clever comeback. instead, he throws his arm over quentin’s shoulders and shifts him back into his side. he likes how easy quentin goes, how his head lays against his chest. steve rests his head own atop of quentin’s but not before pressing a kiss into his hair. 

above them, the sky lights up in colors. 

-

--

-

haha i said no but it was a joke since i wrote all that

i based this off of a fair everyone would go to when i lived up north. if u like food and cows, it was sick. they didn’t do fireworks but i can do anything i want 

hey sorry this is so short i wrote this during dnd and i shouldn’t have tell me if u want a do over :)