#FRANK YOU MADMAN

[godfrey-the-chaos-duck]

It's clear I am VERY late to this post and I went through the reblogs and it all seems to be Vaguely Della-Related Angst and DuckFeels (woo-oo)

IT'S LITERALLY FROM THE FREAKING NEWS LIVESTREAM THING HE DID IN THE 87 CENT SOLUTION ASKJGHSL 🤣🤣🤣🤣

And the actual line (probably edited for the out of context thing by Frank) is "Coins, if you're watching, I miss you very much" (note: it is said in a voice that sounds like he's on the verge of tears so... there were feels involved but only over a handful of loose change)

Out of context scrooge?

“If you can hear me, I miss you very much.”

[misteria247]

(Y/N), Frank and Julie all sitting at the kitchen table with a bag of chips

(Y/N) opening the bag: I think things will go a little bit differently this time!

(Y/N) dumps the bag only to get two chips, leaving them, Frank and Julie staring blankly at the table

Frank hesitantly: We could share-

Julie hysterically: I WANT BOTH-

[captainpirateface]

Madman Forever.

[merakiui]

maybe, i'm afraid.

azul ashengrotto x (female) reader cw: slight angst, nsfw, azul bottles his feelings and is insecure note - happy birthday to my favorite tako in the whole world. <3 may you have wonderful days forever!! // loosely inspired by lovelytheband's "maybe, i'm afraid."

i. spring - dancing in your party dress, you were singing me some frank sinatra as you wept. pull me close enough. it seems like we lost touch, so hold me as the record skips.

“Can you believe we’re gonna be fourth years?!” Kalim exclaims with wide, sparkling eyes. They look like twin garnets set into his face—polished jewels having caught the aquatic illumination from Mostro Lounge’s aquarium. “Time really does fly, huh!”

“Feels like yesterday,” Ruggie agrees around a mouthful of food. His plate is stacked as high as it can possibly get, piled with contrasting flavors. “Pretty crazy to think we’re all gonna be heading off in different directions soon.”

Jade nods. “Our school lives are as fun as they are fleeting.”

An odd quiet falls over the three of them, which is soon broken when Floyd drapes himself over the booth. He leans down to swipe a sliver from Jade’s plate. “Whatcha talkin’ about?”

“Just reminiscing.”

“Ah. S’bout that time, ain’t it? Gettin’ sentimental in the spring.”

“Makes sense. The semester’s ending and people are starting up their internships or going home. Really makes you think…”

Ruggie gazes at the group huddled near the bar. Riddle, Jamil, and a half-awake Silver chat alongside you and Azul. You seem to be in the middle of a riveting story, for your arms gesticulate wildly. Azul looks on with what Ruggie thinks is the most mushy-gushy, ooey-gooey smile he’s ever seen.

“We’re gonna come back in the winter, aren’t we?” Kalim asks, tilting his head.

“Indeed. For the cultural festival.”

“Yeah, that’s right! It’ll be fun to see you guys after so much time apart. Oh, we should all keep in touch! That way it’ll feel like no time has passed at all.”

“Perhaps not for us.” Jade follows Ruggie’s line of sight, landing on one person in particular. “For others, the gap is cavernous.”

“What do you mean, Jade?”

Floyd catches on then. “S’not our fault he’s not sayin’ anything.”

Ruggie shrugs. “It doesn’t concern me.” He pops up from his spot in the booth, grinning. “It’s been great and all, but I’ve gotta get my fill. Wouldn’t be right for a guy to skimp out when it’s Azul hosting.”

Giggling, Floyd waves him off. “You do that, Sharksucker.”

Kalim turns to the twins, brows raised. “You’re talking about Azul?”

“He’s been swept up in Shrimpy ever since. It’s been—how long now?—about two years or something.”

“Oh.” Kalim blinks back at him, slow on the uptake. And then, seconds later, it hits him. “Ohhh! He likes (Name)!”

“There ya go.”

“I’m afraid he’s yet to confess,” Jade adds around a bite of cake. “You should see the plans he’s drafted. Dozens of them, in fact. Each one is… Oh, perhaps I’ve said too much already.”

“I don’t get it. If he likes (Name) so much, why wouldn’t he just confess? Why make plans?”

“Wow, Sea Otter, you don’t play when it comes to feelings, do ya?”

“If it was me, I’d want everyone to know how much I care about someone.” To demonstrate this point, he cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, “You’re the best, (Name)!”

You glance past a now wide-awake Silver at the twins and Kalim. Mirroring his actions, you reply in a giggly voice, “Thanks! You’re great, too, Kalim!”

Beaming, he says, “See? It’s not so difficult. If Azul needs any help, I’d be happy to—”

Floyd throws his head back and cackles like a madman. “Not so difficult for you!”

Jade masks his amusement behind a gloved fist. “My, my. I think I’ve just witnessed the very soul drain from Azul’s eyes. You have quite the talent, Kalim.”

Kalim doesn’t hear the underlying meaning or the backhanded barb in his statement. “He’s got time, doesn’t he?”

“That’s what he keeps saying. But deep down he knows.” Floyd watches Azul hurry to recover his composure before anyone can notice. “He’s leaving for his internship after school’s over and then graduation’s next spring. He’s running out of time.”

“Does (Name) like him? Maybe she’ll confess before he does!”

“That’s just it. He doesn’t know what Shrimpy feels for him. Been driving himself crazy all school year tryin’ to figure that one out.”

“I suspect he’s grown excessively cautious as a result of his fear of rejection,” Jade explains, dragging his fork through the buttercream smeared on his plate.

“But if he confesses now and she doesn’t feel the same, he’ll have all summer to recover.” Kalim turns his stare on you next. “(Name)’s always been nice. I’m sure she wouldn’t shatter his heart.”

“When you’re Azul, even the tiniest push is enough.” 

“Really? But he’s always so strong!”

Jade hums. “Three hearts are quite the boon-burden.”

“Only makes lovin’ someone that much worse. Cuz then you’re lovin’ ’em three times as much.”

“Isn’t that good? I think it’s sweet Azul cares about (Name) so much.”

“Sweet…” Jade shares a look with Floyd. Something unspoken passes between them. “Yes, I suppose that’s one way to put it.”

“Azul thinks it’s a pain in the ass. Throws him off his course and he loooves bein’ on his course.” 

Kalim stares a moment longer. “Maybe he needs a push in the right direction.”

“Liquid courage works wonders—”

“—or gives way to woe.”

“Nothing like that.” He doesn’t elaborate further, instead getting up and padding over to the bar with a cheerful bounce in his steps. “Hey, everyone, let’s take a picture!”

Riddle welcomes him with a warm smile. “Ah, hello there, Kalim.”

“You seem to be enjoying yourself,” Jamil comments, arms folding across his chest. Which, arguably, is worse because it can only spell trouble should Kalim find himself inspired.

“Way ahead of you!” You hold your Ghost Camera up, turning the lens on Kalim. Lighting up like the very sun in the sky, he poses just as you snap a photo. It takes a few moments for it to develop, but once it does you hand it over to him for his perusal. “Looking good as always.”

“Aww, thanks! Okay, your turn next! Let’s get a big group photo and then individual photos.” With the camera now in his possession, Kalim’s free to fidget with it as he pleases. “Ooh, this is neat!”

“Careful with that!” Jamil bounds forward just in case. “The Headmage gave that to (Name). Don’t break it.”

“I won’t,” Kalim promises, holding it up to capture you and Jamil in its sight. “I think I’ve got it! Everyone, group up! Picture time!”

There’s lots of fumbling. An argument about height breaks out. Floyd pokes fun at Riddle for having to stand in front to account for his height. Riddle fumes, red with anger, and stomps his foot indignantly—all while insisting he’s still growing. You offer to stand beside him, but he hisses at you like a cat: “Don’t patronize me! I’m of perfect, healthy stature for someone my age!”

Kalim looks on from behind the camera. “Actually, can we get (Name) and Azul together first?”

Azul, who had been in the process of adding to the joke with a comment of his own, hesitates. He peers at Kalim, his walls rising. “Me?”

“Yeah! Only fair to put you front and center. You’re the host, after all!”

“Ah, right. Of course. But then—”

“Why me?” you ask, confused. “If anything, I should stay out of the picture. I’m not a third year like the rest of you.”

Kalim gasps, scandalized. “We can’t do that! It doesn’t matter what year you are. You’re still our friend, and parties are for everyone to enjoy.”

“Doesn’t that throw off the original plan?” Ruggie wonders, munching on a frosted donut.

“Kalim, we need to account for height. Riddle can’t stand in the back.” Jamil glances apologetically at Riddle. “That’s just the reality of it.”

Riddle huffs, refusing to dignify that with a response.

“I’ll stand in the front,” Silver offers.

“What? No, that’s not the issue here, Silver.”

“It’s not? I thought we were picking who stands beside (Name).”

“Ooh, I wanna stand with Shrimpy!” Floyd wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your head. “C’mon, Sea Otter, take our pic!”

Jamil sighs. “All of you…”

“Shall we take individual photos with (Name) first?” Jade suggests, smiling placidly at Kalim.

This time the message is received loud and clear. “Oh, great idea, Jade! Azul and (Name), could you stand next to each other?”

The group disperses to allow you and Azul to do just that. Rigidly, Azul steps closer. He keeps a healthy distance between your bodies, one Jade picks up on right away.

“Please smile and pretend like you love each other,” he instructs, to which Azul flusters.

“W-What? Jade, that’s—”

“C’mere, Ashengrotto! I don’t bite!”

With a joyous laugh, you wrap your arm around Azul’s waist and drag him in close. He stumbles, flushed in the face, just as the camera flashes. The corresponding photo slides out next, blank for a while. Eventually, the image begins to show up with striking clarity.

“How’s it look? Great, right?” As soon as it happened, it’s gone—your warmth. The comfort of being held. Azul almost pursues you when you release him from your grasp and move towards Kalim to inspect the photo. Thankfully, he catches himself. “Hey, this is nice! Good job.”

You and Kalim share a high-five.

“Me next, Sea Otter!” Floyd crowds in, baring his pointed teeth in an unruly grin.

With everyone’s attention on you, Kalim, and the camera, Azul’s left to stand behind in silence. Anticipating the rainless deluge, Jade lingers within earshot.

“I know,” he mutters in a brittle tone. “Don’t say a word.”

“Not a peep. Although if I may share just a tiny tidbit… Kalim offered some very helpful advice. You may want to hear it.”

Azul stares at him, stunned. “You told Kalim?”

“Not directly, no. It was implied.” Jade averts his mismatched eyes on purpose. “More or less.”

“I should’ve made you and Floyd sign NDAs…”

“Is it really so sensitive?”

“Yes! Yes, of course it is!” Azul deflates with a sigh, looking on mournfully. You’re trying to snatch the camera from Floyd’s hands. He holds it up and out of reach, laughing raucously. “What did he say?”

“If you confess now, you’ll have the entire summer to mend your tattered heart.”

Azul barks out a short, hollow laugh. “In an ideal world, that’s easy.”

“You’re making it more difficult than it needs to be.” Jade issues an encouraging smile. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

“Are you seriously asking that?”

“It’s just something to consider.”

A minute ticks between them. Jade watches the scene alongside Azul, delighting in distant chaos.

“I’m afraid, Jade,” he admits quietly, the confession as soft and fragile as a single breath. “She’s everything and I’m…nothing.”

Jade frowns in disagreement.

“I’ve looked at it from every conceivable angle. There isn’t any calculated risk to be made—no potential profit or success to be had.”

“Are you certain?”

“Very.”

“Well, it doesn’t hurt to get it off your chest. We have a few weeks left before the break. If not your heart, perhaps you could establish a means to communicate?”

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt… For the sake of networking—”

Jade chuckles. “Networking? Is that it?”

Azul scowls. “You’re awfully irritating tonight.”

“I’m not the one with his tentacles tied, hopelessly infatuated.” 

“You—”

“(Name), there’s something Azul would like to tell you,” Jade announces, and you turn to look at him.

Azul thinks he should just go ahead and die right there. Is it possible to spontaneously combust if he thinks about it long enough? Is such a phenomenon magic? All he needs to do is visualize it and then the spark will catch and—

“Yeah? What’s up, Azul?”

Azul flounders, his concentration broken. Like he’s done so many times in the past, he plasters his trademark smirk-grin on and falls into the shoes of the sleazy conman. “If you ever find yourself in need of study materials even after I’ve graduated, do not hesitate to contact me and I—”

You laugh. “I think I’ll be good. Thanks, though.”

With withering confidence, he chuckles. “I could give you quite the deal. You’d be missing out…”

You roll your eyes, unconvinced.

Jade—annoying, asshole Jade—brushes past, smooth as sea glass. “I shall take my leave, but please continue your chat. I believe there’s a camera waiting to capture the memory of me.”

Now it’s just you and Azul. He clears his throat, suddenly awkward.

“(Name), I—”

“Azul—”

“Oh.” He stares at you, a smile twitching on his lips. “You first.”

“No, no, you spoke before me.”

“Ah. Well…”

If you confess now, you’ll have the entire summer to mend your tattered heart. As if a love that’s been flowering for two years could possibly be resolved within the span of a few months.

He tries again even though it’s not what he really wants to say. “I do hope you’ll have a pleasant summer.”

“You as well.” You nudge him. “Kick ass at your internship.”

“I intend to.” Right. Internship. Work. Business. He can hold a normal conversation if that’s the topic. “And you? Do you plan to stay here?”

“Yeah. Crowley’s letting Grim and me live on campus since we don’t have anywhere else to go. I’ll work part-time in Craneport. Summer is a great season for tourism, but I shouldn’t have to tell you that.”

Azul laughs. “If it’s a family, they may spend more on kid’s menus for the novelty of it all. Be sure to talk it up to truly sell it. All children deserve to know the magic of a seasonal menu, do they not? Food in fun shapes. Fairy tales and sparkles. All of that razzmatazz. It’s the experience they’re paying for, after all.”

“Is that advice free?”

“Is it?”

“Fine, fine.” You dig through your pocket and hand him the photo from earlier. “Your payment, good sir. A memento of me.”

Azul takes it from you, admires your effortlessly pretty smile, and then freezes. “Oh, I look positively dreadful!”

“Not at all. It adds character.”

“A horrid sort of character.”

You sidle up beside him, peering at the picture. “I like it. It’s a photo of an imperfect Azul.”

“What an ambiguous compliment.”

“I’m serious! It’s Azul when he’s not acting. I like imperfect Azul. He’s authentic. A real person.” You pat him on the shoulder. He stiffens, betraying his initial nonchalance. “Or maybe not. One day I’ll catch you off guard.”

“We’ll see.”

“One day…” Your attention is stolen when you catch sight of the group attempting to bunch together for a selfie. Offering Azul that same smile he’s admired ever since he saw it, you add, “Have a fun summer. Don’t be a stranger next year, okay?” And then you’re bounding across the lounge. “Wait for me! I want in, too!”

For the rest of the semester, Azul keeps the photo tucked away in his phone case.

I have time to mull over the pros and cons, he tells himself when he departs through the mirror, summer break at his fingertips.

ii. summer - maybe i’m just too good. maybe i’ll run away. maybe i’m over you. maybe i shouldn’t stay. maybe i just don’t care. maybe i talk too much.

It occurs to you, while sorting through the photos you’ve taken throughout this past school year, that there’s an absurd amount of Azul. Whether on his own or with others, he appears in more photos than anyone else. You wonder how that happened—how you managed to be there for so many of his moments, each one documented in photographic permanence.

Some of them are humorous. Azul looking unimpressed when you lifted your camera to capture him. Grim jumping into his arms to demand snacks. His glasses sitting crooked on his face. Some of them are endearing. Azul reading in a comfortable nook in the library. Azul smiling fondly at the lens during an alchemy lesson. Azul laughing after you cracked a joke during PE. Some of them are animated. Azul waving at you from across the courtyard. Azul rolling his eyes at a dull pun. Azul playfully blowing a kiss to the camera after you told him to do something memorable. Some are special. Azul in his birthday robes. Azul during that time Mostro Lounge became a butler café for one week. Azul on his last day of the semester, leveling the camera with a roguish smirk.

This one—the most recent and last photo taken of him—is especially important. It’s the conversation that prompted an unforgettable expression that fills you with butterflies whenever you recall it.

“I think you’ll miss me,” you told him, elbowing him for good measure.

“I think I will,” he replied, his lips curling.

Unequipped to deliver a witty retort, you could only gawk.

“Don’t tell me that’s all it takes to shock you into silence.” He chuckled, and there was that infamous smirk-grin—sitting so perfectly on his face, as if it was meant to be there for this very exchange. “You’re too easy, (Name). Where’s the challenge?”

Wordlessly, you raised your Ghost Camera and snapped his picture.

There are so many facets to his person that you’ve managed to catch on your camera—complex layers you wouldn’t have otherwise witnessed if you hadn’t spent so much time around him.

Now you realize why you have an abundance of Azul photos.

We sure hung out a lot this year, and every time I had my camera…

Is he your muse? Is he just naturally photogenic? He fits into plenty of backgrounds, but it’s never the scenery that fascinates and bewitches. It’s always his expression, his body language, his emotions. And the reason all of these photos are so important is because this is an Azul who is comfortable enough to show these sides to you. An Azul who wants you to document his best and his worst, his beautiful and his ugly, his silly and his serious.

Sitting at your desk, thumbing through stacks of photos, you know he’s more than a muse. As you watch Azul move in various pictures, you wonder what he’s doing. It’s only a month into summer, but everything feels so slow. Campus has cleared out, and with it the lounge has closed for the season. You’re certain he still has his ways of making profit and spreading word of its wonders. Azul isn’t foolish. He’s always working an angle. Endlessly clever and stubbornly ambitious.

Does he miss me, too? you think, running your finger over his smiling face. Or was that just something he said to get a reaction?

Just then, a gut-wrenching thought lodges itself deep: Are we even friends? What if he thinks I’m a nuisance? Maybe he’s just tolerating me and all this time I’ve been delusional.

You glimpse the photos again, watching Azul laugh soundlessly in an animated loop. What am I to you, Azul?

As if on cue, having sensed your sadness, arms wrap around you from behind. For a second you think it’s Grim, but then you see distinctly human hands clasping together. You whirl, startled out of your skin, to find Azul Ashengrotto standing there.

“Wha… What?”

He’s…here. Azul is standing in your bedroom.

You blink once and he remains. You blink twice and he’s still there, gazing down at you with soft, smiling features.

“Hello to you as well.”

“Hey…?” You pat his cheek and flinch away. “Oh, you’re real!”

“Of course I am! Why wouldn’t I be?” Chuckling, he withdraws and moves to stand at your deskside. “I’m wounded. To think you would forget me just like that. And I thought I was plenty memorable.” He blows you a mock kiss then, and that’s when it finally strikes you.

This isn’t your Azul. This is an Azul from your photos.

How is this even possible? you think, scrambling to find which picture—which memory—he’s from. In doing so, you remember a particularly unique fact about the Ghost Camera. It’s a magical device that allows a photographer to capture slivers of their subject’s soul, which gives way to a special sort of connection known as a soulbond. The deeper the bond, the more likely the person in the photographs is to take on animation and, in some cases, slip out of the image that contains them.

So this is Azul from the time at which he was last photographed, you determine, holding up pictures to match his corporeal likeness to that of the scenery. The Ghost Camera is so cool…

“I missed you, you know.”

“Did you now?” He leans in close, curious. “How much?”

You push him away with a weak scoff. This isn’t good for your heart. Any closer and you might say something you’ll come to regret.

“Not as much as you think.”

“Is that so?” His gaze pans over to the pile of photos on your desk. “And these photos are simply here for convenience?”

“D-Don’t worry about it! Summer project. You wouldn’t get it.”

He flashes his teeth at you in a bright, competitive grin. “Try me.”

“You’re so nosy. Don’t you get tired of prying?”

“Not in the slightest.” He leans against the desk, his arms folding casually over his chest. “That’s besides the point. You’re avoiding the subject at hand.”

You turn in your chair and open your mouth to reply—why are you so invested in this?—but a better idea crops up. Meeting his cerulean stare with fierce, fiery eyes, you challenge him: “If it matters so much to you, I could be convinced to share my plans for the small price of one kiss. A real kiss. Not that fake one from before.”

Azul blinks back at you, a smirk crawling onto his face. “Is that all you desire?”

“What do you mean by—”

Your question is cut off when another set of arms embraces you from behind. Warm, soft lips press against your cheek; his breath tickles your ear.

“Are two not better than one?”

With a yelp, you jerk back so fast that you almost fall out of your chair. Standing there, looking very proud of himself, is another Azul. But this one, unlike Dorm Azul, is dressed in his school uniform. A very helpful distinction.

“D-Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

It’s the only coherent sentence you can manage. Your mind is a panicked muddle: I can’t believe it. Two Azuls. Am I dreaming? This is definitely a dream, right? There’s no way he’d kiss me on the…

You slap your hand over your cheek, gasping. “Y-You kissed me?!”

“Is that not the price you wanted me to pay?” School Azul asks, one brow raised as if daring you to deny that fact.

Dorm Azul’s fingers curl under your chin, guiding your gaze towards him. “Unless you’d like to raise the price…”

You swallow thickly. This can’t be happening.

“Of course, in raising the price, it’s expected you raise the value of the information you’re willing to divulge,” School Azul adds with a chuckle. “Is that not fair?”

You shrink under both of their insistent stares. “W-Why do you even wanna know?”

“Why not? Any information is good information so long as it’s useful.”

You scoff, but it comes out choked and shy. “I… I’m going to use these photos to put together a present for you. I know your birthday’s so far away, but I’m getting a head start.”

“And this present would entail…?”

You click your tongue at him. “I already paid my half for that kiss. No more.”

“Aah, is that right?” Dorm Azul leans in, kissing dangerously close to your lips. You reach up to touch the corner of your mouth after he’s pulled away. “How much for the full story?”

“How much are you willing to pay?”

School Azul rests his chin on your shoulder. His hands settle on your waist, pulling you up from your seat. This proximity allows you to feel his hair as it brushes against your face. Dorm Azul closes the distance as if it’s second nature, and now you’re sandwiched between the both of them.

Your heart stumbles in your chest. He’s quite literally surrounding you, but you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

“A very valid question.” Dorm Azul glances coyly at School Azul. “What do you think, Me?”

“Will we be enough for you, (Name)?” he purrs, rubbing slow circles into your hips.

You’re dizzy in their arms, your entire body warming with anticipation and embarrassment alike. Is it okay to be selfish? Even though this isn’t technically Azul—just mere memories of him—it seems so real. He’s holding you, touching you, reaching for you…

“Hmm. Two does seem to be a bit much.”

“Let’s call it a holiday and say it’s seasonal spoiling.”

“A gift for the summer.”

“Do open the window to let in the breeze. The heat is prone to making one feel rather…stuffy.”

They’re doing this on purpose. Maybe another Azul is more troublesome than I once thought. I can only handle so much charm!

Shrugging off self-doubt, you grab Dorm Azul by his lapels and yank him towards you, sealing the space that once separated your mouths in a hungry kiss. He melts against you, eyes fluttering shut. It’s quick and starved, the way you chase each other’s lips. You cling to him before you can fall, arms looped around his neck to keep him near.

Fully clothed and achingly desperate, you loathe the unbearable heat, but nothing is more molten than the space between your thighs.

Meanwhile, School Azul takes his sweet time running his hands along your sides, up the length of your body until he reaches your chest. With his form pinned to yours, you can feel his erection pressing against your ass. Rather shamelessly, he rolls his hips. You’re pushed up against Dorm Azul next, who takes hold of your hand and guides it to the strain in his slacks. He pulls away briefly to allow School Azul to slide your shirt up and over your head.

“Were you anticipating this?” he whispers, taking hold of your breasts.

“No way,” you protest between kisses. “Not… No. K-Keep dreaming. It’s too much trouble to wear one in the summer. Gets hot and—”

Dorm Azul captures your lips in another ravenous smooch, and the objection dies in your throat.

“There’s no need for these pesky articles where I’m from,” School Azul murmurs. He presses kisses into your bare shoulder, humming his very obvious delight. “You’d have already been laid out beneath me if that were the case… Soft and sweet, all mine to love at the bottom of the sea…”

“Humans have so many steps,” Dorm Azul laments, tutting.

“And merfolk don’t?” You try to sound smart with your question, but it comes out breathless when your nipple’s twisted between two fingers. “Oh…”

“Not when it comes to clothing. The very concept doesn’t exist beneath the waves.”

“You could visit sometime and see for yourself. I’ll welcome you with open arms.” Dorm Azul rests his forehead against yours. “And maybe then you’ll find yourself so taken with my home that you’ll want to stay.”

“A tempting offer.”

“But?” he prompts, his gaze falling to your hand as you palm him through his pants. He inhales a shaky breath.

“What’s stopping you?” the other Azul asks, his voice muffled in your skin.

“Firstly, I’m not a mer.”

“My dear, that’s nothing. Have you forgotten my proficiency in potionology?”

“And how much will one of your potions cost? I’d love to visit, but if it’s going to bankrupt me—”

“For you, a single kiss is all I require.”

“Isn’t that awfully cheap?”

Dorm Azul chuckles at this back-and-forth. “You say that as if you want me to charge an exorbitant amount.”

Glaring, you squeeze him out of revenge. His laughter comes out choked next, replaced with a needy whimper. Unbelievable.

“Maybe I do.”

“I would be careful with those words, dearest. I might take them to heart.”

He ruts against your hand, panting into your mouth. The kiss is sloppy and wet, all tongue and saliva. You move on instinct, grabbing at his shoulders when you’re taken to bed next. Both Azuls peer down at you from where they kneel on either side of you. They issue you hazy, lust-drunk smiles. Hands wander, feeling every inch you have to offer. You shut your eyes and submit to titillating touches.

“You really did miss me,” School Azul remarks when his fingers slip into your shorts to rub you through your sodden panties. Your breath hitches, a strangled whine squeezed from your throat, and he laughs. “I missed you, too.”

“I really like you,” you blurt, chest heaving with your every breath. He squeezes your clit to draw another sinful groan from you. “I think—Azul, you’re so—I think you’re so amazing… I wish we talked more. The year—aah… It went by so fast.”

“It did, didn’t it?”

“I wanna know you—the real you. I wanna know what Azul’s like when he’s comfortable and when he’s sad and when he’s happy. I wanna—ooh! Please… Please, Azul…” You grab fistfuls of the sheets, arching up towards the hands that caress your stomach lovingly. “I just want you.”

“And you’ll have me,” he—you’re not sure which—promises, leaning over to kiss you. It’s soulful passion, lust bleeding into love. Your cries are lost on his lips when you come undone beneath him, buoyant on a mellow wave.

You sense the loss before you see it.

Half-nude and gasping for breath, you stare up at the ceiling. Your bedroom is empty. All that remains of the Azuls are the animated memories imprinted on the photographs.

“I’m losing my mind…” you mutter, draping your arm over your eyes.

Please let summer pass quickly.

iii. winter - maybe all we are is fools with hearts that tried too hard. and maybe that’s just fine as long as you’re here in my arms.

Azul paces restlessly in his VIP room. It’s been months since he’s seen you, but his heart hasn’t swayed in the slightest. If anything, he’s only grown fonder in the time spent apart. Absence… What a bothersome thing.

“You’re gonna walk yourself into the floor, y’know. Your shoes’ll be all worn out by the time you’re done.”

“I’m aware,” Azul quips, uncharacteristically jittery. He turns towards Floyd. “Do I look presentable? Is anything crooked or misplaced? How about my hair?”

“You’re fine.” At Azul’s disbelieving glower, Floyd pouts. “I mean it. Shrimpy’s gonna like it either way.”

He bristles, defensive. “Who said anything about (Name)?”

“No one, but you’re thinkin’ it.”

“I… T-That’s besides the point! It doesn’t matter. She’s only here because I invited her. Common courtesy and all that.”

“Mm, I dunno about that one.”

Azul frowns at the vault set into the wall behind his desk. If only he could pack all of his fears in there and lock them away for good. Then he could continue masquerading as someone fearless and confident. With winter having descended upon campus, bringing with it layers of fluffy, glittering snow, and the cultural festival having concluded successfully, Azul finds himself lost.

This is the last birthday he’ll celebrate at Night Raven College and, subsequently, the last February he’ll spend with you. He’s running out of time.

“Invitation or not, Shrimpy’ll always wish you a happy birthday. S’not like her to forget. Plus, she cares about ya.”

“You can’t be sure of that.”

Azul’s tone is so sharp that Floyd raises his hands in defense. “Guess not.”

“What would you do?” He inhales a wobbly breath. “If you were in my shoes…”

Floyd scratches the back of his neck, contemplative. “Dunno. Guess I’d wait for the right moment and say somethin’ to get it outta my system.”

Azul sighs. “Jade said something similar.”

“He ain’t wrong.”

“I’m not prepared.”

“No one is.” Floyd smiles at Azul’s baffled expression. “C’mon, Azul, you can plan all you want, but you know life’s never gonna go the way you want it to. S’just how it is.”

“Even so, it’s better to know all viable routes and options before diving into uncharted waters.”

“That’s just it. You can’t know. S’kinda the whole point, ain’t it?”

“I can’t do it,” he decides, the words heavy on his tongue. “I’d rather accept my future failure now than continue working towards it.”

“Like a coward.”

“Far from it! In business, that’s known as rescission. It is a completely valid method of—”

“You ever realize your feelings and business are two separate things? Not everything’s gotta be about business.”

Azul stands there, nonplussed.

Floyd makes for the door, stopping only to add, “Your fly’s unzipped, by the way.”

“You—” He scrambles to check. Much to his relief, it’s not. “Honestly… That’s not even funny.”

He smooths nonexistent wrinkles, schools his expression into something brave, and exhales slowly. I’m not going to ruin an occasion as grand as this with a half-baked confession.

Having made up his mind, he steps through the door out into the bustling lounge. Like clockwork, all eyes turn to him. He searches the crowd for you, hopeful. But before he can locate you, party poppers resound with a loud bang. Confetti trickles down like colorful rainfall, landing on his suit and getting stuck in his hair.

“Happy birthday, Azul!”

He wants to run and hide. He wants to dive into the sea and seek solace in his favorite octopus pot. He wants to bury himself in the sand and disappear.

Instead, he smiles and spreads his arms like he’s just pulled off an astounding magic trick. “Why, thank you, everyone! I’m pleased you could make it. Do enjoy yourselves to the fullest tonight.”

Cheers erupt amongst the partygoers, but they might as well be on a completely different island. Azul turns, hoping to make his rounds and escape, but Kalim intercepts him. Jamil isn’t far behind.

“Azul, happy birthday!” Kalim smiles just as Jamil catches up.

He passes two expertly wrapped gifts into Azul’s empty hands. “On behalf of Kalim and myself, thank you for the invitation.”

“Yeah, super thanks! It’s been so much fun. I hope you’ll like your gift, but if you don’t just let me know and I’ll get you something else. Whatever you want! You deserve it on your special day.”

Azul looks past him, not in the mood to entertain. “Yes, of course. It’s not a problem.”

Jamil raises a brow, but then it clicks. “(Name) wanted me to pass on her regards.”

As expected, that draws his attention. “Why’s that?”

“She wasn’t sure if she’d get to see you on your big, busy day.” Jamil eyes Azul knowingly.

Kalim nods. “We ran into her on the way here, but she said to go on without her.”

Azul doesn’t like the way they’re both looking at him—as if they’re in on some joke he’s not currently aware of.

“Well,” he says, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “her regards are well-received.”

“You’re not going to meet her?”

“It’s my big, busy day, isn’t it? I’m afraid she’ll have to catch me at her earliest convenience.” Azul, gifts in hand, smiles. “Please do enjoy the party, you two. Thank you again for your thoughtful gifts and birthday wishes.”

On his way to the table designed for gifts, Azul spots Riddle, Silver, and Ruggie. They stand off to the side, chatting amongst themselves. He supposes, if anything, he might as well say hello. Setting the gifts down, Azul struts over.

“Good evening, gentlemen. I do hope you’re enjoying yourselves.”

“You know it. Parties at Octavinelle are always somethin’ else,” Ruggie says. Unsurprisingly, he’s done well to fix himself a plate and more. With him around Azul doesn’t have to fret over food waste.

“Your presentation at the cultural festival was very informative, if I may say so,” Riddle commends, sipping his fizzy beverage.

“As was yours.” Azul’s smile tightens. For some reason, he’s always felt the need to walk on eggshells around Riddle. And for good reason, too! Whatever Azul seems to accomplish, no matter how lofty a feat, Riddle seems to do better. “I’m sure you’ve had quite the rewarding experience yourself.”

“Indeed.”

“It’s good timing,” Silver notes, and all eyes drift towards him. Azul perks up. Timing. He needs more of that. “Your birthday came right after the festival. It’s almost like celebrating your hard work and another healthy year all in one.”

“Never thought about it that way. Guess it makes sense when you put it like that.” Ruggie grins cheekily. “Lucky you, Azul.”

“I wouldn’t call it luck. The dates just happened to align… Either way, thank you, Silver. I’m pleased you can look at it with such inspiring positivity.”

“You catch up with (Name) yet?”

“No? Am I meant to?”

“Just asking.” Ruggie shrugs. “She had me run a few errands for her yesterday. Said it was all for your sake, but when I tried to get more info outta her she told me I’d have to wait for ‘the big reveal’—whatever that is.”

Now everyone’s looking at him. Azul feels small.

“With how often I’ve heard her name tonight, I’d think she’s the one with the birthday.”

“Is she really so popular today? Odd. I haven’t had the chance to greet her,” Riddle muses.

“I thought I saw her this afternoon.” Silver furrows his brow, uncertain. “She seems busy.”

“Which is precisely why I can’t fathom the insistence that I ought to have met with her already.”

Ruggie tilts his head. “That the only reason?”

Just how many people are in on this asinine joke? More importantly, which eel is he going to have to wring out for spilling a not-so-secret secret?

Azul realizes his mask is slipping and so he repairs it expertly. If Ruggie takes notice of this, he doesn’t say anything. “It’s bad manners to show up late to a party. I’m sure one of us will agree.”

Riddle nods, but his words are surprisingly lenient. “Life happens. I suppose we can’t fault (Name) entirely.”

“She’ll make it. I’m sure she will. Don’t worry, Azul,” Silver reassures.

He’s not. He won’t. He isn’t.

“If the world was ending tomorrow,” Ruggie says, sliding into a new subject with practiced finesse, “what would you all do?”

“The end of the world…” Riddle frowns. “That’s impossible.”

“It’s a hypothetical. Anything’s possible.”

Silver hums thoughtfully. “I’d spend what time I have left with my loved ones.”

“You sure you’re not just gonna go running back to Briar Valley to protect Malleus?”

“As a guard it’s my duty, but fighting against the inevitable would be pointless.” Silver looks to the rest of them for their input. “If the world is ending and there’s nothing a guard like myself can do to prevent it, then I can only offer what’s left of my time.”

“So companionship. Okay, good to know. What about you, Riddle?”

He huffs. “I refuse to let the world end before I’ve accomplished my goals.”

“Yikes. You academic types don’t rest, do you?”

“No, no, it’s true,” Azul pipes up. “I agree. Why am I going to let the world get in the way of my plans?”

“So both of you are going to resist it until the very end?”

“You said anything can happen in a hypothetical, yes?” Riddle smirks. “In my hypothetical the world says it’ll end tomorrow, but it never does. It keeps saying so like it’s a faulty forecast. The end of the world is scheduled for next week, the week after, three weeks from now. By then, a year’s passed and the world still hasn’t ended.”

Ruggie groans. “That defeats the whole purpose of my question. You can’t give yourself more time when it’s already so limited.”

“Anything is possible if you know what you’re working with,” Azul adds, nodding alongside Riddle. “I quite like this hypothetical.”

“Leave it to the honors students to logic it out and make it more complicated than it needs to be…”

“You wouldn’t spend it with your loved ones?” Silver asks, but it appears as if the question is directed entirely at Azul. “I think I’d want to tell them the things I never got to say. Things I put off saying… Would you do that, too, Azul?”

“I…” He shuts his mouth and then opens it. “I’m not sure what I could possibly say within such a limited timeframe.”

“It doesn’t have to be complex.”

“I guess a good, old ‘love you lots’ is better than nothing,” Ruggie says.

Azul stops short. The end of the world. Time. Loss. Loved ones.

Time! He’s running out of time!

“Well, this was quite the lively discussion, but I’m afraid I’ll have to excuse myself now. There are a few more people I must meet.” Azul smiles gratefully at the three of them. They wish him another happy birthday before he finally departs, his heart in his throat.

He’s running out of time.

Logically, Azul knows the feeling doesn’t reflect his reality. It’s not as if he has to confess by the end of the school year. Logically, he has his entire life to confess. But who’s to say you’ll stay in his life after he graduates? You might be gone by the time he finally finds the right words, the right time, the right circumstance.

You can plan all you want, but you know life’s never gonna go the way you want it to.

Floyd’s right. There’s no way of knowing for sure until he does it. There’s no way to know what lies in those uncharted waters until he dives in. There’s no way to know where your heart lies until he confesses.

The world isn’t going to end tomorrow, but if he doesn’t say what he needs to before graduation he’ll never have another chance. And then that world—the world contained within NRC’s boundaries—will implode and that will be that.

At that very moment, a camera flashes. He spins around to search the photographer out and—

There you are, striding through throngs of people to reach him. There you are, dressed for the occasion. There you are, wearing that pretty smile he sees in his dreams.

“Happy birthday!” You turn the photo towards him for his viewing pleasure. It’s of him, staring off into space. He looks so stone-faced with his knitted brows and pursed lips. “Sorry about showing up late. I had to add the finishing touches to your present.”

You hand it to him. The amateur wrapping job makes the gift appear more lumpy than it actually is. It’s heavy like a textbook. Shaped as such, too. Azul wonders what its contents could be. Perhaps something relating to economics? A novel in a particular genre?

“Thank you very much. I’ll take good care of both.” He tucks the picture into his breastpocket, battling the urge to tear into your gift now. He needs to know. What did you get him? What could it possibly be? “I’m glad you could make it.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

“Even if the world was ending?”

“Uh… What?”

“Ah, never mind that. It was simply a lingering thought from a previous conversation.”

“That’s so grim! And on your birthday, no less.”

Azul waves his hand through the air. A playful smile draws his lips apart. “Can you believe Riddle said he’d make the apocalypse wait on his behalf?”

“Seriously?” You snort, eyes brightening with amusement. “Even the apocalypse gets a schedule…”

He barks out a laugh. “Insanity, isn’t it?”

“Maybe for us, but definitely not for Riddle.” You glance at him. “What about you? What does Azul Ashengrotto’s last day look like?”

He intends to answer with something prepackaged: Awash in success until the very end!

“Alone.”

“Really? No friends or family by your side?”

“Would that make it better? Perhaps being surrounded by others only intensifies the dread.”

There’s some sort of symbolism in coming into the world alone and going out the same. Azul just can’t quite phrase it eloquently.

“Maybe there’s no right answer. Maybe there’s not any comfort in it either.” You run your fingers over the edges of your Ghost Camera. “We can’t know what lies ahead until we’re there. Maybe that’s why we spend so much time theorizing.”

“Quite the insightful judgment.”

“For the record, I wouldn’t mind being your plus-one for the end of the world.”

“I’m flattered.” He grins. “I shall be yours in return.”

“No strings attached?”

“All the strings attached. So many,” he exaggerates.

“No fair!”

Silence fills in the cracks. You stand side by side, drinking in Mostro Lounge’s upbeat atmosphere. After some time, you nudge him.

“Look at us, speaking about all of these sad things. It’s your birthday, not a funeral!”

He wonders if now’s a good time. Should he lighten the mood and confess? But wouldn’t that just make it even more serious and somber? Is there ever going to be an opportune moment?

You can plan all you want, but you know life’s never gonna go the way you want it to.

Surprises. Spontaneity. Luck. All things left to chance. All things Azul attempts to anticipate. He thinks back on the many plans and what-ifs he calculated and wonders if it was worth it.

“(Name), I just wanted to say—” He stops himself, his fingers curling around the gift cradled in his arms. I love you and I want you in my life. I don’t want the world to end here with you and me. I want to know what lies beyond and experience it with you—the good and the bad. Everything. “I just wanted to thank you.”

For being my friend. For being yourself. For existing in the same world as me, even if it feels like we’re doomed to be islands apart.

“What’s this? Genuine thanks? Am I going to find an anemone on my head next?”

“That can be arranged. Isn’t it tradition to grant the person of the hour one birthday favor?”

“Hah! You wish!”

I do. I really do.

The party wears on into the night. Azul repeats the same mantra as before: I have time.

When he’s in his room, gifts piled high on his desk, he sits back in his seat and carefully unwraps yours. It’s a book, leather-bound and regal. It looks expensive. While attempting to approximate its value, he reads the title spelled out with alphabet stickers: My Azul. His brow furrows. Just what are you playing at here?

Cautiously, he opens the book to the first page. Your writing winks back at him: Happy birthday, Azul! This is my gift to you. It’s a chronological journal of your school life! :D People often say it’s difficult to picture themselves through the eyes of others, so I wanted to show you what I see every time I look at you. I hope you’ll never forget just how important you are. If you ever do, open this book to remind yourself.

With love always,

(Name).

“Curious,” he mumbles, flipping the page. The layout reminds him of a scrapbook. You’ve decorated it with stickers and patterned tape, scrawled words in different colored inks. There are two photographs—each from Azul’s second year. He’d forgotten about these. That time it snowed so much the students had a snowball fight in the courtyard. That time an alchemy accident (courtesy of Grim) led to Azul speaking in cat for the rest of the day.

In the center, a small blurb reads: My Azul is terrifyingly good at making snowballs within record time, just as he’s terrifyingly good at marketing them at all the right moments. My team was totally losing. Leave it to Azul to swoop in when he knows it’s advantageous… He’s intelligent and passionate. Even when mistakes occur, he works through them effortlessly. (Although it was nice having Catzul for a day!)

He rolls his eyes at that last bit.

The next page displays photos in much the same fashion. You’ve clearly put lots of effort and thought into each arrangement. Azul feels like he’s walking through a museum with every page. Like the first, the rest of the pages that follow include photographs of himself (some with others and some with you) and a short paragraph describing your observations.

His eyes are on the verge of a typhoon as he soaks in every sugared sentence.

My Azul is strong. My Azul is silly. My Azul has the best laugh. My Azul is great at bargaining. My Azul is awkward. My Azul is clumsy (in the best ways). My Azul is resourceful. My Azul makes the best study guides (thank you!!!!). My Azul is a hero. My Azul never gives up. My Azul is a talented mage. My Azul is…

All of these things he’s never heard anyone acknowledge before—have you always seen him in this way? Is this truly what he’s like through your eyes? He finds that hard to believe, and yet there he is on the page, winking at the camera or posing in an outfit from one of the many school trips he’s attended. You’ve added little comments and doodles in the margins and corners. Azul smiles as he reads them.

Noble Bell College sure was something! I’d like to visit again one day…

Vargas Camp was exhausting! I still can’t believe we survived.

Halloween! I want to experience it in the Coral Sea one day. But maybe just for one night. An endless Halloween is too much…

The ceremonial robes are very pretty. They’re so different from the uniforms in my world.

Happy Beans Day! Azul prepares all year for this. That level of commitment is impressive!

Azul reaches the end with watery eyes. He sniffles, so enveloped in a love he’s never felt from any friend before. You care. You truly, honestly care. It’s clear in each and every page—in the words you’ve written. You care about him.

The final page has a blank space the rough shape and size of a photograph. For some reason he understands what he’s meant to do. He slides the photograph you gave him all that time ago from his phone case and pastes it to the space. And then he reads what’s written below.

My Azul keeps all of these walls up in order to protect himself. He’s sensitive and self-conscious. He likes to uphold a perfect image at all times. He likes to keep his weaknesses hidden, his cards close. But then he’s also funny. He’s sincere and gentle. He’s sweet. He’s someone I admire from all sides, good and bad. Even when he’s scheming, even when he’s acting, he’s still Azul. My camera’s captured so many of his moments, which is very apparent now that you’ve made it to the end. But I’m happy to have documented these moments because they showcase everything that makes my Azul himself.

My Azul has never looked “positively dreadful” to my camera. Even on the days where he feels like nothing, my Azul is everything to me. I will always think so.

He’s crying. He can’t help it.

Azul sits there and he sobs.

He sobs until his throat is dry, until his eyes are blotchy and red. He sobs until he can’t anymore.

Holding the book close to his chest, he wonders how he ever managed to befriend someone like you.

An angel. That’s what you are.

An angelfish.

And he’s Azul. Your Azul.

iv. spring - but, baby, i’ll be there. yeah, baby, i’ll be there. it’s been a little hard. i’ve been a little tough. but maybe all along i’m afraid, i’m afraid, i’m afraid. i’m afraid, i’m afraid, i’m afraid.

The air is sweet with the scent of blossoming flowers, thick with pollen. Azul’s chest is light, swelling with excitement. A new chapter is about to begin. In just a few hours he’ll graduate along with the rest of his peers and then it’s off to start another story. For Azul, this is just a continuation of something already so prolific.

He strolls past The Great Seven, pausing briefly to admire the Sea Witch in all of her tentacular glory.

“With this weather, it’s almost difficult to imagine they called for rain.” Jade peers up at the sun, shielding its obtrusive rays with one hand.

“They’re always gettin’ it wrong,” Floyd says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “So annoying. I was hopin’ it’d rain and then they’d cancel.”

“Unlikely. There are always contingency plans put in place when it comes to an event as momentous as graduation.”

“Bleh. Lame. I wanna skip. I hate bein’ in those stuffy clothes, packed in close like a sardine.”

“If you’re absent, you won’t receive your diploma.”

“What a scam.”

Jade simply smiles. Ironic.

Azul turns around to look at them. “Four years… Gone in a blink. Will either of you miss it?”

“It was certainly enjoyable. I admit there are some aspects I’ll miss quite fiercely.”

“Guess it’ll be a bummer not seein’ everyone all the time. I’m gonna miss playing with Baby Seal and Shrimpy.”

“I’ll miss them, too.” Azul sighs. “(Name) especially…”

“You still haven’t told her?” Floyd raises a brow. “You’re gonna leave without sayin’ a word?”

“That does seem to be the plan,” Jade answers.

“I… I’ve thought it over.” He clears his throat. No time for waterworks. He needs to be in top shape if he’s to deliver the opening speech as Salutatorian. Riddle took first place, which wasn’t a shock to anyone. He always did say he’d make Valedictorian no matter what. Azul had been keen to fight him for it, even if it became clear he’d never surpass him. Second place is irksome, but it has its merits. Although he isn’t going to settle with just that! He’ll get first place one of these days. “We’re better off friends.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Is that enough?”

“Is what enough?”

“Her friendship.”

“It’ll have to be.” Azul’s gaze glazes over.

He’s run out of time, but maybe that’s okay. Maybe that was meant to be.

“Well, let’s not dwell on it any further!” He claps his hands and turns swiftly on his heel. “There’s still work to be done.”

Jade and Floyd exchange furtive glances. They know as well as he does that he’s lying.

But maybe that was also meant to be.

— — —

Crowley tasked you with snapping photos for NRC’s yearbook. “Because I am a paragon of magnanimity,” he said, “I am entrusting this very important task to you once more. Take lots of pictures! Don’t miss a single moment!”

You do just that, photographing the graduates as they wait in a room behind the stage, chattering eagerly amongst themselves. You raise your camera to document Azul when he stands at the podium to give his salutation speech. You do the same for Riddle when it’s his turn. The ceremony is grand, ballooning with emotion. You look on with a cheek-splitting smile, proud of every student who crosses the stage. It’s bittersweet. The friends you made when you were enrolled as a first year are now moving on in life.

Time flies. What a whirlwind year it’s been.

When it’s Azul’s turn and he goes down the line to shake the hands of his professors and Crowley, you wave at him from your place in the audience. He meets your eyes from where he stands, and he smiles.

Your camera catches that moment in perfect permanence.

By the end of it all, your face hurts from smiling, your throat sore from cheering, your hands raw from clapping. Grim grumbles at you to knock it off with the sun shower, your tears dampening his fur. You wipe your eyes and sniffle. “I’m happy for them. It’s a good day.”

He forces his head under your palm, allowing you to pet him and cry through it in peace. He doesn’t say anything. You don’t need him to.

While the graduates meet up with their family and friends, you make your rounds. Kalim introduces you to his parents and siblings—all thirty-something of them. You’re in a daze by the time introductions are finished, and Jamil leans over to whisper, “No need to commit everyone to memory.”

“Have you talked to Azul yet?” Kalim asks after everything has settled down.

You shake your head. “Why? What’s up?”

“Just wanted to ask. I know the Headmage wants you to take lots of pictures.”

“We shouldn’t keep you any longer than we already have,” Jamil adds with a curt nod.

You smile. “Congrats, both of you. Good luck.”

“We gotta keep in touch. Promise me you’ll call whenever you can. You’re always welcome to visit, too! Oh, I’ll go check with my parents now! I’m sure they’ll say yes!” Kalim bounds off in their direction.

“Just let me know well in advance. That way I can plan for proper accommodations,” Jamil says, following Kalim with sharp eyes.

“I’ll do that.” You turn to leave and then stop. “I hope you get your vacation one day, Jamil.”

He stares at you, mystified, before a gentle smile softens on his face. “One day,” he echoes. “I hope you’ll find your way home.”

“One day.”

The two of you share a final look before going your separate ways.

Surrounded in such an energetic environment, talking to and meeting families, you find yourself longing for your loved ones. So much time has passed. You wonder how they’re doing. Are they well? Are they worried?

“Aah, it’s Shrimpy!” Floyd crashes into you with so much force you nearly topple. He steadies you with a giggle. “Where’s Baby Seal?”

“Left to gorge on refreshments. Hey, since you’re here, can I get your picture?”

“Course you can.”

Detaching himself, he poses for you. You take a few photos, mirroring his good mood.

“Are your parents around?”

“Mhm!”

“Seriously? They came?”

“Course they did.”

“Did they take transformation potions?”

Floyd nods. “Pops does land business sometimes, so he’s used to it. Mama doesn’t leave home much. She’s real bad at walking on her feet.”

“Ah, got it.”

Floyd grins down at you. “You wanna meet ’em?”

“Maybe later… I’ve gotta keep taking photos.”

“I gotcha. Make sure to snap a few of Azul.”

“Right! Speaking of him, where is he? I’ve spoken to everyone but him.”

Floyd peers out across a sea of faces, scanning each one like a predator sizing up his next meal. “He’s avoidin’ ya.”

“What? Why?”

“Why don’tcha ask him when you see him? Bet he’ll have a fun answer for ya.”

You would, if only you could find him. As the afternoon wears on, you begin to lose hope. If he’s truly hiding from you, he’s doing a great job of it. After what feels like hours of walking in aimless circles, you take pause to consider the situation. If you were Azul and you wanted to hide away for a little while, where would you go?

To someplace familiar. To someplace comfortable. To someplace quiet.

He’s pacing in front of Ramshackle when you arrive. You open the gate and step through, taking each step one at a time. Once you’re within a close enough proximity, you make your presence known.

“Azul?”

He startles and whips around. As soon as he sees you, he lurches forward, intending to leave.

You block his path. “Hey, wait! What gives? I’ve been looking all over for you. Floyd told me you’re avoiding me.”

“Floyd doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“But I’m sure you do. So what’s up?”

“It’s…nothing. I merely wanted to tour campus one last time.”

“Oh. Why didn’t you say anything? I would’ve come with you!” You attempt to elbow him, but he side-steps you. “Uh, right…”

“Ah, sorry. I… Admittedly, there’s quite a lot on my mind.”

“I get it. Congrats, by the way. Your speech was really good.”

“I’m pleased you think so.”

This…isn’t Azul, you realize, a frown flickering on your face. At least not the Azul I usually see.

“I got to meet all of Kalim’s siblings.”

“Did you? All of them?”

“Every. Single. One. His family’s huge!”

An uncomfortable silence festers between the two of you. You glance at your camera and then at Azul.

“Can you believe that Crowley? He wanted me to take all of these pictures, but there were dozens of professionals who did it much better than me! What was even the point?”

“Terrible, isn’t it? A job as good as the one you do deserves proper payment.”

“Exactly! My services aren’t free.”

Azul smiles, a wistful gloss to his gaze. You can see the cogs turning behind his eyes—can see the calculation as it comes to fruition.

“You can cry. I won’t judge.”

“I’m not going to.”

“It’s fine. It’s normal, Azul.”

He inhales a deep breath, holds it for three seconds, and then releases. When he looks at you next, his expression is hard and riddled with subdued anxiety. A zephyr blows between you, rustling the leaves in the trees, raking through the grass, dragging wispy fingers through your clothes and hair. The quiet expands and stretches wide.

Azul opens his mouth, shuts it, and sighs. A forlorn resignation flits over his countenance.

“I—” he swallows hard and then it just bursts free, the admission he’s kept secret for so long— “I love you.”

Another breeze combs through the premises. Your gasp is swept away with it.

“I’ve loved you for two years. And I… I wanted to tell you so many times in the past, but I never could. I was scared and I ran away. I still am! The truth is that I’m afraid of losing you. I’m afraid of messing up in front of you and looking like a fool. I’m afraid of showing you the parts of myself I hate most. I’m even afraid of that phrase—of saying it because it terrifies me to think, in some distant world, it might be reciprocated. But I have to say it, and I want you to know. Even if you don’t feel the same, I have to tell you.”

You gape at him, utterly speechless. The longer you do so, the more flustered he becomes.

“Y-You’re free to think it’s gross or weird. I understand I’m not the most ideal candidate, but I…” He wrings his hands, exhaling shakily. “I think you’re everything. My whole world.”

There are so many things you want to say. So, so many. But they’re all jumbled, carried along like flowers floating down a stream in spring. You close the gap, taking his hands in yours, and you kiss him.

Azul startles, squeaking against your lips. It takes a minute for him to find his rhythm, but soon he’s wilting against you, his body relaxed. You taste saliva and salt—tears. When you pull back, he’s crying.

“I think you’re the most ideal candidate. I’ve always thought so.” You cradle his cheek in a warm hand.

A sob trembles through him. “I never thought—you’re just so… I couldn’t have imagined…”

“That I’d like you?”

“Yes!”

“Why?” “Because…”

“I’ve always liked you, Azul. I’d never lie about that. Your birthday gift—those are my honest opinions.”

“Every one of them?”

“Each and every one.”

He sniffles weakly, drying his eyes with the heel of his palm.

Instinctively, you reach for your camera. And then you hesitate. You’ve always stood behind the protective lens of your trusty Ghost Camera, assuming the role of photographer in order to remain in his orbit. But now you’d like to try putting the camera aside and documenting Azul’s moments with your own two eyes.

He loves me.

You just manage to shut the front door before you’re pulling him flush against you. He presses you up against the wall in the foyer, a knee slotting between your legs. You melt in mutual merriment, grabbing at every part of him. Your uniform blouse is ripped open in a hurry. You try to handle his graduation robes with caution, appreciating expensive embroidery, but vehemence gets the better of you. It’s a wild rush. Hot and panting, you’re shuddering in carnal delight, every nerve alight. When he presses up against you next, half-dressed and hazy with an addictive adoration, you can feel the result of your exploratory touches straining for release.

“Upstairs,” you mumble against his mouth, sweating out of your skin.

You fall into bed as one, tangled around each other. Azul trails kisses up the expanse of your stomach, working you open on skillful fingers. You shiver beneath him, your heart pounding in your ribs.

“I love you.” A kiss to your belly.

“I love you.” A kiss to the valley of your breasts.

“I love you.” A kiss to your lips.

You love him just as intensely. 

He drags his fingers out next, admiring the slick coating them like it’s a valuable substance. You giggle, dizzy with delirium.

“Can I call you mine?”

You run your hands up and down his arms. “I’d like that.”

“Your boyfriend,” he murmurs, astonished. “I’m your boyfriend…”

“Mhm…” You sit up in bed and climb into his lap. Slowly, inch by inch, you lower yourself. He sucks in a breath through grit teeth. “And I’m—mmh—I’m your girlfriend.”

Azul whines into your mouth. His arms wrap around you to keep you firmly pinned to his body, and he bucks his hips up to meet you the rest of the way. Filled in such a way, connected so intimately, you breathe a satisfied sigh. You dig your nails into his shoulders. Every muscle slackens. It’s bliss, pure and perfect. The both of you mold to one another like sea meeting shore.

You grind down, chasing a mounting climax. “You’re the best—perfect. So perfect. Oh, I love you, Azul. I love you so much. I’ve always wanted to say it.”

He presses his forehead to yours. “You have no idea how fervently I’ve yearned for this—for you.”

You can’t possibly begin to imagine, but you can definitely relate. Weeks of silent pining, of hoping something might happen and you’d be able to confess without fear. Those days are behind you. Now you can know love in his arms and it isn’t so uncertain.

You lose yourselves in the sensations of sweet, soulful sex. He’s gentle like a spring breeze, dedicated like a devotee at your altar. You’re much the same, your moans just as plentiful. Just as loud. You’re wrapped in wonder when you look into his eyes and find the same amount of love reflected back.

I’m so happy I met you.

When he cums, he digs his fingers into your hips to drag you down and bury himself deeper inside. You unravel shortly after, your orgasm coaxed out by a few attentive massages to your clit. Your bodies, sticky and sweaty, stay connected even after you’ve come down from the clouds.

“Had I known, I would’ve said something sooner.” After catching his breath, Azul rests his head in the crook of your neck. “I regret it.”

“I don’t. Things happen when they happen.” You run your fingers through the tangled, silvery strands of his hair. It’s soft just like him. He leans into your touch and hums appreciatively. “I’m glad it happened when it did.”

“I’m glad I could say it. It would’ve eaten me alive if I’d left without telling you.”

“And are you still afraid?”

Azul places his hand over yours. “No, not anymore. The world ahead looks much clearer now.”

“Am I in it?”

He laughs. “More than that.”

“Oh?”

“You are my world.”

[pearlessance]

Fishnets & Old Fashioned's

Summary - Tommy Miller wants a big titty goth gf and isn't above begging on his knees to get one.

Pairing - Tommy Miller/goth!bartender!Reader

Warnings: explicit sexual content MDNI, begging, dom/sub undertones, switch!Tommy and switch!Reader, tongue piercings, nipple play, dirty talk, semi-public, hair pulling, vaginal fingering, kneeling, body worship

[crossposted on AO3]

There are very few things in the world better than a nice, strong drink after a long day at work. In fact, it tended to be Tommy Miller’s favorite part of the night. That—and chatting up the prettiest girls in his favorite bar.

Tommy and Joel would often go together after a particularly rough day in the unforgiving Texas heat, and the best bar in town was the best for no reason other than the bartender. Frank was a mean, old bastard—but Christ could he mix a perfect Old Fashioned. It was exactly what Tommy craved after a day like today, where everything went wrong and nothing went right and his calloused hands were marked up with cuts and splinters.

Except Frank, apparently, wasn’t working today. And you stand in his place behind the rickety mahogany bar. A small slip of a girl, nearly half Frank’s size but somehow no less intimidating. In fact, Tommy finds himself even more intimidated by you, with your dyed hair and ripped fishnets beneath a tight, black tank top that sports the white skull of the Misfits logo.

He sits at the bar beside Joel, but his eyes never leave you. Your fingernails are painted black, thumbs sticking through the netting over your hands, and Tommy thinks you look terrifying and captivating and lethal and beautiful all at once. It’s rare to see girls like this in the deep south—girls who embody the shadows as a fashion accessory, girls who look like they may sprout horns or claws at any given moment, girls with siren eyes and fatal lips and switchblade curves.

Tommy Miller will be the first to admit that you scare him. Tommy Miller will also be the first to admit that yeah—he’d definitely let you eat his soul.

You’re mixing a cosmopolitan for some uppity lady at the other end of the bar, and he watches your nimble fingers as you place the lime garnish and slide the glass to the customer. You give her a pretty smile, and Tommy admires the crimson stain on your lips and wonders if it’s possible to seduce a succubus.

When you walk over to them, he can’t help but attempt to immediately create rapport. He doesn’t know the Misfits well but has heard their new song on the radio once. He leans in and asks, “You gotta name, vampire girl?”

You don’t laugh, but it doesn’t deter Tommy in the slightest. You brace your hands against the bar and say, “Depends on who’s askin.’”

“No one special,” he says with a casual shrug. “Just the man of your dreams.”

The cutest snort leaves your nose, and it feels like a win. “Let me guess,” you say, pointing a finger at Tommy. “Old Fashioned. And for you…” For a moment, you narrow your eyes at Joel. “Either Jack and Coke or Johnny Walker on the rocks.”

It’s like witchcraft, he thinks. Because you’re completely right and Tommy’s only ever known Joel to order a Jack and Coke—and suddenly he’s fumbling, trying desperately to turn your attention away from his brother. “How did you do that?”

“Experience,” you say. “You need a double? You look like you need a double.”

He does—but Tommy isn’t sure whether to take your words as an insult or not. He finds that he doesn’t really care either way, because you're looking at him now and he’s grinning like a madman and desire creeps up his spine as you lean over and fill a glass with ice. Tommy’s always been an ass man, swore up and down once he always would be—but holy fuck, he feels himself changing. “A double would be great, darlin’. Maybe I can get a little something on the side, too,” he says with a playful wink.

“Jesus,” Joel huffs.

You set to work on mixing their drinks—Joel’s first, and then Tommy’s. When you set his on the bar, there are two glasses—one that looks like his normal Old Fashioned, and a shot glass filled with a clear liquid. “A little something on the side,” you tell him. “You guess what it is and I won’t charge you for it. Guess wrong and it goes on your tab.”

His first instinct is to say it’s vodka—it’s still like water, completely crystalline. But when he tries to pick it up to smell it, you put a black-painted finger up.

“Nope. That’s cheating.”

“It could be anything,” he argues. “What if it’s gin and I guess vodka?”

The corners of your pretty mouth turn up into a smirk. “Is that your guess? Vodka?”

“No,” he says quickly. “No, no—uhm…,” he stutters. Tommy has no goddamn idea and knows he’ll never be able to guess correctly, but you seem to be enjoying his struggle, so he flounders a bit longer than necessary.

But then you raise the stakes.

You lean forward, layered silver necklaces glittering in front of your god-blessed cleavage, and he has to try not to stare too long. He definitely stares—but not enough to be weird about it. “Guess correctly and I’ll give you my number, casanova.”

It feels a little like gambling. Tommy knows he has a way with women, knows a flash of his dimples and a little southern charm goes a long way around here. But something tells him it’s just not gonna work with you, and he wants you so badly that he’s willing to make himself look like a fool if that’s what it takes. “How long ‘til the offer expires?”

With a glance at an imaginary watch, you say, “I’m here until two. After that…who’s to say?”

Tommy sits there and watches you walk away, watches you give that pretty smile to another man who orders a shot of tequila.

When he takes a sip of his Old Fashioned, he wonders what the fuck is in it because it’s the best goddamn drink he’s ever had. Better than anything Frank has ever made him, better than any he’s gotten at that fancy bar in Houston he went to a year ago—smokey and bitter and strong and delicious.

Joel calls him stupid, says he’s insane for even looking at a girl like you, mentions how much younger you are and how you’re likely just entertaining him for tips. Tommy orders another drink anyway and promises to get a cab home when Joel insists he’s ready to leave.

The crowd dies down the longer the night stretches on, and you keep placing drinks in front of him moments after he finishes the one in his hands. Once, when you have your back turned, Tommy dips the tip of his index finger into the shot glass.

But before he can bring it to his lips, you’re suddenly standing right in front of him. Your hand flits across the bar and encloses around his wrist. You click your tongue and his gaze is transfixed on the flash of metal in your mouth. “Cheaters don’t get prizes,” you tell him.

Tommy watches dazedly as you bring his finger to your lips. “Cheating? I would never do something…” he loses his train of thought, because you suck the tip of his finger into your mouth, cleaning up the clear liquid, and he can feel the metal barbell pierced through your tongue. It sends a jolt of electricity dancing along his spine and he wonders how it would feel against other parts of him. When you pull away slowly, Tommy clears his throat and blinks a few times before he can resume his sentence. “…I’d never do something like that,” he finishes.

Two in the morning approaches way too fast, and while it may seem a little strange that he’s sitting here all alone for so long, pondering over this clear liquid, he finds that he loves watching you move. You’ve got some kind of dark magic about you, he thinks. Men throw themselves at you, some even more so than Tommy, but you never give them half a chance. He watches as you turn those siren eyes on them and take the words right out of their mouths, watches as you state clearly and silently that while their attempts interest you, none of them ever hold you.

He thinks about the phrase god is a woman, but wonders if the devil is, too.

After the last call, Tommy remains the last person in the bar. You graciously allow him to keep seated even as you clean the sticky bar top and turn the chairs upside down and lay them on the tables. You emerge from the back room a little after two-thirty with a black backpack shaped like a bat and a ruby leather jacket. “Last chance, casanova,” you say. “Got a guess yet?”

Tommy licks his lips. “I need a hint.”

“No hints. Time’s up. Guess.”

There’s the faintest smile on your face, and Tommy hopes that even if he guesses wrong you’ll take pity on him and give him something. He gives it his best shot; “Tequila?”

You don’t answer. Instead, you lift the shot glass to your mouth and swallow half of it. You slide it to him, and even though Tommy is more of a dark liquor person, he drinks the remaining liquid and cringes at the taste. “Should’ve followed your gut instinct,” you say.

Tommy hates vodka. Even more so now than he did the morning after prom. Still, he can’t help but laugh. “Oh, come on, darlin’,” he says. “I guessed it once. That’s gotta count for something.”

Through a soft laugh, you ask, “Why are you so determined? It’s just a game.”

Because he’s spent the last three and a half hours fantasizing about what a great lay you would be. Because he knows deep in his bones that you’d do some shit that’d make a man fall in love. Because he wants to unravel your pretty mystery and drink in that hypnotic poison. Because yes—it’s just a game, but Tommy Miller is no fucking loser. “I like to win.”

You let him walk you out, even let him walk you to your car at the back of the dark lot. Don’t you know how dangerous a situation this could be? All alone with him, beneath the cover of night…he isn’t a bad man, but something tells him you wouldn’t mind it even if he was. You say goodnight, and Tommy calls a cab and fights the urge to return to the bar the following night.

He waits until the weekend, like a normal person, despite the fact that he thinks of nothing but dyed hair and silver necklaces and fishnets and tongue piercings until then. He doesn’t carpool with Joel to work Friday morning, because he has every intention of staying at the bar and playing his hand until the early morning hours again.

But before he arrives, Tommy decides to turn his charm up a little. He stops at a local florist on the way and spends probably too much time deciding on which ones you’d like best. He settles on a half dozen roses whose color reminds him of that crimson stain on your lips but stops short at the checkout. Behind the counter, a bouquet of the very same roses is set in a half-empty vase—except the petals are dark and wilted. Tommy knows immediately that those are the ones he needs.

The florist raises her eyebrows in concern when he asks specifically for the dead ones, and Tommy promises he’ll pay full price for them if that’s what it takes.

He walks out of there with a bouquet of dead roses and sits on the same stool at the bar as last week. You’re serving someone across the room, a tray of margaritas in your hand. Tommy admires your long legs, thinks fishnets look even better on your thick thighs than beneath that one Misfits top. Your leather boots shine beneath the low lighting, and he has the sick desire to be crushed beneath them. When you finish serving the group of girls in the booth and turn back to the bar, his heart races in his chest.

You make him nervous, Tommy realizes. He wants to please you, wants you to like his gift, wants you to give him that pretty smile you always give everyone else. But when you set the tray behind the counter you don’t even look up at him before you start mixing another drink. Tommy thinks about how that makes him feel, how dissatisfied he is without your attention. But then you slide an Old Fashioned over the bar and give him something even better. “You miss me or something, casanova?”

Tommy hands you the dead roses and nods. “Like hell, vampire girl. You gonna let me take you out or what?”

You inhale the sickly sweet scent of the flowers, and when you look up at him through those dark lashes all the blood in Tommy’s head rushes straight to his dick. “You don’t wanna go out with a girl like me,” you say.

He folds his arms over one another and leans across the bar. “And why’s that?”

You laugh like God, Tommy thinks. And for a second he’s lost in the sound, the cluster of clinking glass and murmured voices fading into the background of his mind. But then you give him the sweetest, most innocent smile and say, “Because I’ll break your heart.”

“So?” The question is paired with a shrug, and it comes out of his mouth before he can stop it. But Tommy, once again, is more than willing to look like a fool to have you if only for a night. “C’mon, sweetheart. Give an old man a chance. I swear I’ll make it good for you.”

“Would you now?”

He nods once. “The best date you’ll ever have.”

“You don’t even know what I like to do outside of here,” you say. It’s a reasonable concern, and a true one. But he wants to know.

You snort and shake your head when he suggests playfully, “Picnic in the cemetery?”

“Right next to dear old grandma?”

“Be the first woman I ever bring home to meet the family, baby.”

Another man at the end of the bar snaps his fingers in the air to get your attention and Tommy suddenly feels like fighting. He doesn’t, though—and reminds himself when you giggle at someone else’s joke that you’re just working, just doing your job.

Friday’s are slower than Saturdays, it seems, and by midnight the only people left in the bar are you, Tommy, and a guy in a booth half passed out. You emerge from behind the bar with your backpack slung over your shoulder.

“I’m gonna step outside for a minute. Keep me company?”

It’s the most exciting thing he’s heard all night. Tommy jumps to his feet, the bar stool scraping noisily against the sticky floor. He lifts the partition up for you to walk through. “Ladies first.”

The midnight air is cool against his skin, and he notices as he leans against the siding of the bar that you smell like cherries. Cherries with poisoned pits. You pull a little metal box from your backpack, and Tommy watches you pull out a joint, place it between your lips, and light it. He watches you inhale deeply, watches you lick your lips, watches that metal barbell in your mouth like it’ll grant him his salvation.

Tommy can’t help himself. His words spill out of his mouth. “You are so pretty,” he says.

You laugh lightheartedly and turn those siren eyes on him again and he’s weak in the knees. He takes the joint when you offer it. Tommy hasn’t smoked weed since he was twenty-one, but the taste is nice, somehow earthy and fruity at the same time, and your eyes are searing him to the bone. “Thanks,” you say softly. “You’re pretty too.”

He chuckles and passes it back to you. “Well ain't you a peach,” he says. “If I’m so pretty why don’t you let me take you out?”

There’s a moment of hesitation before you answer. And for a split second, Tommy thinks you might actually give in to him. But then you ask, “Have you ever been with a girl like me, casanova?”

No, he hasn’t, and maybe that’s a part of the appeal. All he knows is that he wants to slip his fingers underneath your black tank top and fill up his hands with your softness. He flashes you an award-winning smile and answers, “First time for everything.”

A soft snort leaves your nose. “So, no, then,” you say, the smallest bit of disappointment laced through your tone. You take another long drag from the joint and smoke swirls around your pretty hair. “Probably couldn’t even handle it.”

His mouth falls open in mock astonishment. “And how do you figure that?”

“Call it intuition,” you say. “Or experience.” Tommy takes the joint from between your fingers and his lungs ache as he inhales. Your eyes stay there, right on his mouth, even as he slowly exhales and licks his lips.

It’s right then, as he watches your siren eyes darken, that he knows he’s made a dent in that black heart of yours. Or at the very least, he knows he’s making progress. The thought excites him so much he can’t hold back his smile. “You ain’t ever experienced me though, darlin',” he says.

“You’re persistent,” you say. “I’ll give you that.”

The weed is going straight to his head, creating an airiness in his limbs. Tommy asks playfully, “What’s it gonna take to convince you? A fancy date? Maybe dinner and a movie? Maybe we’ll take a day trip to San Antonio and visit that old school gothic cathedral they have down there. You ever seen it?”

“No,” you say with a shake of your head. “It sounds cool though. I’d probably like it.”

Tommy nudges you with his elbow. “Name the time and place and I’ll take you, vampire girl.”

“That wasn’t a yes,” you tease.

He hangs his head between his shoulders and quickly decides he’s not above a little groveling. “Come on,” he says. “Just one chance. What’s it gonna take? Name your price, baby. Want me to pick up some roadkill and set up a taxidermy date?” You let out a pretty laugh, and it feels like such a victory that he keeps going. “How about I build you a haunted house? A personal one all for you—I work in construction, you know. I could make it real nice. Ghost hunting? There’s an abandoned building just up the road, looks creepy as shit.”

You’re smiling so hard the apples of your cheeks are flushed the sweetest shade of pink. “That old apartment building? You wanna find the ghost of the maintenance man?”

Tommy shrugs. “Hey, if that’s what you wanna do, I’ll grab my wrenches for a summoning circle. Go all out for you,” he says. You shake your head, and he continues. “I mean, anything you want, I’ll do it. Sell my soul? Tell me where to sign. I gotta pen in my back pocket. You wanna drink my blood?” He pats the side of his neck, right above his jugular vein. You let out another laugh, and it brings so much joy to him that Tommy can’t help but laugh with you. “I’m all yours. Swear it. You want me to beg on my knees?”

“Now there’s an idea,” you say through your giggles.

And he knows it’s a joke, knows you’re not serious, and maybe it’s the weed making him feel so carefree and blithe but he fucking does it. In the front of the bar, where anyone could pull in and see him, Tommy Miller drops to his knees in front of you and places his warm, calloused hands on the back of your fishnet covered thighs. Your skin is so soft, he thinks, and he has to fight against the urge to lean forward and bite the supple flesh. Instead, he looks up at you through his lashes, noting the way your laughter stops and your breath stutters. And because his inhibition has been shattered by his need for you, he says lowly, “Is this what you want, sweetheart? You want me to beg for it?”

He watches your tongue dart out to wet your lips and swallows the low groan at the back of his throat. “Maybe,” you say, breathless.

Tommy leans forward, eyes never leaving yours, and presses a wet kiss to the soft flesh of your thigh. He can’t resist his smile when he feels goosebumps break out across your skin, and so he does it again. This time his lips are much greedier, much closer to the inside of your thighs, and he daringly decides to taste you. He can feel the rough edges of your fishnets across the flat of his tongue and wonders how he’s gone thirty years of his life without ever dating a goth girl, wonders how he’ll ever go back. He wonders how the fuck you’re so magnetic, how just existing this close to you makes his cock throb in his jeans.

His mouth nears the edge of your black denim shorts. Tommy expects you to stop him, expects you to laugh or shove him away. But you don’t. You instead slide pointy, black painted fingernails through the thick curls of his hair. Your touch is gentle, and lazy — such a contradiction to his desperate movements.

“Let me take you out,” he says. “I can make you feel so good, sweetheart.” And to prove his point, he does the one thing he’s wanted to this whole time; Tommy Miller softly bites the inside of your thigh, delighting in your sharp inhale. He kisses the sting away, tasting you again, taking your scent deep into his lungs. He wants to devour you, he thinks. He wants you to devour him. “Please,” he pleads, sliding his hands upwards to rest on the decadent curve of your ass.

Your hand in his hair tightens, pulling at the dark curls lightly. “Well, since you asked so nicely,” you say. There’s a too-long pause, and Tommy’s grinning like a hopeful idiot, and then you tilt your head and whisper, “No.”

He lets out an exasperated breath and presses his forehead against your abdomen. He can feel his cheeks warm from embarrassment, but then he looks up at you again and the mischievous glint in your pretty eyes makes the chagrin worth it. “Goddamn, girl,” he says. “You are mean.”

There’s no argument to be had from you, but your siren eyes stay fixed on him even as he stands from his knees and Tommy swears that dark desire still lingers in them. Especially when he straightens to his full height, towering over you, and places both palms against the brick wall of the bar. He cages you in, and you’re trapped, and more than ever before Tommy thinks he sees that demeanor falter. “Just a little bit,” you reply.

“Wanna know somethin’?” He leans his head down, presses a kiss into your hair, and says, “I can take it.”

You take your crimson stained lip between your teeth, biting so hard the matte color smudges the smallest bit. Tommy knows he’s getting to you, he can see it. But you still resist him and say with a shake of your head, “Break’s over.”

He lingers at the bar until close and asks one more time as he walks you to your car if you’ll go out with him. Still, you say no again and as he’s laying in bed that night, Tommy Miller decides to cut his losses. He still wants you — Christ he wants you, but he’s not willing to beg anymore. He’d done all he could do, and he doesn’t want to make your workday miserable. He doesn’t want to be one of those guys.

Still, when he comes back for a drink with Joel after work on Tuesday, he can’t hide his disappointment when he sees Frank standing behind the counter. They talk about you, though, when Joel tells Frank that Tommy ‘has it real bad for that scary chick.’

They go to a different bar that weekend instead of their usual. Tommy still has fun though, and chats up a pretty blonde girl who’s real nice to him. He doesn’t have to beg her on her knees, and it’s a nice change of pace. She even kisses him and moans into his mouth when he grabs a handful of her ass.

Except she’s got glossy pink lips, and her legs are bare beneath her white, pleated skirt, and Tommy wants the feel of fishnets in his hands. He wants the softness of your body, wants the warmth and the curves and the fucking chase. He wants to work for it.

She offers, but Tommy doesn’t go home with her. Instead, he sleeps alone in his bed. And the next night after work, he goes to see his very favorite bartender.

He walks in alone—Joel’s at home, helping Sarah with some art project—and it’s still early in the evening, but the bar is packed full of people. Tommy catches a glimpse of those fishnets that haunt his every thought, and watches you bend over to pick up straw wrappers from one of the booths. His usual seat at the bar is taken by some college kid, so Tommy sits at the very end.

Immediately, he can tell your nerves are shot. It must be overwhelming, he thinks, to be the only person working on a night like tonight. So when you walk past him, smelling of poisoned cherries, he snakes a hand out and wraps his fingers delicately around your wrist. You startle at first, but your whole body deflates when you see him. “Oh, thank God,” you say. “Come help me.”

Tommy doesn’t hesitate. He stands to his feet and lets you tug him back to a room with a padlock on it. While your fidgety fingers work in the code, he asks, “What’s the occasion?”

“Beginning of summer break,” you answer with a sigh. “And word got out about our new buy one get one deal on specialty drinks. It’s been busy all day.” The lock clicks and the door swings open. You flip the light switch and point to one of the three kegs beneath the shelves of sealed liquor bottles. “I can’t lift it,” you say. “And the one out there is empty.”

With a curt nod, he lifts the keg easily — it’s not any heavier than the steel beams he’s been carrying around at work. But he still sees the way your shoulders sag in relief, and tries his damndest to keep his eyes away from your low cut top. It’s a failed attempt, but Tommy thinks it’s gotta count for something. “Where d’you want it?”

The corners of your mouth turn up just slightly, and he can hear the innuendo on the tip of your tongue, but you never say it out loud. You just tilt your head, and Tommy follows you behind the bar to help you replace the empty keg. When he lifts up the partition to let himself through, you stop him with a hand around his bicep. “You’re staying a while, aren’t you?”

It hadn’t been the plan, truthfully. Tommy had just wanted one of those perfect Old Fashioned’s and to resign himself for the night. But your eyes are wide, and your dyed hair is pulled into a disheveled pointy tail, and the fishnets underneath your shorts have sequins on them, and you’re just too goddamn pretty. So he touches the tip of your nose and says, “Anything for you, vampire girl.”

Your answering smile is worth sitting in all this chaotic energy, Tommy thinks. It reaches those bright eyes made up with all that black and silver eyeshadow. “I’ll buy your drinks,” you say. “As payment.”

He nods, even though he pulls up the calculator on his phone to keep track of his drinks tonight and decides to put the cash into the tip jar the moment you’re not looking. Tommy settles into his stool and watches you flit around the room, watches you take orders and make fancy drinks and uncap beers. It’s so busy, but you’re juggling it all impeccably and he finds it admirable.

Somehow, even with the mass of people, you never fail to place another drink in front of him the moment he finishes one. You thank him way too many times, explain that having him here just in case is comforting, and Tommy’s glad to hear it. He keeps his comments and those dirty thoughts to himself, even though they push behind his teeth, sitting on the tip of his tongue. He and his whiskey and orange peel are perfectly content to sit in the corner and eye fuck the bartender, thank you very much.

He has to replace the keg one more time, it’s that busy, but he doesn’t mind it at all. Especially when you bend over to pick up a case of some hoppy IPA before he can grab the keg. There’s next to no room in the closet, and your ass is less than a hand’s width away from his jeans, and he has to close his fucking eyes. He wants to ogle you, goddamn does he want to—but Tommy Miller knows himself. Knows that if he starts looking, he’ll want to touch, and if he starts touching, he’ll want to fuck.

So he clenches his eyes shut tight and follows your orders. The night dies down slowly, and when you make the last call and start taking dishes to the back room, Tommy wipes the peanut shell dust from his fingers and holds his hand out to you.

At first, you stare at it, confused. And then when he points to the white rag in your hands you shake your head and say, “No. That’s like, illegal, isn’t it? Working for free?”

“It’s hardly free, darlin’. Give it here.” He reaches for it again and nearly loses his train of thought when you bite your bottom lip in contemplation.

But then you nod, and hand him the cotton towel, and watch him for just a moment as he turns and starts wiping down the empty tables. He creates a pile of watered down, half empty glasses on the bar, saving you an extra trip, and turns the chairs upside down when he’s finished. Everyone slowly filters out, and when you emerge from the back again the bar is empty save for Tommy and all your tables are bussed and clean.

He’s sitting at the bar, finishing his last drink, and your shoulders sag in relief that the night has finally, finally come to a close. He sits in silence as you count out the register and take the extra cash to the back room. When you start counting out your tips, you split it and push half to Tommy. “Here,” you say. “For all your help. I made more than I planned for, anyway.”

“I didn’t earn those,” he says, pushing it back toward you. “Keep it.” And he means it—he truly, truly does. Tommy would like to think he’d do it for just anyone, which is partially true. That southern charm is deeply rooted in him. But you’re…you, and apart from the fact that he wants to fuck your brains out, Tommy Miller also just straight up likes you. You’re funny, and kind hearted when you’re not putting on that mean-girl front. He can tell you’re good. And it makes him feel good, helping when he can.

But despite all that, he’s still Tommy fucking Miller. And he does, very much, want to fuck you. So he crosses his arms across the bar, leans in close and whispers, “You can repay me another way.”

A cute little snort leaves your nose, and you laugh and shake your head, but you don’t reject him. “Oh, yeah? And how’s that?”

“Guess,” he prods.

You narrow your eyes slightly, and Tommy can see the outline of that silver barbell pushing against the inside of your cheek. “A date?”

His mouth pops open in mock astonishment. “Oh, my my! I thought you’d never ask, sweetheart.” You’re laughing, and Tommy’s cheeks hurt from smiling so hard, and he wonders when the last time was when he felt excited about a date. A date with no promise of sex, just a simple, clean date. He takes your hands in his and presses a kiss to each of your knuckles. “Yes, of course I’ll go on a date with you, vampire girl.”

Your giggles die down, and the silence is comfortable but..heavy. He can tell something’s weighing on you, and he wants nothing more than to grant you ease.

“What is it, baby?”

Those pretty eyes of yours flicker down to his hands, calloused and rough and huge around yours. “Seriously,” you finally say. “Thank you for all your help. I don’t know what I would’ve done without it.”

He shrugs his shoulders. “No big deal,” he says. “Really. Should be a crime to not help a pretty girl in need.”

The corners of your lips turn up into a smirk, and he can see that you’re fighting it, but the joy is so plain on your face. You pull your hands from his and say, “Let me grab my bag. You can walk me to my car.”

Tommy nods once. “Yes ma’am.” He waits patiently for you to grab your things, and after you guys leave and you lock the door he tosses his arm around your shoulders. “You don’t work on Tuesday’s or somethin’?”

You stop in front of your car—black, and shiny, and he can see through the windshield that you have a glittering bat-shaped air freshener hung around the mirror. “You stalking me now, casanova?”

He shakes his head. “No. Just missed you is all,” he confesses. And it’s the truth, the god damn truth, and it’s so fucking weird for him to miss a girl he barely knows but here he is doing it anyway. It makes no sense that he’s had more fun watching you work than he did kissing that blonde girl last weekend. Tommy takes his arm from around your shoulder and gently takes your chin between his fingers instead, forcing you to look up at him. He notices the way your breath hitches, the way your pretty eyes are swallowed up by something dark. “That a crime?”

It’s a stark contrast, how different you look right now. All innocent and starry eyed and not at all mean. You look sweet, Tommy thinks. And he wonders if you taste that way, too. His mouth waters at the thought, and he runs his tongue along his teeth. “No,” you breathe, gaze following the movement. “N-no, just…”

“Just what? Hm?”

Your cheeks burn, and Tommy loves the pinkness against your skin, and he knows you have nothing to say. He knows you’re getting nervous. Eventually you exhale and say, “I don’t…know.”

Tommy likes that he makes you nervous. He likes you like this, all trembling fingers and honeyed eyes and sugary lips. But even more than that, he likes it when you look up at him through your lashes and softly, so fucking softly it’s barely audible, say, “You can kiss me if you want.”

He doesn’t waste a fucking second. He goes easy, at first. He presses his lips to yours firmly and discovers he’s right in his assumption of your saccharine. You taste a little like cherries and a little like moonlight and a little more like home. It reminds him of hot Texas nights under the stars, and being a little too drunk, and he kisses you deeper. Allows his tongue to swipe over your bottom lip, and you reward him with the sexiest little sound.

Your lips part for him, and Tommy is nothing if not a man starved for you, and so he drinks you in. That metal in your mouth feels even better against his tongue than he’d ever imagined. You’re so soft and his hands are on your hips and he can’t stop himself from squeezing the supple flesh, from pulling you closer, from pulling back for a wretched breath of air. “Goddamn, baby,” he grumbles, grinning from ear to ear, and then your mouth is on his neck, and his morals are somewhere on the floor.

Because he wants to do this right. For once in his life, Tommy Miller wants to take a girl out. He wants to do it real classy, too—wants to get to know you, wants to take you out to a nice dinner and tell you how beautiful you look in your fishnets, wants to take you to some uppity museum in San Antonio and show you fancy paintings and that gothic cathedral that made your eyes glitter when he mentioned it.

But your mouth is so hot, and your hands are tangled in the curls at the nape of his neck, clawing at him for reprieve. His heart is beating so fast. He swears it almost stops when the words tumble out of his mouth because he really, really does not want to ruin this. He sounds desperate because he is. “Can I touch you?”

“You are touching me,” you quip. He can feel you smile against his neck, and Tommy’s head falls back in frustration. You know that’s not what he means, but you don’t say no, and so he decides to show you.

Tommy hooks his arms around your thighs, grinning at the little gasp you make, the way you cling to him with all your might. He lays you back against the hood of your car and wraps his hand around your neck, and kisses you like he’ll never get another chance to.

And this time, you let out more than a whine. You’re moaning into his mouth, breathing fast, wrapping your legs around his waist, and pulling him in. It takes him by surprise, and Tommy laughs softly.

“Eager little thing, aren’t you?”

“No,” you immediately say, defiant. “I just know what I want.”

His heart hammers behind his ribcage. He wants to keep hearing your voice, wants to ingrain the sound of it into his skin like a tattoo. “Tell me, baby.”

The low flickering of street lights illuminates your face just enough for him to see the deep, dark flush of your cheeks. So dark it nearly matches that crimson color on your lips.

When he realizes what’s happening, Tommy shakes his head. “Nah,” he says. “Don’t go all shy on me now, vampire girl. After all that talk?” He clicks his tongue and leans in close. His breath is warm against the shell of your ear. “Now, I know you can use the word no. I know you’re real good at it, too. You gonna say it now, baby?”

Despite the way his cock throbs in his jeans, pressed against your thigh, Tommy hopes you know he’s not one of those guys. He won’t do anything you don’t want him to do. He won’t even make you feel guilty for saying no, if that’s what you choose.

And when you open your mouth to speak, he half expects some smart remark to come out. Something like in your dreams or you wish. But your words are breathy and your siren eyes are wide as you whisper, “Touch me.”

His fingers curl around your neck—not squeezing, though. Tommy’s real gentle with you. “I am touching you,” he parrots.

And then you fucking beg. Literally, beg, and Tommy Miller feels like a teenage boy about to cum in his fucking pants at nothing but the word, “Please,” in your mouth.

He inhales a shaky breath, willing himself to calm the fuck down. This isn’t about him, he thinks. This is about you. It’s about showing you just how much he likes you, about proving himself a man worthy enough to touch you. And Tommy’s not sure if he is, not yet anyway, but he knows he can make you feel good.

The metal of your silver necklaces are cool against his palm. He moves his hand down your sternum slowly, over the curve of your breast, and stops just below the end of your cropped shirt. It’s black, of course, and modified—cut to shreds, really, only covering the most intimate parts of you. The fabric is soft and billowy and a size too large. He’s thankful for the extra room, though, because it makes it a little too easy to slip his hand beneath the curled edge and shove it over your breasts.

Your bra is black too, made of silky lace. Tommy takes one of your breasts in his hand, and it spills out between his fingers, and he silently confesses to himself that, yeah—he’s definitely not an ass man anymore. He leans down and presses a wet, open mouthed kiss to the flesh, and he can feel your nipple harden through the sheer lace. He hooks his thumbs beneath the band around your ribcage and pushes that up too, to join your top.

And bared to him, you’re even more beautiful than he imagined. And he tells you as much. “Such a pretty little thing,” he murmurs against your skin. Tommy holds both of your tits in his hands now, and slides his thumb over one nipple while he surges forward and takes the other into his mouth.

A shudder leaves you, and your hands fist themselves in his hair. He can feel your heartbeat against his fingertips, pace picking up when he swirls his tongue around the hardened peak. And when he bites down gently, you let out a gasp and push your hips up against his.

You don’t utter a word, but Tommy thinks suddenly he has you all figured out.

He kisses a trail to your other breast, spreading his spit lingering on the first with the pad of his thumb. He’s rougher this time, sucking harder, scraping his teeth against the sensitive skin.

“Oh, God,” you moan, fingernails scratching at his scalp. “You’re so…”

The words go unfinished, because he presses a hand to the seam of your shorts and all the breath seems to leave your lungs. All the thoughts seem to leave your brain, even—and Tommy thinks you look real fucking cute right now. “So what, baby? Hm?”

You’re shivering, wiggling your hips to generate some kind of friction, but Tommy doesn’t give it.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Use those words of yours. I know you can.”

“Surprising,” you admit. But he takes it as a good kind of surprise because you're pretty putty in his hands.

Tommy undoes the button of your denim shorts. He hooks one arm around your hips and jerks you down the hood of your car. “This what you want, pretty girl? Don’t want me to ask for it. You want me to take it. S’that it?”

You don’t answer, but he knows. He knows. Tommy unzips your shorts real slow. And he’s a little surprised to see that beneath all that black exterior, you’ve got baby pink panties on. Not crimson, not seductress red—pink. And they’re the sweetest things he’s ever seen. He trails his fingers along the edge and watches you squirm. “Please,” you say, begging again. Begging for him. “Touch me. I need you t-to, right now. Please.”

He slips his hand beneath your shorts, beneath your fishnet stockings and the pink cotton. And what he finds surprises him. “Aw,” he cooes, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. “Guess you really do need me, huh? You’re so wet, baby.” He runs the tip of his middle finger through your slit, exploring you, memorizing, gathering your slick and bringing it upwards. When he circles your clit, he laughs at the way your back arches off the hood of the car.

“Oh, fuck—yes,” you tell him. “Right there.”

Tommy presses harder, begins to move his fingertip faster. “Here, baby?”

You’re nodding, eyes squeezed shut. “Yes, fuck, yes yes—mmh.”

He closes his mouth around your nipple again, using his free hand to keep your legs spread as far apart as possible. When he snakes his finger down and presses it into your sweet pussy, it takes a significant amount of strength to keep your legs open. You fight him, and your moans echo in the empty parking lot. Tommy is only vaguely aware of the passing cars on the freeway, and finds himself thankful you parked in the back of the open space. “Feels good, hm?”

“So fucking—mm—so fucking good,” you say. The praise is enough to convince him to slide another finger in, and it’s met with a pretty moan of approval.

His cock has never been this hard, Tommy thinks. It’s pressed against your thigh still, and every one of your little movements makes it worse. It makes him near delirious. He wants to bury himself inside of you but knows to save it for later. When he knows more about you, when he knows what it looks like when you cum. He’s got his fingers hooked upwards, caressing that sweet, soft spot, and his pace is unforgiving. He wishes your shorts weren’t in the way, but he does what he can with the clearance you’ve granted him. “Dirty little thing,” he says. “Wanna be touched so bad you spread your legs out in the open.”

Your nails are sharp, leaving indentations at the back of his neck. It only spurs him on more, that little bit of agony. “Don’t stop,” you tell him. “Don’t stop, please—yes—oh God.”

Tommy presses his thumb against your clit, sliding it through your dripping pussy with each rough thrust of his fingers. He can feel you squeezing around them, sucking him in even deeper. “There you go, baby,” he says, pressing a gentle kiss to your jaw. “You gonna cum for me? Hm? Pussy’s so fuckin’ wet.”

When your legs start to tremble, Tommy keeps his pace steady. He wants to tip you over that edge, wants to see the way you look when he makes you feel this fucking good. He leans back, breath coming fast, and admires how absolutely fucked out your look. Mouth hanging open, moaning his name, brows knitted together in concentration. Your hands bury themselves in his flannel, desperate for a tether to keep you grounded. Tommy grins, hand on your thigh leaving to instead wrap around your neck.

“Such a pretty girl,” he says through his smile. “You look so good when you fuckin’ behave, sweetheart.”

Your back arches off the hood of the car and your knuckles turn white in his shirt. “Oh, fuck—I’m gonna—”

“I know, I know. Cum for me, baby. Cum all over my fingers—yeah, just like that.” Wetness flood between your legs, filling his palm, and it’s so fucking hot that Tommy moans in response. “Yeah, there you go,” he says, cock throbbing in his jeans. “Good girl, such a good fuckin girl, baby.”

It’s even better than he imagined; you look ethereal. He traces the arch of your body with his hand around your neck, moving it down the slope between your breasts, between your ribs, down to your hips. You fit so perfectly in his hands he starts to wonder if you were tailor-made for them.

When your fingers loosen and fall away from his flannel and your breaths begin to slow, only then does he slip his fingers out of you. He caresses your pusy in his hand, chuckling darkly when he slides over your clit and you let out a sharp gasp, thighs clamping closed around his hips at the sensitivity. When he finally pulls his hand from your denim shorts, his fingers come away glossy and covered in your slick.

Tommy locks eyes with you, raises his hand to his mouth and moans as the heady taste blossoms across his tongue. “Mmm. Better than bourbon,” he says through a low laugh. He licks his fingers clean, and you watch with rapt attention.

He takes a step back, adjusts himself, and holds his hand out for you to take. You let him pull you upwards, off the hood of the car, and he can feel your siren eyes on him as he pulls your bra and t-shirt back into place and buttons your jeans. Your legs are still shaking the smallest bit, and it feels like a victory. “Uhm…thanks. Again,” you say.

A smirk tugs at his mouth. “Turn around,” he orders. He’s a little surprised with how quickly you obey, as if any defiance that once existed within you had been snuffed out the moment he existed within you. Tommy watches your shoulders shake with anticipation, but all he does is pull your cell phone from your back pocket.

He calls himself, saves your phone number under 🦇🖤Vampire Girl🖤🦇, and tucks the device back into your pocket.

“Tuesday at ten,” he says, gathering your hair in one hand and laying it over your shoulder. He leans down, lips less than an inch from your throat. “Let me know where to pick you up.”

You nod softly. “Uhm, I—uh…yeah. Yeah, okay. I’ll see you Tuesday.”

Tommy kisses your jaw and leaves without another word, feeling like a goddamn king.

[PART TWO]

[masterlist]

[dyns33]

Without warning part 1

I wanted to make a soulmate Frank Castle with some angst

Frank Castle didn't believe in soulmates.

Or rather, he did, he had seen his parents happy, at first, and many other people who had said their sentences to each other, but he considered that the universe had been wrong.

He had almost immediately fallen in love with Maria, before she had even spoken to him, and it had been a shock that she was not meant for him.

But it didn't matter, because he only wanted her, and she didn't seem to care that he wasn't her soulmate either. They had been very happy together, for years, with their children.

He wished it would last forever, and that he would never hear the phrase "Well buddy, shooting people without warning ?"

His decision to join the army had already been made before the phrase appeared, but it had scared him. Frank didn't want to be the kind of man who would shoot someone without warning. He was neither a coward nor a monster.

He didn't understand in what context someone would say such a thing to him.

Then Maria and the children had been killed. He had thought he was going crazy, and it was no longer so impossible for him to put a bullet in a man's head without being polite.

Red could have said his sentence to him, and Frank thanked his God for not having stuck such a boring blessed ass with him.

Some thought he could have resumed a normal life with Karen.

Sweet Karen. He loved her very much, he cared for her, she was family, but Frank didn't see her like that. Both more romantic than they probably wanted to admit, he knew she wanted to find her soulmate, and he didn't want to put her in danger, as strong as she was.

He couldn't relive the same thing as with Maria. Neither the same love, nor the pain of losing her.

After avenging his family, killing several bastards, dying in the eyes of the world, Frank had understood that he would never have a normal life again. So he remained hidden, sometimes helping Red stop bad guys, even if they continued to disagree on the method.

The last one had disturbed them a little. First, because the Devil couldn't determine if he was really a criminal.

"I've already crossed paths with him… He smells of blood, I know he kills people, often for money. But he seems like you, only targets criminals. And he sometimes works with Spiderman."

"The kid ?"

"Yeah. The kid seems to trust him. He told me he was a fan of my work, before he cut a guy in half, so I don't know, Frank. I don't know at all."

"I know. I'll take care of him."

"Wait, there's something else…"

As was often the case with Red, Frank hadn't taken the time to listen to the rest, certain he knew what he had to do. It had been a surprise when Murdock hadn't screamed because he had shot the guy.

It had been a surprise when the guy had gotten up, whining because a bullet in the heart was really painful, even if it was an honor to be shot by the Punisher.

"Deadpool, big fan, nice to meet you !" he had hummed as he hopped towards him, one hand outstretched for Frank to shake. He had shot him again.

They had then often crossed paths with Wilson, who continued to stick to Frank by acting like a madman, and each time he ended up killing him, because he was really too unbearable.

This seemed to make the mercenary laugh, who considered it a mark of friendship. Even if he was immortal, Red and the young spider reprimanded him, first violently, then out of habit after a while.

It was a surprise to hear a new female voice rise against the bullet he had just fired into Wilson's leg in the hope of silencing him.

"Well buddy, shooting people without warning ?"

Frank froze at first. Since the others snickered, he knew that it was not an enemy who had just appeared behind him. He vaguely heard them call her 'Ghost'. Obviously they had known each other for a long time, they trusted her.

So they didn't understand when the Punisher pointed his gun at her, as she approached to help Wade get up.

Still as naive, Daredevil thought it was because Frank had never met her before. A simple reflex. It had to be said that Ghost was strange, surprising. Her costume was entirely black, and her helmet of the same color completely hid her face.

Her voice was strange too. A distant sound, as if muffled by the wind. Later, much later, Red would explain the powers of Ghost, who had given her her name.

Not only could she completely disappear, either only for the eyes, or by becoming gone, passing through matter, but on top of that, she became undetectable. No smell, no heartbeat, no breathing, no footsteps. Nothing.

The first time, it had been complicated for poor Red. She had wanted to help him against a gang, and even if he refused to admit it, she had scared him. He had thought he was losing his mind when enemies were beaten by nothing, then a voice had spoken to him.

Without him saying anything, Ghost had finally understood. And then, suddenly, he had heard her heart, as she asked him with an amused voice if that was better.

Able to go anywhere, she could have known who he was, who Spiderman was, everyone, and no doubt she knew, but she had never said anything, not even to Wilson. In any case, he didn't want to know, because of his vigilante bro code of honor.

That wasn't the problem. He didn't have a secret identity, and even if people learned he was alive, he knew how to defend himself. But this Ghost had said his sentence, which echoed in his head, and he couldn't accept it.

"Calm down, Frank. This isn't…"

"Fuck no." he said simply.

If the others noticed that she froze, they didn't say anything. She hadn't seemed afraid when she saw the gun, but that simple word had paralyzed her, which didn't help the situation at all, because Frank was then completely certain of who she was.

And then, without thinking, he fired.

Frank could have meant that he knew what would happen. But it was a real shock to see the pierced helmet fall to the ground, while the rest of the woman had vanished into thin air. He didn't know yet that she could do that. He would have killed her instantly.

The others were very angry with him. Much more than with Deadpool. And besides, Wilson got mad for the first time with him, threatening to cut off his head. Ghost was a friend, a sister.

They didn't understand why he did that. To be completely honest, Frank wasn't sure he knew either.

It wasn't that girl's fault if fate had decided they had to be connected. If to meet her, he had to lose Maria, the children, become a murderer. He didn't want that, it was out of the question, and she had to know it.

It seemed like Ghost was smart. Frank didn't see her again after that. After that exchange, he also saw Wilson a little less often, and the mercenary ignored him most of the time, when he wasn't insulting him.

His behavior had disappointed the Spider kid and Red, but it was nothing new, and their opinions didn't matter to him.

Life went on, as if he had never met his soulmate.

Then he crossed paths with Y/N.

As if his life wasn't complicated enough already.

[serpercival]

23. A kiss influenced by alcohol for traphawk perchance ? 👉👈

I tried to write this last night but was too high and it got really depressing, so here's an extremely purposefully light-hearted one to make up for how sad I made myself! <3 Ever so slightly suggestive but also only a little bit under the cut.

traphawk + a kiss influenced by alcohol

A long stretch of days with no casualties means getting bored. Getting bored means drinking. Getting bored for too many days in a row means too much drinking, and that had led Trapper and Hawkeye to stumbling back into the Swamp at three in the morning plastered out of their minds.

Hawkeye, ever-so-slightly more sober, dumps Trapper into his cot, giggling. “I can’t believe you! Flirting with Igor… you’re a madman, you. You’re– you’re going to get yourself food poisoning just kissing him.”

Across the tent, Frank snores loudly, affectedly, and unconvincingly.

“Aw, c’mon, Hawk,” Trapper says, fighting to get his blanket to cooperate. It’s like a goddamn circle. Or a sphere. Where the fuck are the edges? “Only ‘cause you aren’t paying enough attention to me.”

“I pay plenty of attention to you.” Hawkeye leans in, more than a bit jerky, still holding on to the last dregs of the bottle of whiskey they’d gone through at Rosie’s. “You… I woulda jerked you off in public, if you asked me.”

Frank scoffs, turns over, and puts his pillow over his head. Trapper hopes he smothers himself.

“What about in private?” Trapper leers.

“With Frank right there? He’ll have a crisis.”

Trapper pouts, finally finds the edge of his blanket, and snuggles as best as he can into his cot. “Gonna kiss me good night, at least?”

“No.”

“Hawk.”

“No!”

“Hawkeye.”

“You’re gonna taste gross.”

“Hawkeye, please?”

Frank shoots to a seat, a scowl burned into his face. “Pierce,” he snaps, “would you kiss him already so someone can get some rest around here?”

Then he’s turning over, facing the wall, and stuffing his pillow back over his head.

Trapper looks back up at Hawkeye. “Dad said it’s okay.”

Hawkeye stumbles in, nearly sloshing the whiskey onto Trapper’s bedsheets despite how little is left in the bottle. He takes a look at it, frowns, downs the last sip, and presses his lips against Trapper’s.

The whiskey’s already warm from Hawkeye’s mouth when Trapper parts his lips and lets Hawk pass it to him. The heat curls in his gut so tightly that he’s certain he’d be dragging Hawk to the supply shed if he wasn’t too drunk to move. When Hawk tries to pull away Trapper grabs him by the shoulder and swipes his tongue over his lips, pulling away the last dregs of whiskey so he can taste Hawkeye’s flesh beneath it.

When he does let Hawkeye go, Hawk looks down at him with pupils that are dilated with far more than just the dim light. “Night, Trap,” he says.

“Night, handsome,” Trapper slurs.

Frank sighs, as loudly as possible, so Hawkeye throws a pillow at him.

[maximilliansblog]

Welcome Home Hyacinth Theory 🏠🪻🐛

Hello Tumblr! Most Welcome Home theories are just little bits and pieces or “Wally is evil, guys look!”/”Wally is not evil! He is a goober!” etc.

This theory is fully fledged and provides a plot and evidence. I call it the Welcome Home “Hyacinth” theory, after the myth that it is based on. This will be a very long post so here is a TLDR: Julie kills Eddie while they are playing croquette-bowling out of jealousy because he is getting too close to Frank, who is supposed to be her boyfriend/best friend within the show. Either just Eddie or everyone involved gets replaced, except for Wally, who witnessed everything. This is why we have all of those videos of Wally dissociating.

I have been sitting around in my toom rambling to myself about this theory like a madman for over a week so I decided to share it.

Please reference this post from @/partycoffin (the creator of Welcome Home) when discussing Welcome Home and be respectful in the comments and reblogs.

Extra information from @theneighborhoodwatch:

Welcome Home Observation Document

Welcome Home Livestream Trivia

Welcome Home Archive Links + Backup Screenshots

Fanmade Welcome Home Wiki (I don't recommend the Fandom wiki)

Extra information on exploring the website from @angel-lyah:

Welcome Home Website Secrets

Alright, let’s get into it! I have evidence to back up every single one of those claims, and I will include it in this post.

I want to be very thorough with explaining this. I’ll start by establishing that there are three main plots within Welcome Home (that I have noticed, anyways):

The plot of the late 60’s - early 70’s TV show, Welcome Home - only related to published episodes, books, audios, etc. that would have been shown to the public at the time of airing Welcome Home

“Behind the show” - feelings and actions of the puppets outside of the show (such as Frank and Eddie being a couple, or Frank being nonbinary)

The Welcome Home Restoration Project - people working to restore the TV show, Welcome Home, and find any and all information related to it and who made it

Okay so for the rest of this essay, when I mention BtS, it is related to the “behind the show” plot. I will color these things blue. When I write WtS, it is related to the “within the show” plot. I will color these things green. When I write WHRP, it is related to the Welcome Home Restoration Project. I will color these things pink. I will also mention things that have been said either on Clown’s Tumblr blog, Clown’s Twitter, or old streams. I will say CS, meaning “Clown source” to denote these things and color them orange. Clown source and behind the show areas often overlap, so Clown source information is dominant over behind the show information (if it is both I will just color it orange). Good? Good.

Now let’s establish our characters (only the ones related to this theory) and their relationships to one another. We’ll go alphabetically, starting with Eddie, then moving onto Frank, Julie, and Wally. 

I’m going to assume that if you are reading this, you have already visited the website (clownillustration.com) and have a basic understanding of who Eddie is. So I will only focus on the elements of his character that will be relevant in this theory.

Eddie (WtS) is clumsy and overworks himself. He is often dragged into Julie’s games. His house (post office) looks like this:

Note the hyacinth flowers and the butterfly. Eddie (BtS) loves Frank. (CS) He is married to Frank in one art on Clown’s Tumblr. BY THE WAY IT TOOK FOREVER TO FIND THIS IMAGE!!!! THEY ARE IN THE BOTTOM LEFT CORNER!!

Frank (WtS) is Julie’s boyfriend as it is implied that they are a couple within the show (I know a lot of us don’t like hearing this, but remember the three plots) (also for everyone that is going to argue with me on this, go look on their little profiles in the neighborhood section of the website and come back to me) and best friend. His house looks like this:

Note the sunflowers. Frank (BtS) loves Eddie.

(CS) As I said before, in one art on Clown’s Tumblr, Eddie and Frank are married (you can tell by the rings on their fingers in that image) . Frank is nonbinary but uses he/him pronouns (Clown refers to Frank on his blog with only he/him pronouns, so that is what I will use. Nonbinary people do not have to use they/them pronouns! Pronouns are not equal to gender!)

(WtS) Julie is a rainbow monster. Her thing is that she likes to make up and play games. She seems to be very strong (perhaps related to her being a rainbow monster), as she can easily lift Wally and is indirectly referenced to [throw a baseball very well] by Barnaby in the Live Interview audio. She also incorporates bowling into a lot of games where it is unnecessary. She seems to be immature, which is usually used to make her a playful character. Her and Frank are a couple. In several arts, her horns are different shapes or even nonexistent, implying that she has some ability to change her form. Her house looks like this:

Note the heart motif throughout the design. (BtS) Julie is best friends with Frank. (CS) She is genderfluid (she is only referred to using she/her pronouns on Clown’s blog, so that is what I will use). 

(WtS) Wally is the main character in Welcome Home. His house is alive and is named Home. Home is often considered to be a ninth neighbor. Wally often communicates for Home. (WHRP) Wally signs Home’s name in the guestbook (as Home does not have hands) (please stop with the tentacles I have seen the art please stop for the love of god where did that even come from). (WtS) The other neighbors frequently ignore and talk over Wally, but he doesn’t seem to mind, saying that he loves all of his friends in the live interview audio.

Okay so now that that is established, let’s look at some promotional art. Promotional art is not necessarily canon and may contain outdated designs, but may hint at the plot of Welcome Home. 

There is one more artwork that I would like to add, but it is on Clown’s KoFi. Here is a link to it that you can look at if you are subscribed to Clown’s KoFi:

[link to Clown’s KoFi here]

I won’t describe the image because some of you may not be subscribed to Clown’s KoFi. But if you are, you will see that the image supports my theory.

While we are discussing that image, I would also like to say that I believe that the puppets are some kind of biological organisms. I don’t have much evidence for this right now, but I may make a theory in the future. 

We will come back to those promotional arts soon. Right now, let’s look at Frank and Eddie’s houses and discuss some symbolism and mythology.

Frank’s house has sunflowers outside of it. Sunflowers are a symbol of Apollo. Eddie has hyacinths outside of his post office, obviously a symbol of Hyacinthus. Hyacinthus and Apollo were lovers, but Hyacinthus tragically died. Let me tell the story so we have context. (I am really into Greek mythology by the way, it’s always been a special interest since middle school but I am also a Hellenic pagan, you should follow my witchcraft and paganism blog, creatively named @maxiswitchcraftandpaganblog)

So Apollo, god of the sun, art, archery, and LOTS of various other things, loved Hyacinthus, who was a mortal Spartan man. And Hyacinthus loved him too, by the way. The god of the (west? don’t feel like googling it) wind, Zephyrus, was jealous of Hyacinthus, because he also loved Apollo. 

One day, Apollo and Hyacinthus were playing discus (like frisbee but the frisbee is giant and made of metal, kind of like a shield). Apollo threw the discus to Hyacinthus, but Zephyrus blew the discus off course with the wind, causing it to hit Hyacinthus in the head and kill him. Apollo created the hyacinth flower from Hyacinthus’ blood as he died, but in some myths made him a god. (read more on Apollo and Hyacinthus here)

I’m going to draw some parallels here. Frank = Apollo, Eddie = Hyacinthus, Julie = Zephyrus. Now Frank’s and Eddie’s parallels make sense because of the flowers, but where did I get Julie=Zephyrus from? Recall that (WtS) Julie and Frank are supposed to be a couple. Now, (BtS) Julie may or may not like Frank in that way, but she certainly enjoys being close to him as his best friend. Since she is already established as an immature character, it would make sense that she would be jealous seeing Frank get closer to Eddie.

Pause. So WtS, Frank and Julie are together. BtS, Frank and Eddie are together. If these are separate, then what is Julie jealous about? (WtS) Frank has been seen getting closer to Eddie even in the official material of the show. An example of this is him telling Eddie that he works too hard at the end of the “Eddie’s Big Lift” storybook record. So his BtS love for Eddie is leaking into the WtS canon. That is a problem for Julie, who is supposed to be Frank’s girlfriend WtS. So she comes up with an idea to fix this, much like the jealous god, Zephyrus. 

So what does she do? Let’s turn our attention to the “Just So” song demo. This song was never finished with instrumentals, and for a reason. The puppets function as actors in the show, as it is obvious that they have their own free will, and Julie does something that the writers do not expect later in this episode. So the song was never finished because the episode was ruined. 

In the “Just So” song demo, Frank and Julie are about to play croquette bowling. It was supposed to be just croquette, as Frank put on his croquette bow tie, but last minute, Julie added bowling to the mix. 

Wally knocks on the door and interrupts their song, saying that Home wants to play croquette bowling too. This implies that Julie told someone else that they would be playing croquette bowling after she added bowling. I feel like Wally and Home overheard Julie telling Eddie that they would be playing croquette bowling. This would make sense, as Wally often stands by and listens while the other neighbors talk. It is not unusual for Eddie to participate in Julie’s games, either, as we see from Julie playing “business woman in the big city” with him. [add a photo]

The song recording ends before we see them playing croquette bowling together. But I have a piece of evidence to tell us how it ends. Look at this promotional art again.

You probably assumed that the figure in the back was holding a hammer, but that could actually be a croquette mallet!

It’s covered in some gory-looking stuff, probably from Eddie. Now look at the flower. Whose eyes look like that? Almond-shaped, round pupils. Only one character: Wally. Wally was a witness, which would make sense for him, since he often watches on as the other neighbors do things. 

Julie is holding the flower in front of her, looking innocent. This is a stretch, but I think that this might be symbolism for her saying that she didn’t do it on purpose, Wally saw the whole thing, ask him! And Wally doesn’t know what to do. I don’t know what he does from there.

Maybe this image is a clue? I genuinely don’t know. Once again, promotional art is not necessarily canon, but we can use the concepts from it in theories.

This next part is also a bit of a stretch. The neighbors having a memory of something like that happening would ruin their “acting” (I think they are just being recorded as they do what they would naturally do). The show can’t have that. The solution? Replace everyone involved. 

Now go back and look in the promotional art section and look at that art of Frank. It looks like Frank is laying among extra puppet parts. They have extras!

And this is why Wally is dissociating in the videos we see when we click on the bugs. They did not replace him, because like the neighbors, they didn’t even notice he was there.

Okay yeah that’s the theory. It was really hard to get this into a coherent Google Doc and gather all the links. I was just rambling to myself about this in my room over and over pacing around for like a week. But yeah here you go, hope it's a good theory, sorry if it's not lol please be nice to me

[lulublack90]

Prompt 14 - Lips

@jegulus-microfic February 14 Word count 680

Previous part First part

The attack on the Ministry was going perfectly for the Aurors and the Order. It was not going well for Voldemort and his followers.

Half of Voldemort’s forces had apparated into the atrium as he had, and the rest had flooed in using the fireplaces that lined the walls. 

The other side had been waiting for them and immediately started firing jinxes and hexes at the ambushed death eaters. Regulus had stuck with Evan and Barty, trying to draw them away from the worst fighting, but Barty was determined to get into the thick of it. 

Regulus had to sneakily stun Barty in the back while dodging an Aurors blast to get his friend away from fighting Frank.

“EVAN!” He yelled over the shouting and screaming of the battle. “EVAN HELP ME MOVE BARTY!!!” Evan broke away from his duel by shooting thick ropes out of his wand and binding the Order member before he helped Regulus drag Barty’s limp form out of the fray. “Get him out of here, Evan. We’ll have to retreat any minute now. We can’t win this battle.”

“What about you, Reg?” Evan asked breathlessly as he moved Barty further away.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll follow you soon. I promise. Now go!” Regulus started moving back towards the battling witches and wizards. He fired harmless spells here and there, making it look like he was trying. He heard the crack of apparition, and when he looked back, Evan and Barty were gone. 

Three Aurors came out of nowhere and cornered him. He raised his wand, ready to defend himself. Sirius came barreling over before any spell could be cast. 

“He’s mine!” He barked at the aurors. They left him to it, seeing the look of utter determination in his eyes. 

Regulus and Sirius started duelling. It was all flash and bangs, but it looked impressive. They took up an enormous amount of space, spreading out to make their show more realistic. 

Regulus caught Sirius with a beam of red light, and Sirius dramatically crashed to his knees, crying out, but miraculously managed to regain his feet and continue. 

Regulus performed an excellent spin in the air when a blue shot hit him and managed to fire off a stunning charm over his shoulder, narrowly missing Sirius and hitting a death eater who had crept up behind his brother. 

They continued their dance until someone screamed a spell near them, and an inferno of fire erupted around them. They stopped firing at each other and ducked their heads under their arms, protecting their faces.   

The fire raged around him in an entwining circle. The extreme heat dried his mouth and cracked his lips. There was no way out he was trapped.

He looked over to Sirius, who was in a similar state. 

“You okay?” His brother mouthed at him in case anyone could hear them. Regulus nodded, but he wasn’t sure. Sirius gave him a sad half-smile.

The flaming circle slowly began creeping towards them, crushing them together. “Sorry, Reggie,” Sirius murmured, now they were closer together. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.” Regulus grabbed his brother’s hand. If they were going to go down, they’d go down together.

Then, just as the fire was almost licking their boots, a madman on a broom came swooping over and scooped them up, carrying them high above the deadly flames and setting them down safely where no one could see. 

Regulus threw himself at James, and James held him tightly. Sirius pushed his way in, needing the contact as well. It was brief, but that moment meant a lot to them all. 

“You need to leave now, Reggie,” Sirius said urgently, eyes darting around. 

“Voldemort called a retreat just before I got you out. Most of them have gone.” James added as he dragged Regulus in for one last hug. 

“Thank you,” Regulus said into James’s chest. 

A loud kerfuffle behind them forced Regulus to leave the safety of James’s arms, and with a sad smile at his brother, he ran and disapparated back to Grimmauld Place.   

Next part

[the-most-faithful]

The other day I published an edit what if Lily had chosen Snape without war, (you can find it here if you want to see it) which the two have a child. Now among the various comments the classic Marauder Stan who tries to throw mud at Snape has obviously popped up, let's analyze the points touched, because they could be interesting

Obviously we start from a classic, they try to pass off Snape as a homicidal madman who wanted all non-magic people to die, we know full well that it's not true. He joined the Death Eaters it's true but he didn't really want to kill all the non-wizards. Having established this, let's move on to the slur

If you've been following me for a while you know that I find it quite problematic to associate Death Eaters with Nazis, I understand the meaning but it's a delicate topic, so sorry if I'll use the term classists instead, but it seems more respectful to me.

Now the fact that Snape apologized for the only insult ever directed at Lily can't be denied, it's canon, so what do the Marauders Stan? Well they obviously gloss over "yes he apologized BUT THEN he joined the Death Eaters" and excuse the frankness, but thank fu*k, despite having apologized he was dumped by the only friend he had in the canon and the guys who should have represented the good have continued to bully him for years. It's not like Snape had many choices. Let's reiterate the obvious: Snape was wrong to join the Death Eaters, what he suffered is NOT an excuse, we are just repeating the reasons for his actions. Understanding is different from justifying.

Honestly I'm missing the logical leap here. How does the fact that I pointed out that the Marauders never apologized for their actions, unlike Snape, lead to the conclusion that James and Sirius' heavy bullying equals a classist group of Death Eaters? Really, it escapes me.

So I corrected, saying that bullying is always wrong, it doesn't matter if the victim is a bad person, it's still bullying. And I thought we had at least reached a meeting point, they are all wrong, James and Sirius are wrong like Snape. Well not really since Snape was the victim, but hey if it can't get any better I can accept it, let's pretend they're on the same level. But no, the Marauders Stan always try to make Snape look worse than he is, so he magically becomes worse because when he grows up (in the future) he will treat his students badly. Clear isn't it? Future faults are why the bullying was less severe, which really makes sense. (BIG Face Palm)

They were all bad people, can we accept this? Obviously not, because Marauders Stan always have to defend their pupils, even going so far as to invent things. It starts to get comical how they want to distort the canon. The Marauders have gone from arrogant bullies to, in their imagination, vigilantes who defend others and attack bad guys. It's a shame that the bad guys who attack the weakest are actually them. You also notice how inconsistent they are, they admit that they were bullies BUT they try to justify them. Snape joined the Death Eaters after school so the Marauders bullied him from first year. The sense? Do you see it? Is it under the carpet by any chance? But by the same "logic" of this person the fact that Snape will join the classist group in the future justifies the Marauders bullying Snape.

Of course, Snape was bad since he was a child because... well we don't know why, they never explaine this. So he was bad from an early age because they say so, then only when Lily was in danger did he do the right thing. Do you hear the bells too? He did the right thing. They admitted it, he did the right thing. "Yes, but only because Lily was in danger" Exactly, this is the exact definition of an antihero, he is not someone without blemish who saves people for no personal reason. Regardless, everyone in the saga has personal reasons. James, Sirius and Remus didn't join the war against Voldemort because they had nothing better to do. They couldn't stay out of it. Let's dispel this false idea. James was with Lily who was a target, could he have stayed out of the war? Obviously not. Remus was a werewolf, or he was with the Death Eaters who would have disgusted him or he was with Dumbledore who always protected him, did he really have a choice? I would say no. Sirius same thing, his family disowned him, he only had his friends and since they were in danger he joined the Order. So they all had a personal reason too, the fact that they did the right thing for this doesn't seem to create any problems to me, why does it for Snape? Usual double standard.

Here I meant future sins, but I think the meaning is understood.

In all of this, they managed to defend the Marauders by proving that they weren't bullies? Obviously not. They're just trying to attack Snape.

If there are any updates I will let you know

[arioloyal]

Sepandarmazgan

Part 4

(King baldwin iv x reader)

Warning: none

A/n : This part of the story is narrated by a knight named Kristous. I have decided to give this story a philosophical and romantic aspect so that can't just be a boring lovestory . Merry Christmas to all my Christian friends. I hope your dreams and wishes come true this year♡

Like and reblogs are appreciated

Kristous pov:

Our jaws were still dropped from our mouths and our face were pale. We were all waiting for lord lusignan today when we suddenly saw lady y/n just enter the door. What were we left to do? We had heard enough terrible things about her, especially from Reynald de Chatillon, when we saw her appear before us like that, we unconsciously felt a little fear. But her behavior seemed very kind and friendly. After welcoming us one by one, she said that she came here to have a little talk with lord Guy de Lusignan.

I was afraid that something would happen. I said, "lord...lord Lusignan doesn't usually welcome uninvited guests, especially guests who find their way into his secret meetings. It's better to go now and talk to him personally later."

Lady y/n said, “God bless all of you knights of the Holy Land. Thank you for the warning, but sometimes it takes an incident to solve some problems.”

What?! She had read my mind? Honestly, I had heard before that y/n could read people's minds.

"Don't worry," she continued, " this conversation won't last long."

jerard was sitting next to me. He bent down and whispered in my ear: "Look at this rude woman! She has come to the secret hall! She's really the devil of Jerusalem."

I shook my head, but to be honest, I didn't saw anything like the devil in her. The image she made of herself in my mind was that of a pious, faithful, frank and bold woman. I kept my thoughts to myself.

A few minutes later, Guy entered the door. He seemed to be deep in thought, his eyebrows were close to each other. He hadn't taken a single step. he froze there and looked at the uninvited guest.

"What is this infidel woman doing here? Why did you let her disturb our secret meeting?"

We knights looked at each other but before we could answer, y/n interrupted him and said that she had been walking around the palace when she happened to come across here and wanted to see a man who hate her the most in the entire of Jerusalem.

Some of the knights coughed nervously and embarrassedly. I looked at jerard, he was also nervous and worried. There was such anxiety in the air that you could even touch it with your hand.

Lord Lusignan said, "I don't care why you came here. I have more important things to do than talk to you. You have no right to be here at all. Hurry up and get out."

Lady y/n said, "I see you don't want to talk in front of me. But behind my back you gossip like a nightingale, no one can stop you. You have a habit of gossiping behind me and the king and making dirty accusations. Now Since we have occupied your mind so much, you probably have some questions. go ahead! I'm listening!"

:"I have nothing to do with you. Whatever I need to know, I know. all these knights as well."

At that moment, lady y/n turned to us and raised her voice, "If someone says, 'I know everything I need to know,' they should not be known as your lord, but as a fool." . Only the ignorant think they know everything."

Guy's face was red with anger. Until today, no one had been seen with such boldness in the palace.

:"In that case, come and ask these knights: Which one is more important for Jerusalem? The holy soldiers and defenders of Jerusalem or a wandering madman who does nothing but pry and ask questions and whose mind is always distracted?"

All the people present there took the guy's side, but I felt that most of them are not honest and just want to gain his trust.

Lady y/n asked, :"You sit everywhere and with everyone and talk behind my back. You say I was sent by the devil. Okay, now that's the case, please tell me what a devil is?”

Lord Lusignan, who now had a good opportunity to express himself, said: "devil is the worst enemy to man and humanity, and always walks among us in disguise. Sometimes in the form of a poor and seemingly innocent human, and sometimes in the form of a beautiful woman. comes to encourage us to get out of the right path. The devil appears in different forms that we don't expect it at all. For example, may appear in the form of a traveling and ordinary girl. But the faithful soldiers of Christ, won't listen to such a evil. "They never allow you to enter their privacy." Then he examined her from head to toe.

Lady y/n smiled as if she was expecting this insult and said,: "I know what you mean. But it was so easy! It's good for us to always look for the devil in others, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?" he asked hesitantly.

:"Well, if the devil is as cunning and powerful as you say and is always waiting for an opportunity to be by our side, what is the need for us, the humans, to blame ourselves for the mistakes that we have done with our own wish? we usually say that all sins is because of the devil and all good is from the god, so what exactly we're doing here as a human? In this way, there is no reason to ask ourselves questions and make up for our mistakes. We blame everything either on Satan or on God. Let's go. See ? how easy it is?"

:"You either have a lot of courage and intelligence or you're very stupid to talk about such things to such people." Guy said to y/n

But she continued talking as if she didn't hear his voice and started walking in the hall between us.

: "a human is such a complex being that he can prepare both heaven and hell for himself. is the highest creation of God. However, can become higher than high or lower than low. If we understood the meaning of this deeply, Then we wouldn't look for the devil outside, but inside our own soul. The only thing we need is to check ourselves, not to look for mistakes in others."

jerard said from the corner with a mocking tone: "You, fire worshiper, you better check yourself first. I hope one day you will answer for the lies you're saying."

:"So let me tell you a story," she said.

... Four merchants were praying in an empty church. At the same time, the head of the merchants joins them. The first merchant abandons his prayer and immediately asks: "Then what will happen to these loads of silk that we were supposed to take with us?"

The second merchant abandons his prayer and says to his friend: You fool! Don't you know that you should not talk to anyone during prayer? Now all your prayers will be null and void."

The third merchant also made such statements.

The fourth merchant couldn't bear it anymore. he whispered: Look at these fools! All three of them gave up their prayers. thanks to the god, i didn't allow myself to be deceived and stop my worship with idle words like them."

After finishing this story, y/n turned to the knights and asked, "Well, what do you think? Which one of these four merchants do you think had their prayers accepted by the god?"

There was a wave in the hall, some of the templars thought, some started to discuss the answer. Finally, one of them shouted from the bottom of the hall: "The prayers of the second, third and fourth merchants are not accepted. Only the first merchant is innocent because he only asked to consult his boss."

Another one said: "Yes, but he shouldn't have left his prayer half-done. In my opinion, except for the fourth one, the rest of the merchants were wrong. The fourth merchant was only talking to himself."

I looked away from them. I wasn't sure that any of these two answers were correct. But I preferred not to say anything. If I say my opinion, probably no one would like it. Suddenly, y/n stood up, pointed at me and asked.

Well, what do you think?!"

I said: "If these merchants have a fault, it is that they stopped worship and spoke. Their main mistake was that instead of focusing on God and the truth of the prayer they recited, they started criticizing each other." Their thoughts are somewhere else and all their senses are distracted. Now if we judge them, we will also commit the same sin."

One of those bigoted knights interrupted me: "What do you want to say?"

I answered: "I say that all four merchants are wrong for the same reason. But on the other hand, it's not right to judge them because I don't know which one of them was accepted by the Lord. As a person, I only do my work and deal with my own mistakes. I have nothing to do with others but protect them."

Lady y/n gave me such an admiring look that I felt like I was being praised by the whole world. she asked my name. "Kristous, my lady," I said.

At that time y/n turned to the rest of the templars and knights and said:" your friend is a true knight, maybe he is not aware of this fact yet. But his soul is very similar to the pious men. I think that Now you understand the difference between a fanatic and a true knight. You must be very careful about your thoughts. Because the disease caused by thoughts is much worse than physical disease, and bigotry is a disease worse than leprosy. will take all your soul and faith away . Be more careful in choosing your friends."

lord Guy, who couldn't take it anymore, angrily left the hall and slammed the door behind him. if she wasn't the king's special guest, im sure she would be behaded right there.

A few people laughed a little after he left, but y/n said with obvious sadness in her voice, :"I've met hundreds of knights and members of this palace so far, some of them were very honest and sincere people like the king. But some, even a little bit They did not understood the real Christianity properly and only used it for their own benefit. It is true that I am not a Christian, but this much I understood that it is possible to live with someone despite all the differences without causing harm. The true love of God is never combined with ambition for power . And I wouldn't never exchange it to wealth."

she raised her head and returned to her previous determination: "That's enough for today. What you witnessed today is the separation of mind and heart. This duality exists in all religions. Make your choices!"

she was silent for a while, as if she was waiting for us to understand her words.

:"In any case, neither your lord Lusignan knows more than he should know, nor do I. Maybe he is blind, and I am also blind. The important thing is that the blindness of a person doesn't harm the sun. The discussion of people with different religions is also has no effect on God. Now you understand why your king always prefers peace."

she put her hand on her chest and said goodbye to all of us and left us all alone in that hall with thousands of questions.

I raised my head for a moment and was horrified by what I saw. I saw the king who witnessed all the events from behind the columns of the upper floor. I wanted to inform everyone but he gave me a sign that I should remain silent. Today was supposed to be a day full of mystery. didn't end well...

To be continued...

[misteria247]

So a little bit of the Muppets concept for Welcome Home that I've come up with so far. Please bare with me as I can't actually write, write anything for this little au but I can ramble so hopefully it'll make sense-

The reader (you) are a tired, struggling adult just trying to get by in life. You've kinda forgotten about how wonderful the world can be, because of all the responsibilities and such that comes with growing up. You just live a mundane existence, go to work and just exist. And you're content somewhat, though not really.

You ended up getting the puppets from a local town auction house. The person who'd owned the home previously had passed away, leaving behind their precious treasures. Since they didn't have anyone in their will to inherit their prized possessions, the town council had decided to do any auction house to get rid of everything within it. You don't know exactly why you'd decided to stop by. Perhaps it was to try and change up your routine, or perhaps fate had a hand in it. Whatever it was you soon find yourself inside the vast, old red home surrounded by other potential buyers and looking through all the knickknacks that were being sold off.

You stumble over all sorts of things, from old records to folders full of drawings and designs. Old musty costumes and a lot of older merchandise that came from the 70s. You noticed that a lot of said merchandise was apart of one of those older shows, like the Muppets and Sesame Street, called Welcome Home. An old 70s children's show that had ended up being canceled due to the loss of funding and such before its existence faded into obscurity. It's while you're looking around that you caught sight of a puppet off to the side. That puppet would be Wally.

You go over and look at him and find seven other puppets, all of them in somewhat mint condition, save for a few rips and tears that you can easily fix. You don't know why these puppets of all colors and sizes caught your attention, but you did know this. You wanted to take them home with you. You'd hunted down the auctioneer who was holding the event and asked him for prices and such like their names. Unfortunately you didn't have enough money for all of them but the auctioneer decided to give you an offer, stating that if no one else showed any interest in the puppets by the end of the auction, he'd give them to you for the price you tried to offer.

Two weeks later you get a call, and soon you're bringing them to your home. Once they're settled in you're a bit reluctant about the situation, seeing how some of the puppets are bigger than you. However seeing them in their somewhat saddened states made your reluctance disappear. If anything these puppets would at least give you a project to do to spice up your normal, mundane routine. And so that's how it started. Every time you had spare time, you'd get out your sewing kit and begin to repair the rips and tears in the old soft felt puppets. You had to visit the seamstress store to get some materials and had to order some too, using what spare money you put back to cover the costs of all of it. This was how you spent a lot of your time whenever you weren't working or doing other things.

However during all of this you'd also began to notice rather strange occurrences. You find that sometimes your things go missing, such as your house keys or parts of your uniform whenever you'd have to get ready for work. Things were being moved around, and even a bit of food had started to go missing. Not only that but the puppets you were fixing up and taking care of began to pop up in random places that you didn't put them before you'd left the house or room. Soon you find yourself wondering if perhaps a stranger was secretly living in your house, and it made you incredibly uneasy. However nothing could have prepared you for the actual reasons as to why all the strange things had been happening.

You'd been let out of work earlier than usual, your boss having no need for you to be there. And after getting a few things from the store you'd made your way home and took out the key to unlock it. Only to hear someone on the other side of the door talking. Going deathly silent, you slowly open your front door, glancing around for the source of the voice. Grabbing a nearby vase to defend yourself, you slowly made your way towards the direction of the voice, raising the vase to be ready only to come face to face with Barnaby B. Beagle.

Let's just say that you used that vase and by God did it do it's job. You also may have screamed and ended up making the other puppets come running which may have freaked you out a little bit more. Once they'd managed to calm you down from your panic attack and you began to question if you were finally losing your mind cuz puppets can't talk??? Much less walk and eat????? Yet here they were, doing exactly that and watching you with borderline concern. It was a very strange and awkward day for you after that. But little did you know that these puppets would become some of the most important people within your life.

[captainpirateface]

The boy inside of me. An ode to Allred's Madman. The greatest hero ever put to paper. ❤️

[spittingbloodandscreaming]

Motel Sex (Gerard Way x Male reader SMUT)

Was supposed 2 post this erleir forgor about the passage of time please forgive me will work on requests tomorrow I haven't slept in 3 days

WARNINGS: nothing much really? Mild hair pulling?

AN: This has been sitting in my docs for a WHILE so I thought I'd finish it up and throw it here so there's atleast something while I work on the other requests

Gerard sighs at himself and looks around the empty motel room. The guys have left him the space to "Have some alone time with your ‘friend’. wink wink,” Frank said, emphasizing the wink out loud before leaving. Gerard glances at the time on the half-broken electric clock on the nightstand—only fifteen minutes until you planned to arrive. No big deal, right? He can wait.

Enough time has passed, and Gerard is watching one of the limited channels on the TV before he hears you knock on the door. Excited, he jumps up to answer.

“Hey, Gee!” you say as the door opens, revealing your boyfriend, a look of relief on his face as if he had been half expecting you to not show up. He greets you happily and hugs you tight before welcoming you in. “Where are the guys?” you ask, sitting down on one of the two queen-sized beds in the motel room.

“They went out for a while, givin’ us alone time. Should be leftovers, though,” he says, leaning in to kiss you as he finishes his sentence. “But I think I’ll be pretty full by the time I’m done with you.” Gerard leans further into you, pushing you fully onto the mattress. It’s very clear how amused by his own joke he is.

“What are you implying there, Mr. Way?” you say before giggling back into the next kiss.

“Oh, you know,” Gerard says, mischievously smiling before grabbing you around the waist and getting on top of you. He’s straddling your legs, keeping you in place against the bed. Gerard grins wide, kissing all over your face. He’s utterly thrilled to be with you, to have you in his arms, even if it’s in a dingy motel.

Gerard can’t keep himself contained, giggling like a madman as he moves down to gently kiss your neck. He’s so caring with his touch, or at least tries to be. He keeps his hands in yours for the most part, squeezing them lovingly. Eventually, though, his hands travel up to your neck, long fingers resting on your pulse as he gently nips at the base of your jaw.

As the moments pass, Gerard’s kisses get progressively more intimate and prolonged, and eventually, his fingers start to dig into the soft flesh of your neck. You can’t tell if he’s doing it on purpose, or if he’s just that into it. Either way, you don’t mind, and that’s evident by the soft whines each one of his kisses pull from your throat. Something about those sounds make Gerard snap, grinding his hips against yours as he lets out a long drawn-out whine of his one. He licks a long line from the base of your neck up to your mouth, turning it into a rough, sloppy kiss.

Gerard trails his hand down your torso, hooking his fingers in the waistband of both your pants and underwear, pulling them down just enough to reveal your half-erect cock. He wraps his hand around your cock gingerly, and, ignoring the action, just the way he handled it was gay. 

Your muscles tense as Gerard keeps his movements steady, slow high-pitched whimpers filling the motel as he slowly moves himself down, putting his face at crotch level. He rests his head on your upper thigh. He looks up at you, face just inches away from your cock as he smiles oh so sweetly. You look down at him, voice trembling; “Please.” Gerard needs no other encouragement. He runs his tongue up the length of your dick slowly before shoving as much of you in his mouth as he can, which is, admittedly, a lot.

He sucks you off so perfectly, you can’t fathom how one man could make you feel this good. He has you grabbing handfuls of the sheets, bucking your hips and in turn making the back of your cock hit his throat. You arch your back and grab a handful of Gerard's hair, the other hand hitting the mattress. You’re practically screaming—you wouldn’t be surprised if the guys got a noise complaint because of you.

You only last a few more minutes before your moans begin to catch in your throat, and Gerard notices. He digs his nails into your thighs as he takes your whole length in his mouth, throat contracting around your cock as he does so, ripping a loud, broken scream from your throat. You use the handful of his hair you have as leverage, shoving him all the way down as your dick twitches—one final warning before you cum down his throat. 

Gerard stays in place until you’re done, swallowing around your cock before bringing himself up. He has drool and cum dripping down his chin, and his hair is a mess, and he’s smiling so wide you’d think he just got a million-dollar check and a puppy. He crawls back up to kiss you gently before laying his head on your chest and sighing. He stays silent for a moment, before clearing his throat and whispering. 

“I love you.” You can feel him smiling against you still.

“I love you too,” you say, sighing and closing your eyes.

“Y’know, we should probably get your pants on before the guys get back.”

[ultimatedreamer104]

pjo/hoo characters as things i have overheard in conversations :

Percy: listen! I just need the thing!!!

annabeth: the thing??

Percy: the thinggggg!!!! Ya know- *makes grasping/grabbing motions with his hands* THE THING!!!! annabeth:*backs away* you mean your penn???

Percy, looking up, with tears in his eyes, on his knees now: yes, the pen,

annabeth: isn’t it in your pocket?

Percy, picking his head up off the floor: …..*gets up, takes pen out of his pocket and stares at it, the proceeds to throw it to the other side of the room, then turns back to annabeth: this never happened.*runs away*

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Leo, holding a lighter very close to his face: 𝐹𝒾𝓇𝑒

Jason: Leo- lets *glances around as though expecting to see cameras* let’s uh- put the lighter down yeh??

Leo, turning his head slightly: but Jason!!! *waves lighter around as he gestures to it like the madman he is* it’s (っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ Fire ♥

Jason leaves

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Piper, flourishing a pink packet, that has a little boba drawing on it: so I got this as a little early birthday present from my grandparents, it’s a bubble tea mask *try’s to open it, but fails* why can’t I *grunts* 𝗢𝗽𝗲𝗻 it? *finally opens it* okay… I’m scared… *smells the mask/inside the bag or whatever, recoils back, with a look of disgust on her face* ✨Ｎｏ✨, *looks at bag* it’s supposed to smell like strawberry’s… it smells-it smells good! (Using obvious sarcasm) ew, there’s like- juice in it, what the-*gasps and recoils back* it’s dripping 👀 okay…*unfolds mask* it’s so slimy- *puts mask on her face* oh it’s so cold!!!*after fully applying mask to her face* no! It’s in my mouthhhh,

Leo smirking: why did you eat it????

Piper, crying laughing; I don’t know, I look so weird too—-

Leo: nice mustache by the -

Jason, coming around the corner: don’t, just back away Valdez

Leo: okay bro, fine

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Jason: I'm dieing, bleh

Hazel: And hows heaven?

Nico: bru-

Percy: don’t you mean hell? Jason of all people wouldn’t make it to heaven-

Annabeth smacking Percy ; Percy! That’s so rude!

Frank : so how is hell?

Jason: warm

Nico: no its not-

Leo : have you made s’mores yet??

Jason: … no, not yet

Leo: that’s sad

Jason: I know 😞

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Annabeth: We have group tonight! Who’s coming? Percy: I am 😘

Frank: me and hazel will be there👍

Leo: Whoo whoo!! 🎉🦉😘

will: I thought frank was the one who transforms-?

Nico: don’t question it

Jason: I’ll be there

piper: im a little early, should i head inside or wait til 7 in the car?

Hazel: I think you'll be fine 🤷🏼‍♀️

Leo: Storm the gates ⚔️

piper: mk

Percy: Have fun storming the castle

annabeth: Do you think it'll work?

Percy: It'll take a miracle. Bye bye!!

piper: i have stormed the gates

Leo: hah! Nice

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Leo coughing violently: I’m still sick

Leo still coughing: this cough needs to go man

will, coming from nowhere; sorry man but uh- seems that you have cough-itis , and I’m afraid that it’s permanently

[writefullyrobin]

2x03 – I’ll light a candle for you every day thoughts

Oh boy… never meet your teenage crush as an adult. Just let that stay in the past. The memories are much better than the reality of meeting them again.

Fiona has always been attracted to absolute dickheads apparently. Steve is not new, he’s just the latest. Because Craig? He’s clearly after for something and it’s pretty easy to guess what. He’s been with the same woman since high school. He wants to play the field.

Debbie’s developed an obsession with death. Guess she’s at the age where she really grasps the concept of it now. For all that she’s lost people in her life, they’re not dead, just not there so this must be a first encounter for her. It’s amusing her going around singing songs all dressed in black.

I liked her little friendship with Ethal. Who still dresses like she’s walked out of Little House on the Prairie. She’s not changed a bit, other than gaining some confidence, and I love it. her oddness is what helps her fit into the Southside.

OK, new character alert with Jody who looks to be sticking around. A guy who is in his 30’s dating a 17 year old. This show has some strange romantic match ups. This one isn’t gonna last, is it? Karen’s gonna get bored with him in 5 minutes.

Is this season’s love triangle going to be Karen, Lip and Jody?

Frank proposing marriage to Dotty. Isn’t he technically still married to Monica? How’s that gonna work?

Never mind. It isn’t because Frank just lied to the hospital that she’s already dead! Well she is now, you stupid madman! I’m not sure how I feel about this subplot. On the one hand, Dotty chose to die when and how she wanted to, but Frank was the reason she felt forced into making that decision in the first place. Yeah, Frank is really deplorable.

Steve cameo! Against the worst blue screen ever… seriously? That’s the best they could do?