#I am in weird shift hell right now if my responses or anything get fucky that's just uhm the vibe in my brain tonight

[trenchcoatsbi]

also listen. anything I saw about newsies music is nothing (yet) to what the broadway soundtrack for Mamma Mia has done to me over the past few months

Listen Under Attack is Prune Juice Cookie coded, Super Trooper will forever be what comes to my mind when I think of two helsmit fanon characters (Ariana Grianda and Truesymmetry), Lay All Your Love On Me and Voulez Vous are sooo lifesteal s3!branzy and clown (and to a point so it Money Money Money), Our Last Summer is life series coded in ways I cannot explain, Winner Takes It All is Life series victors coded, Knowing Me, Knowing You has Fundy vibes, One Of Us/S.O.S. has Flower Husbands vibes in a way I also cannot explain (particularly in 3L/LimL). and there;s probably more but I'm forgetting which characters I think of when listening to the songs!

(also it's a running joke in two AUs to use the songs as an inside joke. I think one of them was a high school au where everybody forced Bdubs into the roll of Donna, had the rest of team best be sam, bill, and harry, and branzy was sophie for reasons I cannot explain. it still makes me laugh) - Voidling Anon

IM SO SORRY BUT FUCKING BRANZY AND CLOWN VOULEZ VOUS???? WAHGTH fucking wait wait that's gonna be in my head for a while fucking rotating those losers in my mind at absurd speeds

anywya hard agree on those fucking songs and the people ya listed for em. i had to read a wiki on prune juice cookie but raghghg half of me doing requests and shit is just me fucking beaming wiki articles straight into my brain anyway idk idk im fucking actually vibrating rn idk where the fuck this energy came from but I'll probably have to deal with that or just idk explode or something yknow normal guy things. yeah cool normal times with everyones favorite uhm whatever i am tbh

[leora-rambles]

Tolerant (Ghiaccio x Reader [Fluff])

Ahaha remember when I said I’d post the Ghiaccio fic two days after my last post 😎 ? Biggest lie I’ve ever told. Anyways, here’s a fluffy fic of my favourite rat bastard

———————

“They got you good, didn’t they, Ghia?”

You sighed, carrying the stubborn man over to the living room from the front door, his messy blue curls bouncing with each step you assisted him on.

Ghiaccio snarled, “First of all, it’s ‘Ghiaccio’, second of all, they were no match in the end,” He stretched his limbs before dropping onto the couch ungracefully,

“White Album absolutely kicked their shit in.” A satisfied grin grew on his lips as he relaxed onto the soft, ‘Fuckin’ pricey’ (As Ghiaccio once stated) furniture.

You always wondered how Ghiaccio’s pride was so resilient. You wondered how it stood so tall, like a skyscraper.

He was covered in wounds and bruises, yet he wasn’t drooping his head in shame. Ghiaccio could break all his bones with multiple mistakes attacking the enemy, but he’d still win the fight with his overpowering confidence.

If you were to confess your feelings towards him, how would he act? Would he still be assertive?

These thoughts invaded your mind as you scurried to the bathroom to fetch the first aid kit, also making it to the kitchen to fetch some ice.

At your arrival, you noticed Ghiaccio looking at you as if you had seven eyes and a monkey on your head. “Are you a dumbass? You know my stand ability, don’t you?” You scoffed at his remark, plopping down beside him.

Careful hands opened the first-aid kit as you replied to his rude outburst, “Of course I know about your stand ability, but I also know that you shouldn’t be using White Album now,” he sucked a breath in as you held his hand in yours.

“You need a break.”

Your words slapped Ghiaccio across the face with a feeling even he didn’t know how to describe. It was as if time had frozen for only him, enveloping his senses in tender warmth.

For the first time, the big mouthed critic was lost for words.

Ghiaccio kept his gaze on you as you lifted his ragged sleeve up, too preoccupied to notice his watchful eyes.

You picked up a cotton ball with tweezers, soaking it in alcohol before carefully dabbing it on a particularly nasty scrape you found on his forearm.

The man flinched at the first contact with the alcohol. Ghiaccio cussed under his breath as you kept working, humming a tune he didn’t recognize.

This process repeated with each scar you noticed, to Ghiaccio’s dismay. His hisses were reminiscent of a threatened street cat.

As you were wrapping the stand users arm up with bandages, you noticed the males attention on your lips.

“You alright?” Those words seemed to break Ghiaccio out of his daze.

His blush rivalled the vibrancy of his glasses, “Yeah, I’m fucki—.” The bruise on the corner of his lip stung with his harsh pronunciations, causing him to wince. His adrenaline had died down, and he was beginning to feel every bruise he was given.

Ghiaccio could feel his heart thump loudly as you suddenly cradled his cheeks in your palms, bringing his face closer to yours.

He felt dizzy. Both your breaths mingled for a second or two until you finally spoke,

“Ah, sorry. I didn’t notice that on your lip.”

Pulling away, you grabbed another cotton ball with Ghiaccio attempting to fight his racing pulse beside you. He tried controlling his breathing once you pulled him close once more.

The stand user thought he was being slick, but in reality, his emotions were easier to read than a book with size 68pt font. He was inching his face closer to yours with the hopes that you wouldn’t notice— or, that you would notice and take initiative.

He melted into your touch as you carried his face, resting his right cheek onto your left palm before you moved your hands’ position.

“Are you fucking done yet?”

“I can’t treat your face properly if I rush, idiot. Hold still.” His chin on your hand, Ghiaccio found it hard not to stare at your face. He strained his eyes trying to look at anything else, but your face was blocking most of his peripheral vision.

The alcohol-soaked cotton ball stung at Ghiaccio’s busted lip. He tried his best to stay quiet as you worked, but he couldn’t help the growing blush on his cheeks.

Your fingers felt so delicate against his cool skin, and your thumb would often run against his bottom lip a few times.

With how close you were to him right now, he would only need a small push to have his bruised lips come crashing on to yours.

Ghiaccio’s eyes widened as he realized what he was thinking about.

He shook his head lightly, as if to dispose of the thoughts running through his mind—

“Ah shit—!” You flinched as the male rubbed at the back of his head.

“Damn...” Ghiaccio felt the bump on the back of his head. He looked up at you pleadingly, eyeing the bag of ice in your hands.

You ran your fingers through his disheveled blue curls to find the bump he was talking about, causing Ghiaccio to pleasantly shiver then wince. ‘Injury after injury.’ You thought dolefully, a bit angry he was constantly getting hurt, yet blew it off as if his injuries meant nothing.

It hurt a bit, because to you, his injuries meant everything.

You cared for the blue icy moron, even when he was being an uncontrollable madman.

You wanted to lecture him for hours about how you cared for him his health, and how he needed to be less audacious.

But if he was going to act like his nearly fatal actions were nothing, then you’d do your best to act unaffected.

“Jeez, Ghiaccio, how are you even awake right now?”

“It’s not that bad, don’t act like I’m a child.”

“The bump is huge.”

Although the male acted as if he hated your attentiveness, he secretly (and he’d rather DIE than let you find out) enjoyed your worries with him.

Ghiaccio adored the tender attention you gave him, he wanted nothing more than to lay with you while you comb your fingers through his hair.

He wanted to hear you beam his name everyday with a sweetness only you had.

He wanted you to look at him like there was no other person on earth.

The male looked up at you as you held the ice pack on the back of his head. You were checking the time on your watch, estimating what time Ghiaccio should be allowed to fall asleep.

‘His complexions the same, and he hasn’t puked yet,’ You thought carfully, watching the clock tick from 1:59 am to 2 am, ‘He should be able to sleep in 10 minutes.’

Though your mind was in one place, Ghiaccio’s was in another. The stand user coughed to get your attention, and catch your attention he did.

“Will you take me to bed already?”

You both drowned in the thick, honey-like silence after his sentence. The atmosphere went heavy with the suffocating awkwardness.

It wasn’t a weird thing to say, honestly. He wanted to go to bed. He was tired. But the way he said it, and the fact that it was coming from him, your crush of several months— it just caught you off guard.

You could see for a whole 5 seconds, Ghiaccio had stopped thinking.

The male shook his head as a way to clear his mind, his words coming out in well hidden panic.

“I wanna fucking rest, don’t be thinking provocatively.” Ghiaccio spat, nearly stuttering over his words as he struggled to maintain eye contact with you.

“It’s alright with me, as long as you don’t fall asleep for a few minutes.” You replied after a playful sigh, supporting the male over to his bedroom.

Ghiaccio groaned once he hit the bed. He sensed all of the tenseness melt off of his limbs, and he could feel himself getting drowsy with each second. The stand user was sure he would’ve fallen asleep if it weren’t for the hard flick your index finger delivered to his forehead.

Maybe that was a bit much, but your patience waved goodbye and exited the door at that moment.

He screeched as you threatened to deliver another flick, “What the hell was that for?!” you growled in response to his carelessness. “You can’t sleep yet, idiot.”

Ghiaccio clicked his tongue in response, grumbling as he sat up on his bed.

His mouth opened and closed like a trash can, as if he wanted to snap back, but was too frustrated to think of something.

“I’m staying here for a bit,” You plopped down on his bed, crossing your legs and grabbing a book on his bedside table, “I’ll tell you when you can fall asleep.” He leaned on his bed frame, scoffing,

“Fine.”

You sensed that Ghiaccio was beginning to get restless, he was shifting around more, and his grumbles were that of boredom. Coughing, you decided to strike up a conversation.

“How did you defeat the enemy earlier?”

The blue haired man stared at you apathetically before mumbling, “I found a weak spot with his attacks. He only jabbed with his left arm, so I ducked to his right side then froze both his arms off.” You nodded your head, already losing interest in the book and shutting it close. Who the hell reads a dictionary to bed anyways?

“That’s brutal. How did you get so beat up, though?” “His partner ended up sneaking behind me, and they were a much better fighter compared to him.”

Ghiaccio fiddled with his fingers for a split second, something very out of character coming from him, “Of course, no one could ever defeat my White Album, now they’re both probably in a ditch somewhere.”

You shuddered at the image of two unfortunate proxies, most likely dead in a secluded area.

You tried to be empathetic with them, but found it difficult concerning that they managed to mess Ghiaccio up this much.

Did they really deserve your empathy?

Your informal patient was eyeing you during your thinking, causing a brilliant idea to pop into your mind; tease him.

Why? Well, the whole squad had been teasing you about your attentiveness to the blue idiot, and it was time to let it out on said idiot. It was basically a cycle of bullying.

If you had to experience all that embarrassment because of him, then he should have a taste of his own medicine. Was it his fault that the Squad was full of assholes? Not necessarily, but you had to get your revenge somehow.

A grin adorned your lips as you leaned in closer to the Stand user, “I’ve noticed, you’re a lot more tolerant towards me than towards the others,” Your voice dropped a few notes, in a way you knew would fluster someone.

“Why is that, Ghia?” The aforementioned male scrunched his nose, cheeks and ears slowly reddening. “I don’t. I treat everyone the same.” He huffed out, obviously flustered.

A giggle rose in your throat, “Fine, then. Is it alright with you if I were to sleep here?” His eyebrows tilted downwards as his lips formed a deeper scowl. “I don’t care, do whatever.” The way his eyes jumped around the room rapidly contradicted his statement.

“Would you ever let any of the other members share a room with you?”

“No, they annoy me, and most don’t know what basic hygiene is.”

“How come you’re letting me sleep here?”

Ghiaccio grumbled something under his breath before laying down and facing the other way, chucking his glasses on his nightstand. You laughed lightheartedly, deciding to stop your teasing to slip into the covers as well.

“You can sleep now, anyways—“ eyes fluttering, you inhaled the strong scent of fabric softener in the mans blankets, “—rest well, Ghia.”

A harsh yawn escaped Ghiaccios mouth as he stretched, confusion clouding his mind as he felt his limbs intertwined with another.

He brushed his messy blue curls to the side before looking down, only to feel a warmth form from the inside of his chest travel all the way to his cheeks. Ghiaccio laid still as he admired the view of your arms wrapped around his torso.

The sunlight dodging his thin curtains hit your face with perfection, giving your skin a royal-like glow. Your eyelashes fluttered with each breath you took, leaving the blue haired male speechless.

His arm had become numb from your head laying on top, and he was tempted to slip it away to shake off the static, but you just looked so peaceful.

Ghiaccios breath halted as you buried your face farther into his chest. He apologized to his arm with the intent of keeping it there for the rest of your sleep.

Though he wanted to rise up from bed, the thought of being under the covers with you seemed more enticing the more he reasoned.

‘There are no cons to staying in bed just a little bit longer,’ Ghiaccio rationalized. You let out a sleepy grumble, causing the male to finalize his decision. Ghiaccio leaned his cheek down on the top of your head, shutting his eyes in pure, cozy bliss.

Maybe you were right about him being more tolerant towards you after all.

[daddymenrah]

Better: Elliot x Reader

A/N: Pre-warning, abusive/unhealthy relationship. Lots of language and some sexual references.

I HAVEN’T WRITTEN ELLIOT IN SO LONG MY BB<3 (Also I’m still iffy about this one shot so critique is welcome)

 "Get the hell out before I do something I’ll regret!" I screech. Elliot grabs my wrist roughly, his eyes boring angrily into mine. I try to wrench my arm out of his grip, but he's too strong. "Let go! I swear to god Elliot!"

I twist and thrash until his hold loosens enough for me to escape. I shove him hard in the direction of the door, the alcohol in our systems lengthens his reaction time and his back thumps against it and it makes an unpleasant noise.

 It must have hurt. He charges towards me angrily.  "Stay the fuck away from me!" He yells. I’m shocked by the sudden raise in his volume, Elliot rarely shouts. I raise a fist but he grabs onto it and flings me onto the ground. I'm too drunk to really feel it, but the action itself hurts me emotionally. Furious tears spill down my cheeks and I let out a scream of frustration. 

"I hate you!" I shriek. He freezes, glares at me, then spins on his heel and storms from the room.

 *

"Hey, hey mama said the way you move,  Gonna make you sweat, gonna make you groove, Ah, ah child the way you shake that thing, Gonna make you burn, gonna make you sting."

 I smile sourly, I always loved this song, but it was poisoned by memories of him. Taking a deep swig of my straight vodka that made the bartender wince, I let myself remember him. The drunken lap dances that would inevitably lead to sex, and bathing in the afterglow. God, I miss the feel of his strong arms. I miss his olive skin and the way his stubble scratched my thighs when he neglected shaving. I miss his voice.

 It's been about five years since I've seen him, so many things have changed, but not my feelings for him. No one can take his place in my heart. After the night I kicked him out, we'd had sporadic contact, tearful phone calls, opportunistic hook ups, and then... Nothing. We were so bad for each other, we drained each other in every way.

 He was angry, he was vengeful. He had no time to love me, only time for revenge. He was scary, he was paranoid. He had no trust to give me.

I was angry, I was an adrenaline junkie. I couldn't slow down to love him, only to drink my next shot. I was drunk, I was depressed. I had no happiness to share with him.

 But we were in love with the idea that one day we could work.

 *

 “Ready, let’s roll onto something new,

Taking its toll then I’m leaving without you,

‘Cause heaven ain’t close in a place like this,

I said, oh, heaven ain’t close in a place like this,

Bring it back down, bring it back down tonight."

 I smile wryly at the memories we’d shared to this song. I wonder as I sip my drink where she might be right now, and why I’m sitting in a bar that plays The fucking Killers. Knowing her, she could be absolutely anywhere doing absolutely anything. She was so unpredictable. I wonder if that messed up eighteen-year-old I'd met seven years ago had grown up at all.

 It's been five years and two months since I've seen her, so many things have changed, but not my feelings for her. The times we saw each other before the complete loss of contact, we did what we did best, fucked each other mentally and physically. We were so fucking bad for each other, we bruised each other in every way.

 She'll be twenty three in a few weeks, I hit twenty nine roughly two months ago. She's a real adult now, and... I'm getting old.

She could be dead, I'm surprised I'm not. I'm still hacking the human filth of the world, and she might be the only person that didn’t stab me in the back. 

I wonder if she's still in love with the idea that one day, we might have worked.

 *

 I'm driving through Alexandria when I get the call. I hope to god it's not my mom telling me I’ve forgotten something as I really can’t be bothered to drive back. The number isn't saved but I answer anyway.  "Hello? You’re saved in a man named Elliot Alderson’s phone as an emergency contact under the name zero, zero, one?"

 I almost drop the phone in shock. 001 was the name Elliot had me saved in his phone in case any unsavoury characters got hold of the device and saw I was an emergency contact and... Yeah. I close my mouth that's dropped open, and pull over. I'm shaking and I feel sick with nerves.  "Uh, yes yes it is. Who's calling?" I reply.

 "This is Debra Richmond from Lower Manhattan Hospital." She explains, my eyes are stinging, I swallow down a sob. "Not to be rude, but why are you calling me?"  "You’re the only emergency contact we could find in his phone. He’s in bad shape."

Jesus fucking Christ. It's really him. My heart is hammering so hard I'm struggling to breathe evenly. 

"Is he alright? Well, obviously not he's in fucki- hospital. Sorry. What's happened?" I babble. I'd hate to know what this Debra Richmond must be thinking right now.

"He had an accident and has sustained a few broken bones and a concussion." Debra tells me. "He was very stubborn about it, insisting that he didn't need anyone to come and get him but we're very concerned that he doesn't have anyone to care for him." She explains.

 God, he hasn't changed. My first thought is to refuse, I doubt he'd want to see me, but at the same time I'm worried.

He's not like other people. He doesn't have anyone to make sure he recovers properly, he has more enemies than Donald Trump.  "I'll be there, give me a few hours."  "Thank you very much Miss…?"

“Y/S/N.”

 *

 I thought I felt sick in the car when they called about Elliot, but it doesn't compare with the feeling of being about to collapse as I walk through the hallways of the hospital hours later. I hadn’t even stopped home after reaching New York. I approach the reception area of the E.R., a smiley woman greets me. 

"I'm here for Elliot Alderson?" I say, hating the feel of his name on my tongue.

Her face brightens even more.  "My my, he’ll be glad to see you!" She exclaims, smiling warmly at me.  "Oh, we're not, we're just, well... It's complicated." I stammer. She smirks, her eyes twinkling with mischief.  "Don't worry about labels sweetie, I'm sure he's falling over his feet for you."

I'm completely thrown. 

"Does he know I'm here?"  "No, he's had a hard few days so the doctors thought it'd be best he caught up on his rest." She explains, but this only confuses me more.  "I thought you said he was admitted last night?"

She waves me off, pointing down a hallway.  "The doctors will explain everything. He's in room 101, just down the hall to the left."

 I reluctantly nod, then head off in the specified direction. I rack my brains, what am I going to say? Will he even want me there once he wakes up and sees his tornado of an ex-girlfriend? I know I wouldn't.

Thanks to my brainstorming, I reach the room far sooner than I'd like. The room has no window, only a rectangular one on the door, but I can only see the end of the bed through it.

 I take deep breaths, tense and un-tense my muscles, then realise none of this is doing anything for how fucking scared I feel. I want to say I've faced worse, but Elliot Alderson hurt me more than any of the other shit life threw at me.

I open the door, and see him lying on the bed, his leg elevated and wrapped in a cast.

 His face is littered with bruises and his facial hair is longer than I've ever seen it, his long eyelashes still scrape the tops of his cheekbones and his skin is still a deep olive tone. He's still painfully gorgeous.

 I step slowly over to him and reach out a hand to touch his shoulder, hesitating momentarily. I shake him lightly, jumping at the spark I feel when I touch him. His eyelids flutter, then drag open. He mutters unintelligibly before waking up properly, I could laugh if I weren't so nervous.

His eyes open wide when he doesn't receive a response, he looks up at me and his expression becomes unreadable. Which is pretty normal for him.

"I forgot you're still 001." He sighs.  "If it helps, you're still my 001." I practically whisper.

His eyes close and a pained smile stretches across his features.  "Christ, you're not eighteen anymore."  "I think I've aged alright." I joke.  "I can't even look at you." He murmurs.

 My hand drops from his shoulder and the uncomfortable lump rises in my throat. Does he hate me that much?  "You're so beautiful." He says, I nearly choke. He stares at the wall, I shift on my feet, unsettled by the entire situation. "Y/N." He says blankly, seemingly testing out my name.

 He turns his head to look at me properly, I feel so uncomfortable as his eyes travel up and down my form.  "Listen Elliot, if you don't want me here I can leave, but please don't be alone while you're this vulnerable." I reason with him, unable to hide the desperation in my voice.

 "I'm shocked you care."  "I'm sorry, what?"  "You hate me."  "If I hated you, I wouldn't have driven seven hours the second they called me you massive bag of dicks."

He smiles weakly, and I see wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. He's a year off thirty but the stress of his lifestyle seems to be hitting him hard. 

"Potty mouthed as ever."  "Minus the actual pot now though." I add and he actually laughs. He gestures to the seat next to his bed and I take a seat.

I suck in a breath. "I've missed you." His eyebrows raise. "Really."  "I've missed you too." He admits. I feel less stiff now it's out in the open. 

"We need to get you out of here. Since your real names in the system, dick move by the way, you still have a lot of enemies, if not more." I say.

He groans.  "No such thing as a break."  "Oh there is, and you'll be on one until that leg gets better." I tell him, my tone firm.  "I guess I can't run away from you now." He deadpans. "Fuck you."

 *

 It was weird at first, waking up in that little apartment again. Making Elliot breakfast, cleaning the place, helping him dress and... Bathe. But I could never have foreseen the way we simply erased the time we'd lost together. We were so much more mature, our issues pushed to the backs of our minds.

There were no screaming matches, only arguments about Elliot refusing to eat when I tried to cook him balanced meals.

 There were no physical altercations, only gentle shoves and playful punches. There were no insults, only teasing comments and compliments in disguise. There was no hurt, only a love that was finally able to flourish the way it should have five years ago.

 The U-turn my life had taken was crazier than any three AM adventure I'd ever embarked on. I was living in an apartment nursing the love of my life and his broken bones. I took him to physiotherapy and tried to bat off Debra's constant questions about whether or not we were together yet. Somewhere along the line I stopped sleeping on the couch and falling asleep with an inch between myself and Elliot then waking up tangled in his limbs.

 And it eventually reached a point where he was no longer wearing a cast and could do everything himself. But we were in a difficult situation. Of course there were times when he allowed or initiated unnecessary physical contact and our eyes connected, the very same memories and thoughts of reviving them passing between us. Of course there were kisses when we'd been half awake in the warmth of the duvet. The love was still there, but no words were spoken about it.

 Until tonight.

We're sitting on the couch, watching trash TV on the tiny set. I glance over at Elliot, who has a small smile on his face, clearly entertained by the shitty acting. I nudge him slightly and he looks down at me curiously.  "What are we doing?" I say experimentally, not quite sure how to start the conversation that needs to be had.

 "We can watch something else if you-" "That's not what I mean." I interrupt, and his features shift. I'm pretty certain he knows what I'm talking about. "You’re better. Pretty much." He still doesn't reply, just stares at me. "Are you... Are we going back to before or-"

"Y/N, this conversation doesn't need to be any more uncomfortable than it already is." He cuts in, I can't say I'm not shocked, Elliot is virtually never this straightforward.

  "I can’t take you leaving again." He finishes, his voice barely reaching my ears. But I see the flicker of desperation in his eyes.

"I won’t." I say firmly, and he squeezes my hand in his cold one.  "Thank you." He whispers, staring intently at the screen. We're silent for a while, until he speaks again, still avoiding my gaze.

 "I never stopped." I know why he won't finish the sentence, because he's scared. I know because I'm scared too.  "Neither did I." I guess we'll never work like other people, but we're better, and that's all that matters.