#I literally don’t even remember what dog he’s supposed to be but it’s fine

[tagsecretsanta]

From @littleoldrachel

From @littleoldrachel to @sofasurf

Let your heart be light

“I just don’t understand why you leave it to the last minute every year, Allie.”

Alan’s bedroom is an explosion of wrapping paper in a garish glitter snowman print. Every attempt to manoeuvre it has only cascaded silver glitter into every crevice of the fluffy carpet—or worse, burrowed into Alan’s palms, no matter how many times he’s scrubbed them. Strings of gold ribbon, webs of sticky tape, and an assortment of gifts lie tangled at the centre of the mess, with at least four pairs of open scissors perfectly positioned to do some damage. 

The paper he’d thought was so cute when he ordered it online is now haunting him—most disturbing were the trails of glitter that swilled around his shower water earlier. (He also doubts that it fills his rescuees with reassurance when he leaves sparkly handprints on them as he lifts them out of whatever horrifying situation they’ve found themselves in. Although… the little girl who’d asked him very earnestly if he was a fairy since he was leaving such a shimmery trail made the whole thing rather more cute than annoying.)

Still, curse Gordon for encouraging Alan's poor wrapping paper decisions. 

“Please, Scott,” Alan wheedles. He hesitates, then pulls out the big guns and widens his eyes to pouting proportions. “I'll never get this done in time without you.”

Scott rolls his eyes, but he does inch forward from where he's leaned against the door jamb, his crossed arms loosening slightly. 

“It's ten to midnight. Christmas Day is literally minutes away, Allie,” Scott says, and Alan can tell he's trying to channel Commander Tracy—if only he could contain his fond smirk. 

“It'll be faster if we work together!” Alan blinks slowly and deliberately, puppy-dog eyes unwavering. 

“Quit trying to be cute.” 

“It's a lost cause!” Gordon's voice calls out from the hallway, and Alan is so intent on flinging himself across the room to hide the squid's present from view that he doesn't even have the time to be indignant. 

Scott frowns and turns. “Why aren't you in bed?”

Gordon's unruly mop of golden curls appears in the gap. “The mother-henning again, Scotty? Really?”

Scott ignores this. “You're usually first in bed on Christmas. I remember this because you were always the first one to come bounding into my room at four in the morning, shrieking about what Satan had brought you.”

“Satan?” Alan yelps.

“Hey, dyslexia is a cruel mistress!” Gordon scowls. “I liked it better when we were making fun of Allie-”

“I didn't-”

“But if you must know, I was checking on Virg.”

Scott straightens at once, every bit the soldier he once was. (Alan sort of hates it, if he's honest; it feels painful how easily the Commander comes out, even in the one place they are supposed to get to be soft and safe.)

“What's wrong with Virgil?”

“Stand down, soldier.” Gordon yawns so hard his jaw crackles. “Virg is fine. He took a few knocks on this afternoon's rescue, and I just wanted to check he wasn't doing his usual stoic thing.”

Scott frowns. “He didn't mention that in the debrief-”

“Virg hiding injuries? Gee, I wonder where he learned that,” Gordon says dryly, and Alan snorts. “He's fine, Scott. Just bruised and cranky.”

“I'll check in on him in a bit,” Scott says, more to himself than anyone else, and Gordon shoots Alan an exasperated eye roll that has him grinning. Then, Gordon's eyes rove over the disaster site that is Alan's room, and his eyes widen. It's a mark of how tired he must be that he doesn't even quip, just slowly backs away from the mess. “On that note, g’night!” 

Alan waits till Gordon's door has closed before he clambers up off Gordon's gift: a truly hideous Christmas jumper decorated with a Santa Claus riding a flamingo float. 

Alan's gifts to his brothers are always the most heinous jumpers he can find - after all, what on earth do you give a family made up of billionaires? - and the public loves the annual auction of the jumpers as part of the Tracy family charity drive. He's pretty proud of himself for this year's effort. 

“The sooner you help me, the sooner you can go and bother Virg,” Alan says sweetly, holding up the scissors to Scott. 

Scott lets out a put-upon sigh, but he's never been able to resist his littlest brother – as Alan well knows – and he takes the scissors reluctantly. 

“Fine, but I'm tagging you in on helping Grandma with the lunch tomorrow.”

Alan pulls a face. He adores his grandmother with his whole heart and soul, and yet her incompetency in the kitchen is nothing short of deadly. Still, if it means an end to the scratchiness of glitter on his skin, he'll go for it. 

“Deal.”

*

Twenty minutes later and faced with a wrapped jumper that looks more like a piece of crumpled trash than a gift, Alan is regretting his recruitment choices. They’d massively underestimated the size of the paper they would need and had been forced to attach another sheet at a strange angle to cover the gift, leaving the snowmen oddly distorted.

“I thought you'd be good at this,” he says despairingly, poking at where the wrapping paper has bunched and torn. “Isn't the army big on neatness?”

Scott slaps his hand away. “You're making it worse! I'm just out of practice.” He has glitter smeared in his eyebrows from his constant head-in-hands-exasperation, and it's the kind of ridiculousness that pours warmth into his chest; they may all be public figures, and they may have had their grief made an aching, public thing, but only Alan and his brothers get to witness Scott Tracy being silly. 

“Scotty, you have five siblings; how can you possibly be out of practice?”

There's an awkward pause as Alan tries – to no avail – to fold down the corners of the lumpy package. When it finally clicks that Scott hasn't come back with a witty retort (and Alan's tired, okay? Three back-to-back rescues and his brain has turned to soup), Alan looks up sharply. 

“I usually get Virg to do mine,” Scott admits grudgingly, and Alan gapes. “He likes it!” Scott adds defensively, shuffling his stance in a very un-Scott-like move. “Says he finds it ‘mindful’ or whatever.”

“Great! Then I'll ask him to do mine!” Alan scoops up an armful of crumpled wrapping paper and tangled ribbon, making to stand. 

Scott laughs. “Not so fast, kiddo. Virg may or may not be injured—and even if he weren't, he has a strict deadline for wrapping applications.”

Alan's mouth moves silently, trying to catch up. “How long has this been going on?”

“About… five years?” Scott scrunches his nose. “Maybe longer?”

“And why am I only hearing about it now?”

Scott shrugs. “It didn’t start as a whole thing; I was getting more and more stressed about not being ready for Christmas with all the Tracy Industry stuff, and it was when he was following me around like a shadow because he was worried, and then he just helped… and kept helping.” Scott shifts his weight again and places the next jumper – John’s – in the centre of a fresh sheet of paper. “And then Gordon cottoned on, and–"

“What?!” Alan’s outrage is like the sharp sting of a torn-off scab. “Gordon knows and he didn’t tell me?”

Scott blinks at him. “We all know, Allie. John found out… somehow, because he’s John. Kayo walked in on Virg wrapping all her birthday presents. Didn't you always wonder why the presents we give Virg are wrapped like shit, and ours belong in a gallery?”

“I can't believe there's been an underground present-wrapping operation this whole time.”

Scott grins and shakes his head. “I can’t believe you didn’t figure it out, Mr Built-A-Damn-Rocket-At-Twenty-Years-Old.” He’s folding the paper around the jumper more carefully this time, creasing sharp folds instead of simply rolling it. “Hold,” he says, and Alan obediently presses his hand over where the paper meets. Scott places a tiny square of tape over the join, and Alan frowns.

“We’re going to need more than that, Scotty. You know we can afford more tape if we run out?”

“Do you want my help or not?” Scott says, elbowing him. He does grudgingly place another piece alongside it, though.

There’s a brief lull between them as they focus their efforts on the present, which is looking considerably less Frankenstein’s monster-like than their first attempt, even if they have reams of paper left over.

“You’re right, though, I did use to be better at this,” Scott says quietly. “Someone had to be after mom—well… let’s just say that dad wasn’t exactly great at being there to pick up this kind of thing.”

Alan’s heart clenches, the familiar wounded creature that it is. Scott rarely talks about the time after mom’s death—and usually, only in relation to the impact it had on Virgil (an all-consuming, terrifying depression) and John (vicious intrusive thoughts and anxiety). He and Gordon had been too young to remember things being any different, but with the benefit of hindsight, Alan can recognise how tough it must have been. It’s uncommon for Scott to talk about what that was like for him: the lynchpin to bind them together with too young hands for such a burden. Alan feels a little like he’s handling a frightened animal in the face of Scott’s pain, but he makes an interested noise in his throat, allowing Scott to shift his hands wherever he’s needed.

“It was rough, sometimes,” Scott allows. His voice is soft and his expression distant. “I didn’t want you and Gords and Johnnie to miss out on any of the Christmas build-up stuff – and Grandma tried to be there – but I was only a teenager. Sometimes, even now when I’m wrapping gifts, I can feel that stressed boy, juggling nativity plays and gifts for teachers and Christmas jumper days–" He cuts himself off sharply. “Sorry, you don’t want to hear all this.”

“I do,” Alan says, and the desperation bleeds into his tone more than he wishes. “I do want to hear it—I’m… I’m sorry we didn’t realise how much it was for you to manage.”

“You were four, Allie, I didn’t want you to realise.”

“Still.” His arms tingle with the urge to fling them around his oldest brother, to brush his thumbs under the eyebag-crevices he’s too young to have, to smooth the crinkle of his brow. Instead, he stares down at the paper beneath his hands and swallows.  “I wish you talked about it more.”

Scott pauses, fingers hovering over where he’s poised to place the final strip of tape. “I’m trying to. Virg tells me I shouldn’t keep it all bottled up.”

“Yeah well. He’s pretty smart, you know?”

Scott laughs, and the movement softens his forehead and creases the lines around his mouth. It’s lovely. It’s as it should be. “I know.” He sits back on his haunches and the two of them survey their handiwork.

It’s a great improvement on their first attempt, even if all the extra paper ended up bunched and bulky around the edges. Scott ties a ribbon around it lengthways, and Alan slaps on a sparkly bow.

“I think we nailed it,” Scott says, eyes twinkling.

The bow promptly falls off the parcel.

Alan scowls, reattaching it more forcefully—enough that he feels the centre of it click and then a horrid, tinny version of Jingle Bells starts playing. Alan and Scott stare at it in horror as a children’s choir begins yowling over the top of the music, and Alan reaches out to try and stop the caterwauling.

“No!” Scott seizes his wrist, eyes wide. “Don’t make it start again!”

As the final line rings out, the bow plops off the parcel again and Scott’s eyes narrow. “It’s fucking with us.”

“Language!” Alan says gleefully, and Scott nudges him.

“It’s cursed, Allie, I’m telling you—”

“Don’t be silly.” He applies featherlight pressure to the bow this time, but as his hand moves away, the song starts up again. “I didn’t even press it!”

The music plays through once… and then immediately starts up again.

Scott and Alan exchange a look, and then the corner of Scott’s mouth twitches and it’s enough. Alan bursts out laughing – loud, hysterical sounds that frankly improve the awful music – with Scott close behind him. The music chunters on cheerfully in the background, but Alan is warm with sheer delight at the expression on Scott’s face, the way he’s bent double with the force of his laughter, how light he seems for the first time in months.

“You’re right – it’s haunted,” Alan manages, which only sets Scott off again. In the background, the song stutters on way-ay-ay-ay-ay, like some crazy club remix.

“Why – did you get – singing ones?” Scott wheezes through laughter, and all Alan can do is shake his head.

Eventually, as the music grows tinnier and tinnier, Scott staggers up and flings the cursed decoration through Alan’s balcony doors, until it lands with a plop in the pool. He turns back to Alan, grinning so wide and wild that Alan feels giddy all over again.

Seeing his brothers happy fills his heart to the brim, but seeing Scott happy—it’s molten gold flowing into every last crack and chip in his chest, leaving him warm and light and whole. He wants to capture this moment in a glass jar and hold it close on his darkest nights. He wants to lock away this memory and protect it against the future versions of Scott who will be stern and burnt out and beaten down. He just wants Scott to be happy.

It’s an impossible dream. Or at least, an impossible consistent dream; after all, Scott has surely the most stressful job in the world and sends his brothers out into the field every single day without being able to know for sure that they will return. He plays both mother and father, presents the perfect CEO, offers the ideal PR needed—it’s too much for anyone to hold and be happy. Scott is the first to admit that there are always people they can’t save, always situations they can’t control, and always moments that are missed (even if his hypocritical arse won’t accept that itself).

But Alan can start with this—with Christmas. With family and presents and ridiculous wrapping paper. And maybe – maybe – it will be enough for now.

*

BANG!

Alan jolts awake so fast that black spots burst in his vision as he sits up. Scott is already on his feet beside him, ever the soldier, tiredness cast off like a cloak.

“Whoops.” Their grandma’s voice floats up to them, and the brothers exchange a look before Scott offers a hand to Alan.

“My money’s on a cooking disaster,” Scott says conspiratorially, and Alan sort of hates him for being so awake at this moment.

Alan groans as he accepts the proffered hand, his own free hand rubbing at his aching neck. The two of them had finally fallen asleep around two in the morning, slumping into a messy pile surrounded by wrapping paper and decorations. Alan feels considerably worse for wear as he rubs glitter from his eyelashes, but he allows Scott to pull him from the room in the direction of their grandma’s mumbled cursing.

“What time is it?” he yawns, wincing as his thumb hits a particularly sore knot in his neck.

Scott casts him a pitying look. “You’re too young to be aching like this, Allie.”

“Yeah, Allie. Spare a thought for the old man over here,” Gordon’s voice is gleeful as he slings an arm over Alan’s shoulder and nods at Scott. “And it’s just gone eight.”

Scott flips Gordon off over his shoulder, which only makes Gordon grin wider still. He’s just in swimming trunks and still drips pool water across the corridor, skin cool against Alan’s sleep-sensitive arms.

Their smiles fade as they round the corner to the kitchen, where they see Grandma staring helplessly at the oven – a scary enough prospect on its own – from which black smoke is pouring. The glass has shattered inwards, and a thick, acrid stench fills the air. The three boys freeze for a fraction of a second before Scott and Gordon leap into action, flinging open the oven door and yanking out a charred and blackened unidentifiable mess.

Grandma blinks in confusion. “I was just preheating the oven for the turkey,” she says. “What’s my Christmas cake doing in there?”

Gordon widens his eyes at Alan from behind Grandma’s back, his message clear: DO NOT SPILL THE BEANS. Alan does his best to blink innocently back at Grandma—to pretend that he and Gordon didn’t hide it in the oven earlier this week to avoid having to eat any and risk their stomach linings.

“Well?” Grandma turns to look at Gordon, who quickly schools his features into something bewildered. “Care to explain?”

Thankfully, Virgil chooses that moment to stumble into the kitchen, beelining for the coffee machine. He stabs blearily at the buttons before Scott takes pity and sorts his espresso. Virgil blinks dopily at Scott in response, patting his head tiredly and slinking over to the island stools.

“Morning, Virg,” Gordon says brightly, and Virg grunts something in response.

“I’m very well, thank you so much for asking. And a merry Christmas to you, too!” Gordon continues, and Alan sees Scott bite back a smile.

“What happened to the oven?!” John joins them, pale and sleepy-looking but far more awake than his older brother.

“Someone ruined my Christmas cake—and now the oven is broken!” Grandma says, and her gaze flits to the turkey sitting on the side, ready to be roasted.

Alan frowns. “But how will we roast the turkey now?”

There’s an awkward pause. “Are you sure it’s broken?” Scott asks, crouching to examine the nobs and dials. He twists a few experimentally, and the oven belches out an almighty groan of more black smoke. “Okay! Message received!”

Scott stands and glances over at Virgil. “Virg, can you take a look at it?”

Virgil shoots Scott a look over the rim of his mug. “You want me to glass-blow a new oven door?” Alan had forgotten how sarky early morning Virgil can be and he loves it.

“Virg.”

Virgil downs the remainder of his piping hot coffee and stands. It takes him all of two seconds to declare the oven out of action: “It needs at least three replacement parts, even if the door were reparable,” he tells them, the wonders of coffee returning a sharp precision to his tone. “I can make a version of those parts, but it’ll take too long for today.”

“What are we going to do?!” Alan yelps, flushing as everyone turns to look at him.

“We could… have a barbecue?” Gordon suggests, squinting at the prepared turkey. “We could slice it into strips, set up on the beach…”

Scott snaps his fingers at Gordon, smiling wide. “Yes! Great plan—”

“What can I say? Here to save Christmas,” Gordon smirks, grin only widening when his brothers roll their eyes in unison.

*

Several hours later, they have hauled the barbecue down onto a quiet strip of beach, with Brains and Virgil talking quietly as they man the barbecue and bicker about the most effective use of space on the grill. Almost everyone else, bar M.A.X and Grandma (who are lounging on blankets on the sand), has been recruited for a game of chicken fight, with the added challenge of battling the current of the tide as it sweeps in and out.

From atop Kayo’s shoulders, Alan takes out John with ease, grinning as his brother falls off Scott like a puppet with its strings cut.

“Grub’s up!” Virgil yells, and the four of them scatter, hurrying towards the shore. Alan can’t help the bubble of laughter that escapes him as Kayo and Scott become entangled and flop together in the foamy edge of the water.

By the time the two of them are back on dry land, everyone else is tucking into their Christmas lunch, appreciative hums echoing across the group.

“There’s sand in my turkey,” John says with a frown, and Scott laughs.

“Better that than Grandma’s special stuffing recipe. Nearly cracked my tooth with that a while ago.”

John rolls his eyes, but obediently chomps down on the sandy turkey sandwich. He’s a little paler and thinner than his brothers like him to be, but his smile is bright and lovely even through a mouthful of chewed bread and meat.

By nine, the sun has begun to creep towards its bedtime, pouring pink and gold across the sky in a beautiful cascade of colours. The smell of barbecued meat blends with the salty sea air, undercut with the coconutty scent of John’s suncream.  

The Tracy family shows no such sign of calling their celebration to an end—Gordon and Scott have roped Kayo and M.A.X into a game of volleyball, with the little robot strangely nimble across the loose sand, whilst John, Brains and Grandma alternate between roasting marshmallows and playing increasingly competitive card games.

It’s nothing like the Christmases Alan grew up watching in movies and on TV, nor is it like the ones his schoolfriends used to wax lyrical about.

Somehow, it’s even better.

(Alan thinks that has a lot to do with how loud Gordon’s laughter booms across the beach, how bright Scott’s smile is, and John’s playful smirk that only ever comes out around those he’s truly comfortable with.)

And yet, despite how pleasantly full he feels and how much happiness sings in the air, there’s a weight on his chest that he cannot shift. It prickles with wrongness in the face of so much joy, and Alan feels like he’s dragging their celebrations towards misery as he sits by himself and gazes out at the ocean.

At that moment, as if he can sense Alan’s rising distress (and perhaps he can; Virg has always been weirdly perceptive about these things), Virgil plops down beside Alan and offers him a soft smile. “You good, Allie?”

Alan nods, then leans his head against Virgil’s shoulder, allowing his older brother to tuck him tighter into his side. All his brothers hug differently, but none of them truly envelop him as Virgil does. “Just thinking.”

“Warned you about that,” Virgil murmurs and Alan can hear the smile in his voice even though he can’t see it. His hand comes up to the back of Alan’s neck, and he begins massaging out the knotty tension in Alan’s neck. The relief trickles warm and grateful down Alan’s spine and he sags further into his brother, trusting and knowing that he will be held.

“I wish it could always be like this,” Alan says after a beat or two.

Virgil pauses. “Like this?”

“Like…” Alan waves a hand. “I wish Scott could always be this relaxed. And John could always be here. And we could always be this happy.” A sharp longing ache lodges in his throat, and he has to fight to get the next words out without it catching. “I wish we didn’t have to give up so much to have these moments.”

Virgil is silent for a long time, his grip tighter around Alan. “Me too,” he says at last, and it’s so un-Virgil-like to admit something even vaguely selfish that Alan would pull away to stare at him if he weren’t so damned comfortable. “But Allie—I think that’s also what makes these moments so, so precious. That we know what it is not to have them. That we know what they cost.”

“That doesn’t feel fair,” Alan says, hating the petulance in his own voice.

If Virgil were replaced by Gordon, there would be a quip about life’s not fair and a joke to distract him from the ache of it. Scott would be frantic to try and fix it, and John’s analytical mind would identify all the illogical and untrue aspects of that statement.

Virgil just holds him impossibly tighter still and meets him with an empathy Alan didn’t know he needed. “I know.”

Virgil holds him together as the aching grief of all that has been lost – all that continues to be sacrificed, and all the moments to be missed in the future – spreads and crashes over Alan—

Then all at once, the grief ebbs away like the tide retreating.

Virgil presses a kiss to Alan’s crown. “You good. Allie?” His voice is soft and warm, and Alan knows that he’ll stay as long as Alan needs him to—that he doesn’t even have to ask.

This is what makes it easier for him to nod and mean it this time.

“Want a marshmallow?”

Alan hesitates and nods, allowing Virgil to pull him up and tug him back towards the makeshift campfire. Scott, Kayo, Gordon and M.A.X have abandoned their game at last, and have squished themselves around the fire too, though they shuffle over to allow room for Virgil and Alan to squeeze in beside Scott.

“Alright?” Scott murmurs to Alan, and Alan nods. The prickling fades, tucked between his two oldest brothers, across from the jokey antics and quiet intelligence of his other two brothers, beneath the protective gaze of his sister and grandmother—and under the twinkling light of his mom’s star. He’s so damned lucky, despite it all, to be so loved like this.

“Happy Christmas,” he says softly, and Scott smiles.

“Happy Christmas, Allie.” He ruffles Alan’s hair and Alan laughs.

Christmas may not look the way he thought it would be growing up, and it may be a long time before they get to be together like this again. Another Christmas may be full of injuries or loss, and it may feel harder still to rise above the weight of their collective grief.

But Alan vows that he will do everything in his power to keep giving them Christmases like this, full of light and laughter and love.

For this Christmas is theirs and Alan will hold it tight and precious against his heart.

[arthurtaylorlester]

i’m going to have to be honest, i don’t think today’s episode was very good.

of course, there were bits i loved as is with every malevolent episode, like jarthur saying each other’s names like that and arthur styling his hair after clark gable and john remembering, john literally acting like trying to kill oscar was nbd :), it was all very endearing.

but man. some of the other stuff threw me off so bad. there were NO STAKES, any sense of urgency created was immediately destroyed by jarthur literally talking their feelings out. one second is literally jumping on walls like a rabid dog, the next he’s calmly communicating with john and then he’s acting superior and calling him a child.

like, we’ve seen what triggers arthur’s erratic behaviour (usually a distinct lack of john) and how he acts when he’s like that, and sorry but just don’t think this was a case of that.

furthermore, arthur calling john was weird. not in the oh no! is john is canonically a child so you cant ship him with anyone because fuck that, that was not the implication, but in the sense that i think it was incredibly ooc of arthur to say that. like, he recognised that yellow was Like That because he was awful to him, not because he was a child. so why is he saying this to john? he says john can’t handle his emotions, which yeah because he can only talk to you which john makes very clear. arthur says its unfair for john to expect that he never speak to anyone again, but that’s not even what john asked. he doesnt want to be ignored and rather be included, which is a totally reasonable thing to ask for! he even says to arthur when he’s going off the rails that he’s used to being ignored by arthur by now and i don’t think this is another manipulation tactic.

seems like both of them forgot the main goal of the show: separating john from arthur without the king taking him back.

the friendship breakup with oscar at the end was ridiculously tacked on and in my opinion shouldve been the beginning of the next episode. but no, obviously that couldn’t have been done since the next episode is the season finale.

which brings me to my next qualm: this is a terrible penultimate episode. penultimate episodes are supposed to raise the stakes higher than theyve been the whole season so the finale is literally unhinged. and malevolent has been excellent at doing that (see: part 27 the roots). But all this episode does is nullify the stakes, we’re not looking forward to anything next episode. John and arthur are in their healing era (there was no divorce this season let’s be real), theyve left oscar, the stone is gone, the butcher is in police custody and daniel is fine.

so how is the season supposed to end with them (presumably) in the dark world? around a year ago, harlan said dark world arc soon. when is soon.

the lack of stakes in s4 has been a persistent problem for me i think, most conflict has been resolved either within the episode or soon after, especially jarthur relationship problems, which are like the core of the show

don’t get me wrong, i’m not saying i dislike s4, i love it, especially the first half, i think part 31 is the best malevolent episode to date. it’s just that with how well written it’s been, i was taken aback by this one just being…. ok?

i think that because every malevolent episode is such a banger, this one kind of being all over the place, especially with arthur’s characterisation, is kinda disappointing? ofc, ik basically all of harlan’s fam and himself were sick during november + they had a whole baby, so i’m hoping the shift in quality was a circumstancial thing.

[disappearinginq]

I’m so excited you like Steve Crain too! He’s been a favorite character of mine for years at this point, and doesn’t deserve the hate he gets.

It bothers me when people don’t recognize the responsibility that weighs on characters. They essentially lost both of their parents at the same time, and you know Steve had to be the one to step up.

This isn’t just applicable to Haunting of Hill House, of course. But I’ve noticed that fans vilify the characters that aren’t victimized as obviously / aren’t the main character.

Anyways, just wanted to share with a fellow Steve-enjoyed lol

New Bestie - same. I got into a very heated discussion about how if the Crain siblings are supposed to represent the 5 stages of grief, the fandom has Steve and Shirley switched around, because everyone says that Steve is Denial and Shirley is Bargaining.

Meanwhile, in the show, Steve spends his adult life going around not necessarily trying to debunk ghosts, but hoping that maybe this time, it will be ghosts, because then maybe his family will just be a different kind of crazy. He says his mom and his sister are sick, and they needed help. He reminds me more of Fox Mulder - the "I want to believe" vibe. But he also is in the unique position of seeing ghosts and not knowing about it. All of his ghosts are people with jobs, moving around the house like normal people. Everyone hears the dogs at night, not just him. He doesn't hear banging on the walls, he doesn't see creepy zombies in the basement, he doesn't have his future self freaking the hell out of him his entire life. He sees his mom - and as far as he's concerned (because this is a horror show, not supernatural, the world he occupies is the one we're in - no vampires and ghosts, etc, and that is Understood) it's just the mental illness that has gone through his whole family finally catching up with him. Anyone in this world who has a family member swear they're being stalked by a faceless ghost while they're high on drugs is going to come to same conclusion Steve does, which is that they're nuts. BUT - he looks for any signs that he is wrong. And I'm still mad that they cut out part of the first episode that has Steve refusing to write about his family anymore, no matter the price, while driving by an accident where he sees multiple people standing around, but when he turns away and the camera is the only one on the accident, you only see the firefighters/first responders.

Meanwhile, Shirley is 100% in denial about everything, including what her own ghosts were. In her House Nightmare at the end, she even denies what actually happened - in her version, she doesn't have an affair. The House actually calls her out on "But that's not what happened, is it?" When Steve is doing CPR on his dying brother, Shirley's first words are "This isn't real". She denies Luke from going to Nell's wedding. She denies that their mother had anything wrong with her, she's in denial that she's running her own business into the ground, she's in denial about the death of the kittens, she's in denial about ghosts too - even though she has much more explicit contact with them with the knocking, and with a witness both times (Theo). She's in denial about the night that they had to flee Hill House. Like if she says it often enough, then it will be true that her family is fine and nothing is wrong.

Sorry. Long rant. But I love this character and this show so much and no one ever wants to talk about it (except @amandagaelic, and she has listened to me for literally hours at this point). One of these days, I will actually finish the Haunting of Hill House fic I have, and it will be posted.

We might all be dead from old age, or so senile we don't even remember the source material, but I'll stipulate in my will that it has to be posted. :-D

AND YES - people have a weird habit of like...picking one character to defend and that's the end of it. No one else can do any right and that character can do no wrong. I see it in Yellowstone fandom a lot. Or in Marvel (the Steve/Tony argument made me leave it altogether). I don't know if it's because fandoms are now predominantly younger, louder/more obnoxious from the safety net of internet anonymity or what, but Seeing Things from Someone Else's Point of View seems to be a lost art in both media and reality.

[infiniteeight8]

I was looking at the document where I keep a bunch of quotes I like, and there are some that I think of as very Ironstrange-coded (or at least Stephen-coded, as I think of this one). So I thought I'd send a couple and see what you make of them.

My prayer is simple, my child, my child, Please, do try to understand: I’ve given you freedom, and left you with choices Now you’re at the beginning, Again. -Wyvernhail, Amelia Atwater-Rhodes

When it comes to poetry, I must include a bit of a disclaimer/warning: My brain does not get poetry. At all. There is something about poetry that just does not compute for me. So it is entirely possible that my responses to poetry prompts are either going to be painfully literal, or go off on a tangent that leaves you scratching your head. I mean, all prompt responses run that risk, but it’s going to be especially bad with poetry. 😂

That said, here we go!

-

Stephen wakes up in the hospital.

The last he remembers, he was on a battlefield, watching Tony Stark prepare himself to snap. It’s not inconceivable that he could have been hospitalized after that and lost a few hours of memory to the trauma, but the possibility never even occurs to him, because he wakes up to a haze of painkillers and the sight of his hands absolutely covered in external fixators. 

Christine is beside him, telling him everything will be okay. Stephen doesn’t respond. What is he supposed to say? He’s been here before. He knows, in the marrow of him, that this is no nightmare or flashback. He really has been sent back in time. He closes his eyes and shuts everyone out and can’t bring himself to care how worrying that must be.

The next day, while Stephen is staring into the distance, there’s a commotion out in the hall. It gets louder, and louder, and then his room’s door slams open and Tony Stark strides in. He looks momentarily taken aback at the sight of Stephen, but recovers quickly. “Strange, would you tell your overprotective guard dogs that it’s okay for me to stay and chat?” Christine, two nurses, and at least one security guard pile into the room after him, bringing raised voices with them.

Somehow, it never occurred to Stephen that he might not have come back alone. The relief is overwhelming, but he forces himself to find his voice. “It’s fine.” The words are barely a croak—he hasn’t spoken in awhile—but they capture Christine’s attention and the others follow her lead.

“Stephen, are you sure?” she asks, casting Stark a skeptical look.

He hadn’t been Stark’s biggest fan, Stephen abruptly remembers. Oh well. “I’m sure. Actually, if we could speak alone…”

Christine isn’t sold on the idea, but Tony steps in and ushers them all out the door. When it’s closed he turns back to Stephen and pauses a moment to take in the wreck the accident has made of Stephen. “I’m sorry about this,” Tony says, waving at him. “The stones put all kinds of conditions on when I could go to and who I could take with me without just splitting our timeline into a new branch instead of getting a proper do-over. I’d have landed us after your recovery, but…” Tony looks abruptly exhausted, “...honestly, we need all the time we can get. We don’t have months to spare.”

“I understand,” Stephen says. He takes a careful, steadying breath. “The painkillers have me a little foggy, but our first step has to be documenting future events. I can do that.”

Tony pulls up a chair next to Stephen’s bed and projects a hologram from his wrist.

They get to work.

[im-on-speeeeeed]

Raaaaghhh bbc Sherlock rant because I desperately need to see more people hating on it

BBC Sherlock is written terribly i can write an essay on it. All the characters were nerfed so bad. The took an expressive emotional considerate man and turned him into a cold emotionless asshole. Which would be fine as just another adaptation, but people are using the BBC version of Sherlock as the base point for what he’s like which isn’t good. In the books when Holmes made a deduction about Watsons alcoholic brother and Watson was like “hey man maybe don’t dig up my family issues like that” and Holmes was IMMEDIATELY SO APOLOGETIC. Meanwhile in the BBC show it just glossed over the obvious emotional weak point for Watson and Sherlock didn’t even apologize. The BBC show is also just poorly written. It gives Holmes information that isn’t available to the audience, and makes it impossible for viewers to solve the mysteries. Which is literally half the fun of mysteries in the first place. It’s like Moffat is more focused on making himself look clever and outsmarting the viewer than actually writing a good fucking plot and mystery. Another character who was nerfed so badly (but let’s face it, they all were) is Watson. For most of the show it treats him as practically Sherlocks pet dog, inconsequential to the story. While in other adaptations, and the original books, he’s an instrumental part of the story and investigations. He’s more than just Sherlocks tag along, he’s Sherlock’s partner. Fucking treat him like it. The female characters are also incredibly poorly written. It reduced Irene Adler’s character to just “the baddie who’s in love with Sherlock.” Which again would be fine if it were just treated as just another Sherlock Holmes adaptation, but people use the show as a base point of Sherlock and Irene’s relationship as well. Which, in the books, it makes it very clear that Holmes is NOT in love with Irene, and Irene is NOT in love with Holmes. The only female character in the show who is actually a person and not a cardboard cutout is Mrs. Hudson. And don’t even get me started on the scientist (doctor?) lady who is so fucking boring and unimportant I can’t even remember her name. Her only purpose for 90% of the show is just being the silly girl who’s in love with Sherlock. The shows writing is so stupid and so ridiculous. Which would be fine, if the show weren’t also trying to be serious. Having this terrible of writing would be alright is it were supposed to be satirical, but it’s not. Moffat wants me to take his shit show seriously, and I can’t. If you’re going to have this stupid of writing, at least be aware that the writing is shitty so it’s somewhat redeemable. A Holmes adaptation that actually does a good job of this is House MD. It’s ridiculous and it knows it’s ridiculous and it’s not trying to be something it isn’t. The BBC show IS trying to be something it isn’t. It’s trying to be this serious and intriguing mystery when in reality it’s just a bunch of shitty writing and even shittier mischaracterization mushed together and thrown onto TV screens. The only parts of the show that I liked was the camera shots and the acting. The show has its pros and I can and will acknowledge them, but the cons outweigh them tenfold.

[misbangtan]

I literally feel lost for words for how stalkers have treated Jungkook over the last couple of months, and now talking about death, threats and trying or saying that they were gonna murder his dog Bam is insane, and sickening, and from what all I see from the supposed of person that wants attention that is saying, they know the address of where he lives is disgusting leave him alone let all the members have their own personal life that does not involve you or me for that matter you should love them regardless, and have a safe line and boundaries as fans maybe the want to come back on weavers live maybe they won’t say we’ve changed I’ve only been an army for a year or two so I can’t really say shit of what it used to be but I know it wasn’t as toxic as it is now y’all treat these men like they’re in capable of being grown ass men that can make their own decisions. These men are almost in their 30s or if not are in their 30s, now it’s fine if you want to re-fanfiction and I understand if you want to have a Y/N moment, but remember your place, and remember to be respectful these men do not owe you something stop with the delusions it was never going to be you understand that stop with the shipping stop with the stalking it is uncomfortable to him. It is uncomfortable to me. Y’all forget these idols go through so much pressure from what they look like what they eat what their hair looks like what they wear how they speak. I do not want to see another Moonbin issue of someone so committing suicide over obsessive fans stop it you were kidding yourself leave him alone and let him be happy on his own terms. It is insane, to send death threats and it’s even more insane to threaten someone dog mind you what do you gain from this attention because this shit isn’t funny in sooner or later JK is it gonna start suing people and there’s sometimes I wish he was like Taehyung and just flat out, started suing people because y’all are doing too much at this point. Y’all are at the point of no returning. I hope to the people that are STALKING Jungkook You are only hurting him and yourself by doing this I don’t know what you’re trying to achieve but you’re not gonna get what you want and I hope that he is protected that he is safe that his dog is safe but I hope you know what you’re searching for is not what you’re gonna get you are not gonna like your results so I hope you stop it. You were hurting the person that you so call care and love you are hurting them in your hurting yourself in the process

[rayshippouuchiha]

Yes, hello, I was flipping through your watchlist (I think that’s what it is? Shows you intend to watch or have watched, right?) and I saw! My favorite one, Bungou Stray Dogs! And I don’t know if you intend to watch it soon (or ever! It’s fine if you never do, of course!), or how you decide what to watch next, but I saw it and got excited and wanted to Ramble so! Here we are! Did my best to steer clear or spoilers, though, so… Enjoy!

A List of Reasons to Watch Bungou Stray Dogs

- You seem to have a type when it comes to pairings and I think that would hold true here, too! The MC and his mentor have pretty good chemistry in my opinion, and I doubt you’d have to worry about being attacked by people angry at you for aging up the MC since he’s Already An Adult at 18 years old. They also just look very nice together, but they are my OTP, so I may be biased, haha.

- There’s a cat boy. I’m not gonna get too far into it just to be safe on spoilers, but there is one and I love him. He can pop the ears and the tail and even paws, it’s great. There are other reasons falling under this but those will come later, if you chose to watch- Again, for spoiler reasons! If nothing else, I think it’d be hilarious if he interacted with Aizawa.

- MC clearly has Trauma but it’s never really addressed satisfactorily? So you can just go Balls to the Walls in the way I’ve seen you do with other traumas from other protagonists (please adopt the MC like I have I love him so much-).

- There’s quite a bit of side material! Some of the voice actors have done little radio shows (the one with the MC’s and the Mentor’s VAs is genuinely really fucking cute), there’s a sort of alternate universe, what if sort of version? Though you’d probably need to read that after the series proper, for spoiler reasons. Also, WAN! I love WAN, it’s so good, if you end up looking into BSD you need to watch and/or read WAN! It’s basically a bunch of little omakes and side stories, all very cute. The MC becomes a magical girl at one point.

- There’s another “father figure” for you to hate. And at least a few more, especially if you watch the movie!

- The MC literally sleeps in a closet at least once. I can’t remember if that’s just Where He Sleeps but quite a few people headcanon that’s it’s just. His room now. This has both funny and serious connotations depending on how you look at it but HE COMES OUT OF THE CLOSET EVERY MORNING AAAYYY-

Some Warnings About Bungou Stray Dogs

- Not gonna go too deep into it, but as a heads up, it does contain discussion on things like abuse, suicide, self hatred, guilt, morality, and a variety of other dark or heavy topics. I’m not sure if those would put you off but I’d much rather you be safe if you ever chose to watch it than get taken off guard by that stuff!

- One of the running jokes involves incest. I’m… Not fond of it, though I suppose it gives room for headcanoning as to why? But it did surprise me when I first saw it, so I thought I’d warn you.

Hopefully this doesn’t come across as annoying or pushy, I’m just very excitable and wanted to share some stuff about the series. I hope you’re doing alright either way!!!

God yeah I've got to get to BSD.

[im-no-jedi]

OMG I almost forgot to write down my dream from last night haha

featuring appearances from @jam-n-ham and @knight-tyme because they’re my freaking sisters and all that

putting it under a cut cause this is REALLY detailed 😂

so I was on vacation with my family at Disney World (which I often have dreams about), and we were staying at Animal Kingdom Lodge (like we always do). except unlike the real hotel, which keeps the wild animals FAR away from the buildings, our room was RIGHT up against the fake savanna, so the animals would literally come up to our windows. we even had a fenced off “yard” that we could walk out to and see the animals if we wanted. the dream started on the day we were supposed to go home though, so we were in the process of packing up.

however, it wasn’t just my family who was on this trip. for whatever reason, our long deceased dog was with us (I often have dreams about him, but never us taking him to Florida with us LOL). he ironically was fine whenever we let him out into the yard, so long as there weren’t any animals nearby at the time. we also had a bunch of young kids with us, who I think were supposed to be friends of my bro and little sis (who had de-aged into their 10-12 year old selves)?? we had a REALLY big hotel room apparently LOL. oh, and best of all… Hunter and Crosshair were there too. not any of the others, just the two of them. now, I’ve had dreams with just Hunter in them before as he’s been my go-to dream boyfriend for a while now. but the fact that Crosshair was there too was unusual. I would’ve figured maybe Echo and/or Omega would be there, but nope, it was Crosshair.

anyway, like I said, it was the last day of our trip, and everyone was packing up. I was in the middle of doing my makeup when I saw that there was a family of giraffes near one of the windows. I got really excited and called my dad over so we could take pictures of them. then I noticed something off to the side of the window, staring at us. it was a cheetah. literally just sitting next to the window being a creep and watching me and my dad photograph these giraffes. my dad said it was weird that the cheetah wasn’t chasing the giraffes, but to not worry about it (btw they don’t have cheetahs at the real hotel, only on the safari ride, far away from other animals LOL).

as dad and I are photographing the giraffes, Ham comes by to let the dog out to go to the bathroom. we tell her there are giraffes outside, so he probably shouldn’t go out, but she said he wouldn’t bark at the giraffes, so it was fine. and yeah, he was ok with the giraffes.

however.

we forgot about the cheetah.

the cheetah comes prowling out from its hiding place and starts walking around in plain sight. our dog sees a giant kitty and starts barking at it, to no surprise. now remember, this entire little yard attached to our room is fenced off, honestly more like a giant cage, with two layers of wire blocking us from the animals. even the cheetah couldn’t get through if it tried to. but our dog, our sweet anxious dog who only liked to chase squirrels and possums, somehow found a weak spot in the fence and managed to climb through it and into the savanna.

we all FREAKED OUT.

Ham was screaming at the dog to come back, several of the kids started crying, and my mom immediately called the front desk to let them know what happened. Hunter legit was ready to run out and catch the dog himself, but I stopped him.

in all this chaos, we failed to overlook something. if the dog was able to get out… then that meant other things could get IN.

sure enough, in her panicked state, Ham had left the back door open, with that break in the fence now larger than it was before. our dog was nowhere in sight… but large kitty growls could be heard from down the hall.

without hesitation, both Hunter and Crosshair ran off to go catch the cheetah while the rest of us hung back to protect the kids. we saw them chase the cheetah around for a bit before running back into the hall again. Hunter eventually came back and said he’d somehow lost track of it and figured it might’ve run back outside. then I asked him where Crosshair was, and he said that he thought Crosshair was right behind him the whole time…

then suddenly Crosshair comes out from the hallway, slowly, and with a malicious look on his face. his eyes suddenly turned slitted, and his mouth opened to reveal sharp teeth. he let out a low, feline growl.

he’s somehow gotten POSSESSED by the cheetah????

Crosshair quickly started chasing some of the kids around the room, on all fours like a cheetah. he lunged at me at one point, but Hunter was able to get him off me before he bit me. Hunter tells me and my family to get the kids to safety while he tries to wrangle Crosshair. Ham and I took the kids into one of the large rooms and shut the door so they can stay safe (my parents stay with them too).

then I went back to the two boys cause I wanna see what’s happening, but Ham stayed by the door where everyone else is. I return just in time to see Hunter wrestling with Crosshair (kinda similar to what happened on Kamino LOL). Hunter kicks Crosshair off of him, and Crosshair growls before lunging at Hunter again, but Hunter punches Cross hard enough that the cheetah gets completely knocked out of him, anime style. the defeated cheetah then humbly ran out back to the savanna again, while Crosshair was left on the floor in a sad, guilty state. he was pretty depressed for the rest of the time after that, distancing himself from everyone. a few of the kids comforted him later, saying it wasn’t his fault, and I about cried 🥺

the dream ended with several of us getting in our car to go look for our dog. we drove around for a bit to discover that several other dogs had gotten loose too, which was weird. we eventually found our dog running across the road, and Hunter offered to go catch him. but little sis (who is only about 10 at this time) said she wanted to do it and ran out of the car before anyone could stop her. I kid you not, this binch squatted down and stalked our dog exactly like Hunter would’ve; he and I just looked at each other like 😒 (although I could tell he was proud he rubbed off on her like that haha). once little sis carried our dog back into the car, the dream ended.

y’all I’ll never be able to look at Animal Kingdom Lodge the same way again ROFL

[strbymacaroon]

❀ After Last Night. (I Think I’m in Love With You.) ❀

❀ Armin Arlert x Reader ❀

Master-list: Here

Current Chapter (1): Me, Myself, and I… and Fine, Maybe, a Flower.

❀ Sypnosis:

You loved your line of work… enough. That is if you could even call it a line of work.

It paid good, and you had your best friend Connie by your side. It could be worse. And now, you had another thing to worry about… Hiding this not-so approving line of work from your new roommate, Armin. A boy who rivals your own major, more than two academic weapons.

Tensions are high, and you are always one second away from clawing out his throat. And, for some reason, the way he's so patient with you, only furthers this emotion. To say this situation was less than ideal was to put it lightly. And, unfortunately, it wasn’t in the sexy way your classmate, Historia, romanized it to be.

But, you can’t shake the thought—why the hell does he look so familiar?

❀ Genre:

Alternate Universe - College/University, Questionable Job Choices, Double Life, enemies to lovers??

❀ Content Warning:

Gun Violence, Deception, Past Sexual Abuse, Psychological Trauma, Sexual Tension, Eventual Smut

❀ Word count:

7.9 K Words.

College was a hassle. You decided the best way to bathe in money, figuratively and literally was this. You liked writing, it was one of your passions back in highschool, but this— this was fucking obsessive. 

A part of this was your fault.. You decided to just start writing an essay assigned—months ago. But, in your defense, the professor should at least make it less than it already was, a fifteen-thousand word essay. About the current law studies students were going over this quarter. 

How the hell are you supposed to make it fifteen-thousand words?! You could sum it up in four. ‘Don’t fucking kill people.’ Hell, you could sum it up in three.

You glanced at the word count, then back to your textbook. Groaning loudly, “Fuck, I should’ve stayed with Connie.” He would’ve at least helped you. And, you would’ve been in a more quiet environment. Since your roommate was so rudely blasting music in the living room. Your eyes flickered over the time, ‘6:24.’ You opened the document you saved of your teacher's syllabus. Checking the late assignments. 

Dammit. Of course this was the only professor who didn’t take late work. Fuck me. The sound of your phone ringing brought your attention from the bright screen of your computer. Shuffling your hands around the bed, searching for your phone. You picked up your phone, glancing at the username. 

‘Client.4’ 

Another groan came from your mouth, you completely forgot about how busy you were going to be today. An essay was due, and of course a client wanted to meet up. You mentally cursed yourself, this client also promised to find you a better apartment, so you couldn’t ditch out on plans—

“Y/n!” 

You grabbed your pillow, and silently screamed into it. Before you quickly got up, pulling the door back. Glaring at your roommate. “What do you want?” Your hand was sassily placed on your hip. 

Hitch invited herself into your room, you peaked your head out. Noticing the music only become louder— if that was possible, once you did so. You closed your door, only muffling the noise. As Hitch was currently nose deep into your pillow, inhaling the scent, she always expressed how your room smelled like vanilla, with a sweet strawberry after-smell. Whatever that meant—

You remember vividly telling her, that maybe, if she stopped smoking weed, and put a smell enhancer in her room. She could have a nice smell as well, she just gave you a dirty look. Hitch looked away from your pillow to you. 

“I have a plus one.” Hitch playfully sang, wiggling her shoulders playfully. She looked down and scooped up your fluffy white dog, cuddling it. She cooed at Fluff, while you answered her question. Going back to work. 

“Hitch, c'mon. You should go to bed, you’re already drunk. No more parties.” Not that it mattered, she was already sleeping on your bed. She reeked of weed and beer, the only reason she came to your room was because she was a slob. Hitch’s room was a pig's pen, and she barely cleaned it and went to class. 

Hitch was the iconic hot girl, she always loved the idea of partying and invited you out often. With you mostly refusing. You could recall you went one time, but decided you would never again. She had pink hair, and a dramatic makeup look that every girl was envious of.  

To be honest you loved her. In some weird, forced way. 

But. Hitch was like a child, it was like you were taking care of a damn child. 

Then there was your other roommate, he wasn't too horrible. He was horrible to you. You didn’t even want to name him. That’s how horrible he was. 

Hitch could strongly disagree. 

Hitch had the time of her life with him, and made sure you heard. You hoped it wasn’t on purpose.. Then, when they weren’t together, he was in your room, trying to get with you, or doing his homework. If he didn’t want to do it, he’d ask for help, or for you to do it altogether. 

Clearly had never done anything in his life. From your perspective he was the definition of daddy’s money. Throwing a fit every time you refused his advances. Then again, he had his moments of bliss. In those situations, you did somewhat enjoy his company. 

Glancing at the time again you decided it would be best to go with your client, get the money and save up for a new place. This client did say they wanted to find you a new sweep, pay for one monthly fee. Then, the rest would be up to you. He said something along the lines of, “I don’t want my princess living in such a disgusting place.” 

You placed a hand on your temples. God, you hated this client. 

You pulled out your phone, calling a number you favorited. Was it saved? No. But, you called them far too frequently than you’d like to admit. Especially with your line of work. The phone rang four times, before the other line picked up. 

“Y/n? How’s it goin’, you enjoying your night.” His voice was smooth, almost hypnotic. 

“You know damn-well what’s happening tonight, Furlan.” You groaned, glancing at Hitch. Leaning on your door. “I need you to do something for me, it’s for my education.” 

“You’re still doin’ that, babe?” Furlan laughed, “What’s the point, half the people you talk to, could set you for life. There’s no need for that stupid education.” 

You rolled your eyes, “I can’t do this forever, my ‘supple youth’ is short lived, so is my beauty.” You laughed to yourself, “I wouldn’t be this good at my job, more or less making this much, if I didn't look like this.” 

Furlan was silent for a second, “Fine, that’s fair.” He sighed, “What’s the assignment you need me to do?” 

You cringed to yourself, but said it with the utmost confidence. “A fifteen thousand word essay?..” 

“Fuck me gently.” 

“Hell no.” You blinked a few times, “Same price as last time?” You tapped your fingers against the door, waiting for his response. 

“I’ll do it for free if you say you love me.” Furlan cooed.

“Fuck off.” You promptly ended the call, quickly sending the money to him. Money was money in your eyes, it didn’t matter how much you spent when the numbers were always piling up. 

You walked to your closet, pulling out a box near the corner. This certain client always said they like the— what was it?... Oh, that’s right, cute and seductive look. 

You pulled out the white fluff, and wrapped it around your body, grabbing the pink dress beneath it. You also grabbed a pearl necklace, along with some heels, something this very client also bought you. 

You pulled up your phone, and checked your personal documents. Looking over the names, and clicking ‘Client 4.’ Your eyes skimmed over the long paragraphs and wording, especially looking for something. The prices. 

“Additional 5k for intimate contact.”

That money would be something you could send to your parents. A small laugh escaped your lips, as you grabbed at a lingerie set. You didn’t necessarily enjoy sleeping with people, but if it was a man your age—and they were attractive. It could be a good night…

If you topped, that is. 

Then again, these were men in their thirties, paying for you to be by their side. What was the word? What did people describe it as?… Sugar Babies? That sounded right. 

You had no comment on how people viewed you, or your “work.” You were the one making money after all. And, it wasn’t too bad. Most of the time you were sitting next to a man, talking about their interests, or life in their youth. Then, if you’re polite enough, they'll treat you to gifts. Money was a given, I mean, they are paying for your time. 

You looked back at your roommate, seeing as she fell asleep. You rolled your eyes, placing a blanket over her head, before changing into your outfit. Once you did so, you changed Hitch out of her heavy clothing. Giving her some of your pj’s to wear, and placing the blanket over her again. 

Quickly spraying on a perfume you only used when you met your clients, then applying makeup. Trying to keep it subtle and classy, but since you got your nails done, it has been hard to apply any type of makeup. But, you liked them nonetheless. A simple white, coffin shaped set. 

You grabbed at your keys, and dug into your drawers, pulling out a tylenol along with a water bottle. Placing it on your nightstand and turning off the lights, leaving the small lamp on your desk on, for a subtle light. Then waking out of your room, locking it behind you. Hitch was going to be asleep for a while, and you didn’t really trust your other roommate. 

Walking to the main door you were greeted with your roommate, Floch. You waved to him, noticing his friends looking at you. He narrowed his eyes at you questioningly, “Damn where are you going? Isn’t this the fifth time this month? You a stripper, or something?” 

You scoffed, looking away. “There's nothing wrong with strippers. Besides, if stripped didn’t exist, you wouldn’t nearly have the amount of fun you do. And, I’m meeting up with my family.” You pulled down your dress, walking towards the door.  

Floch laughed, “Wearing that? Sure. What about Hitch? She came here smoked. She still looking for a fun time?” He tapped his finger against the couch, his head tilting to the side. “Or, do you want me to wait until you come back home, so you can listen?”

You scoffed, swiftly turning to him. Noticing his friends snickering. “Very funny.” You seethed, “Let’s see if the school board also finds it funny.” Your grip on your keys righted, “Fuck off, asshole.” You closed the door behind you, swiftly turning around and flipping off the individuals. 

You heard a faint, “She won’t tell shit, don’t worry.” Making you groan, as you walked off. Floch was right, you wouldn’t tell anyone. 

It took you some time to finally reach your car, and you almost moaned in happiness. Unlocking your car you slid in, enjoying the sleek cold of the leather compared to the warmth of your skin. Turning it on, and driving to your agreed meeting place.

You parked and were immediately greeted by a blonde individual. He had a lanky smile, handing you the wad of cash. Quickly skimming through the money, it was everything agreed on. 

It was just the mere attending fee. You bent over back into your car, making sure to give the man a clear view of your panties. Then coming back up and locking it up, placing your keys into your purse. Something this said client bought for you. You made sure to remember what each client wanted from a woman, which made you sick to your stomach. 

Especially this client.

At least he paid well. 

He extended his arm, and you took it. Batting your eyelashes and smiling. He tugged on your arm, leading you to the event. 

“Hi,” He placed his hand to the small of your back, kissing your cheek. Then to your lips, smiling at you. Pulling you close to his chest, “I got you a little something, it’s a surprise.” 

You bit your lip and giggled, going in for another kiss. “Really? You don’t have to, I just love spending time with you. Nothing else.” Your hand on his arm tightened. 

He started walking, leading you to the event. “And, I love spoiling you, nothing else.” You turned away, and lightly scoffed, rolling your eyes. 

Men really believed anything fake, especially if it catered to their favor. “Really?! Okay! I’ll promise to be good, only for you though.” You lightly pouted, lightly pressing a finger to his nose. 

You had to fake your personality with alot of your clients. They were all typical stereotypes, so you had to be a stereotypical girl to get them to pay well.

He chuckled, taking your hand and kissing it. He brought you into a hug, lightly scraping his lips over your neck. His breath fanning your neck. “I can’t wait to take you home.” You scowled, turning away. When he pulled away you smiled, and lightly giggled. 

“Okay,” You shyly said, starting to whisper your last words. “Me either.” 

  ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

You glanced at the time in your car, then to the bag in your passenger's seat. You need to change, the chance that your roommate is still up is— one hundred percent, there’s no way he’s asleep.

Maybe, Hitch? She’d be just waking up though. You stopped at a random Target, parking in front of the store, removing your white floof from your neck. You grabbed a small wad of money, and locked your car, getting glances from people that passed you by. It just made you walk even faster. 

A voice made everything freeze in time. Fuck. He wrapped an arm around your shoulder, grinning into your ear. “Y/n!” He sang. 

You sighed, turning your head to him. “C'mon Connie, let's not do this now.” 

Connie huffed, grabbing your hand and leading you to the clothing area. “Lets not what? Help you out?” You lightly scoffed, catching a glance at one of the mirrors. Noticing the marks scattered along your body. 

“This client never holds back, I swear. Might as well burn my whole body.” You lightly traced the marks, Connie laughed handing you a pullover hoodie. 

“Yeah, I also have a client like that.” You grabbed a pair of sweats, along with some sandals. Connie grabbed a soda, taking the clothing you picked out. “I’ll pay.” 

A relieved sigh came from your mouth, as you followed the boy to the check out. A light yawn coming from you. Connie turned his head to you. “Tired?” 

You lightly nodded your head, rubbing your eye lightly. “Very. I’m not very... fond of this certain client.” 

Connie nodded his head, placing the items on the railing. “Let me guess, misogynistic?” 

You laughed, “Not openly, but definitely internalized.” 

Connie handed the lady the money, giving her a flashing smile. Making her giggle and hand him back his change, giving you a dirty look. 

A slight growl came from you, but you played it off as a laugh. “Oh please, you can pay for his services. But, I don't even think you would afford it.” Connie laughed, dragging you away from the situation. Making you grumble, “I don’t know why she had to give me a look, why didn’t she give you a look?”

Connie sighed, letting you take the lead to your car. You unlocked it and opened the backseat, going in while Connie handed you the bag. You rolled down your window a tiny bit, hearing Connie’s words. “The reason she gave you a nasty look is because she was jealous.” He paused for a second, like he was thinking. “Insecure, is how some would put it.” You slipped off your dress putting on the pullover Connie had bought you. “You know Y/n, you make it hard for people to like you.” You scoffed, putting on the sweats. 

“And, how’s that?!” You sounded offended. 

Connie scoffed, turning his head to the store. “Dude, seriously? You just yelled at a girl, shaming her about the amount of money she makes.” You slipped on the sandals, walking back out of the car. Connie sighed, “What happened to you, Y/n? What happened to the girl I knew back in highschool.” 

You leaned on the car. Mimicking Connie’s stance. “How am I supposed to know? I’m growing up, I can’t take time outta’ my day trying to understand everyone’s problems.” 

Connie scoffed, looking back at you. “But, you used to make an attempt.” 

A bitter laugh came from your throat, as you opened the car door. “Yeah, then everyone turned against me.” 

Connie placed a hand to your cheek, placing a kiss to your forehead. “Everyone, but me, sexy.” 

You laughed, taking his hand into yours. “You’re such a pick me.” 

Connie shoved your face into the car, closing it behind you. “This is why even I don’t like you.” You scoffed, turning on your car and pulling out, giving a final wave to your best friend. 

To be frank, all this money you made was thanks to him. He’s the one who got you into this sort of business. 

Buutt~

The only reason he did it was, because he didn’t want to do this shit alone.

You made bank, so— it didn’t bother you too much. Honestly, you constantly think back to the exact conversation. At first you disagreed, and didn't want anything to do with it. But, the more Connie explained, the more intrigued you got. You even said sex was off the table at first, it just amuses you now when you look back on it. 

"No, I'm good." 

Connie groaned, toying with his sleeve. "But, you'd make so much money, since you're such a wallflower. No one would suspect a thing!" 

You let out an amused scoff. "I’m not a wallflower." 

Connie hummed, rolling his eyes. "Still, you'd make a lot of money, again— men like innocent people.” He laughed. “Believe me, I know." Connie finished writing the answer, showing you the paper. Followed by you circling the first word, telling him it was misspelled. He lightly groaned, fixing it and handing it back to you. "You should think about it." 

You huffed, circling yet another mistake. "I don’t know, I don’t want to get killed, or worse raped." You looked to the side. 

Connie pressed his lips together, turning to the side. "That’s completely fair, but I promise you that’s not going to happen. We always run background checks on people." 

You handed the paper back to him, clicking your red pen. Connie just placed it on the floor looking at you. "C'mon, I've done it. The amount of pay is insane, and you get to hang out with rich people." 

"What if I don't wanna’ do what they tell me?" 

Connie looked back at you, grabbing his phone. "You set up a contract, with rules and guidelines, with all your clients. Just remember," He pulled up something on his phone, handing it to you- then pointing to something. "Once your client reads your contract, and agrees with it. Everything that that client does adds to the total pay. With of course, some things being completely off the table." 

You cringed reading a certain part out loud. "Sex is an additional one thousand?" 

Connie laughed, nodding his head. "And, if they want to do it raw, I charge them six." 

You shuddered, handing back his phone. “Isn’t that- a lot?” 

Connie shrugged, pushing his hair out of his face. “Naw, they still pay it. Well— my clients still pay it.” He tapped his fingers on the table, “And, if they don’t, I have Levi talk to them for me.”

“Levi?” There was more people involved in this? You cringed. "I don't know Connie, I don't think this is for me..." 

Connie laughed, sliding his phone back into his pocket. "I didn't think it was for me either, but here I am. Living in a big house, with luxury items and one of my clients is planning on paying off my college tuition." 

You snapped your head to him. "You're—what?!" 

He laughed. "Don't worry, even if they do stop paying for it. If I just go on a few dates, then I can pay off a yearly fee." 

Your mouth was dangling open. Shocked about what was coming out of this man's mouth. Right now, you were extremely tight on money. So, this sounded like a really good idea— No, it isn’t. 

These are real people, who have lives, and thoughts. How could you do something so… vile? It could damage the person you’re with, or worse… you could get hurt. Which should be your biggest concern, because that was more than likely in this profession. 

A light laugh emerged from your throat, while Connie just observed. Taking in your figure, and waiting for you to finish. "I don't have to have sex with them, right?.."

Connie had a small laugh of his own before answering. "Not if you want to make double what I do." 

That was the beginning of senior year, you were not a junior in college. You started this life young, you didn’t mind. It was just something you didn’t tell anyone. It was your personal, and, most importantly, secret life. 

Nobody had to know about that shit. 

You parked a car, opening your glove compartment. Grabbing the wad of money and putting it in your bag along with the other sums of money. Glancing at the time you sighed, ‘1:30’ am. You walked out of the car slamming it behind you. 

Looking back into your bag making sure you had your dress, along with your shoes and white fluff. Or— whatever those things were called. 

Then, walking into your dorm, trying to be as quiet as possible. Opening the door you noticed the sound of music was turned down, but unfortunately was still loud enough to where you could make a noise complaint.

You walked into your room, unlocking the door seeing Hitch still asleep. You glanced at Floch’s room, noticing it was open. He was awkwardly laying in his bed, curled up in a ball. You sighed and walked over, turning off his light, and lowering his music. Grabbing the blanket that was tossed to the floor, and placing it over Floch’s body.

“Thanks.” Floch mumbled, readjusting his pillow. “Can you grab me a tylenol, and some water.” 

“Fuck off.” You glared at him, before turning your back to him. Muttering a soft, “Goodnight, Floch.”

Floch smiled into his pillow, his eyes still shut. “Goodnight, Y/n.” You closed the door. 

You hated him.

But, he loved you. Pathetically. 

You walked back into your room, checking your school document. Seeing it was now filled with a full typed out essay. “Thank god for Furlan.” You shut your laptop, leaning back in your chair. Glancing at your bed. “I’ll sleep on the couch today.” 

  ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

Your alarm went off, causing you to groggily wake up. Shaking the blanket off your shoulder. Glancing at the time. Five am. A sharp sigh left you. A brief glance at your outfit made you go into your closet, and pick out something more suitable for school. Was it designer? Yes. 

You went to the restroom grabbing a towel along with a pair of underwear. You turned on the shower, letting the room fog up, then dipping in. Once done you did a quick face wash along with a makeup look. Shoving a few things into your backpack, then grabbing an apple for you to eat. After that, you walked out of your room.

‘5:27 am.’

It took ten minutes to get to your first class, and you still had to print your essay. You quickly started to run, opening the door to the library. A quick connection to your computer, and then you printed out your essay. Another glance at the time and you were already stressing.

Honestly could this thing go any slower?! An unpleasant groan came from you, as your eyes watched the paper inch outside the machine. Were they always this slow?!

It felt like years before they were done, and when they were, you were sprinting out the building. You glanced at the time again, and almost sighed in relief. Looks like you're not going to be late after all, and incidents ike tardiness were never accepted. Even though you’re the one paying to attend. 

Your college was prodigious, it had top ranking students that wanted to have somewhat of an impact. Whether that be teaching, law, or— whatever else the school provided. An education major that rivaled your own, creating tension between the students.

But, law— law was something-fucking-else.

You jumped when someone ran into you, spilling all your papers to the ground. You could feel your eyebrows furrow, turning over your shoulder, glancing at who bumped into you. “Fucking excuse you.” You seethed. Their outfit only further fueled your anger. Scrubs. 

Of course, the person who bumped into was in said rivaling education. Fuck him, and his two friends laughing in the back. One a girl, and another a guy. He smiled at you, glancing at the heading of your essay. 

“Quarter Overview, Criminal Prosecution/Justices.”

He smiled cockily, his long brown hair tied behind his head. “Sorry, don’t sue me, or anything.” He stepped on one of your papers, “Unless, how much money for my bail?” 

You were going to take him to a secluded place, kill the shit out of him, hide the body, and get away with it. You narrowed your eyes at him, “I don’t associate money with justice. I just want to protect people.” 

“Are you sure about that?” His eyes skimmed over your designer clothing, almost scowling. “Don’t fucking lie about that shit, we can see you’re a money-hungry bitch who dosen’t give a fuck about people. You’d protect anyone if they paid you enough.” 

You went silent, eyes flickering to the side. Technically, that’s what paying for a lawyer was. So, you wouldn't necessarily disagree with his statement. This is why you hated his major, because in a twisted way, your major was the complete opposite of his.

The savior of lives from horrible people. 

The one who defends those horrible people from consequence. 

“Get over it, you're paying people four hundred dollars for dollar-tree tylenol. You’re just as bad as me.” That was a lie, no matter what this guy did, he would never be as bad as you. “So, shut the fuck up, and go cry over a life you couldn’t save.” 

“Fucking bitch.” His foot twisted over your paper, leaving a shoe mark into the white sheet. 

You scowled at him, “Dick.” You pulled your paper from underneath his foot, “Go save a bitch who can’t pay for it, and send me the video of her sobbing from the crippling debt.” 

But, the man already had his back to you. 

Then, there was the medical-course. 

And, because of them, you were going to be late, and your essay was now trampled and ruined. 

One of the best schools for law, was shared with medical training. People in the medical course were too full of themselves. It was hard to get into this school, but getting into the medical course was a different story. 

From what you've heard at least. 

Supposedly, the school only takes a third of applicants. And, without a recommendation from a well-known doctor, people really had no chance of getting accepted. Additionally, there were still more rules among what doctors you could get recommendations from.

In your perspective, asking a random doctor to give you a recommendation had a better chance, than getting accepted into this school. For medical students, of course.

And, from what you’ve experienced, you're not very fond of medical course students, as anyone can see. 

You sighed, collecting the last of your papers. A quick adjustment of your mask, then you started to jog again. Swinging quickly around the corner and into your classroom, a small habit you've picked up. 

The moment you walked in the people gave you a quick glance, before continuing their notes. You quickly placed your essay in the basket then walked to your seat. Receiving a few quick glances from your peers. 

You took a seat next to your friend Historia, widening your eyes in exaggeration. You pulled out your computer, placing it on your desk. “So, why are you late?” She innocently asked.

You continued writing and gave your answer as you did so. “I printed my essay.” 

Historia nodded her head, giggling quietly. “Did you use the main campus library, or the one near the south building?” 

“Main.” 

Historia hummed, tapping her fingers against the desk. “That printer sucks, you need to use the other one.” 

You rolled your eyes, quickly catching up on notes. Your fingers flying over your computer with inhuman speed. Historia watching in awe. “I always wondered how you typed so fast.” 

You shrugged, “Practice.” You wrote the final things down, then added a sticky note in your textbook to come back to it. 

Historia smiled and offered the beginning of the presentation notes. You took a quick picture and thanked her, taking off to finally get breakfast. What a way to start off the day. Thank god this class was only once a week. 

You gripped the edge of your desk, head pressed about the cool surface. “I sometimes hate this school.” 

“What happened?” Historia tilted her head, her cheek pressed against the desk. Trying to peer at your face, only to see your hair covering it. 

“Unfortunately, I ran into a gunner.” You mumbled, practically breaking the desk underneath your grip. That’s how pissed off you were.

Historia hummed with acknowledgment, nodded her head, giggling quietly. The students in the medial-course were addressed by a different name from those who weren’t, ‘Gunners.’ 

They were what held up the school’s reputation, and took all the glory and fame. There was no recognition if you weren’t in the medical course, it was an easy way to become a doctor or nurse. As long as you just got into the course. 

Of course, that was more than a difficult task. 

Which means, you had to work above and beyond for even a small amount of acknowledgement. You weren't the special ones, you were the supporters and couldn’t do anything about it. 

Again, you had a ‘small’ distaste for them. You didn’t want to kill then or anything, okay… yes, you did. But, you would never actually do it. Unless, they really crossed you.

“I’m going to kill them.” 

“Don’t joke about that.”

“Who said I was joking?” 

  ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

You sat next to Connie, texting one of your clients. Well, the one from yesterday or—today, he found a house for you to move into. Porco hated when you spoke about your horrible roommates. So, as his gift, he found you a house. It was something you two have discussed, so it wasn’t completely out of nowhere.

Porco also agreed to pay for the first monthly fee. Sending you pictures and videos, to which you showed to your best friend. 

“Damn, it’s huge.” Connie swirled his fry in his ranch, taking a bite. 

You scoffed, adding to his statement. “That's what I thought.” You bit your lip. “You think he— wired it?...” 

Connie shrugged, looking at the pictures. “Just invite me over when you move in, I have a kit for that.” 

You blinked, “A what?” 

Connie stared blankly back at you. “A kit. Don’t you have one?” 

You let out a confused breath. “I’m supposed to have one?!” 

“Yes! You need to make sure a client isn’t recording you!” Connie exasperated. 

You pulled your phone back, a small laugh erupted from you. “Yeah, Uhm. Get me some of those. Please.” 

Connie placed a hand to his face, groaning. “God I’m surprised I haven’t seen you on the hub yet. Or, even on the black market for sale.” 

Your face dropped. “You think so?!” You whispered. Connie scoffed, laughing into his palm. 

  ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

During your packing, your roommates would constantly come into your room, Hitch helping you pack, and Floch— Floch was just here to scold you. Saying something along the lines of, “You’re going to regret this.” Or, “I’m going to be so bored without you to bother.”’ 

You gave a good-bye to Hitch wishing her to be safe, and try to focus on school. She scoffed, “Whatever. I’ll do my best, or something.” 

You nodded, taking her into a hug. “Don’t take shit from Floch either. Lay off the parties too.” You softly scolded. 

Hitch scoffed, pushing you off her. “That's something I will not promise you.” 

Your eyes softened for a second, pressing a stuffed animal into her arms. “So you’re saying, you promise to do your best?” 

Hitch scoffed, turning to walk into her room. You grabbed the few things in your room and started to walk to the door. When something gently tugged you back. “What's up? Missing me already.” 

Hitch rolled her eyes, pressing the wrapped shoe box into your hands. “I actually spent money on this, including the wrapper. I have a pair of my own, and thought it would be cool if you had one too. I thought they were cute.” 

You nodded, placing it under your arm. “Thank you, this really means a lot.” 

Hitch smiled, and turned away. “It's the least I can do since you baby me so much.” 

You laughed, flicking the back of her head. “Remember to lock your door, Floch’s a huge dick.“ You whispered that last part. “You already know.” 

Hitch nodded her head, playing with her sleeve. “Just— Just tell Fluff I said, bye.” 

You nodded your head and said goodbye, walking out the door, and closing it behind you. Quickly walking to the moving van you placed all the things near it, watching all the men place all your stuff inside. You got in your car, phoning Connie for a second then connecting it to bluetooth. 

Connie picked up, “Hey princess, today the day?” 

You lightly nodded your head, turning on your engine. “Yeah, come check my house. Alright.” 

You heard a scoff as you pulled out of your parking spot. “Alright, you could’ve at least said please.” You hung up the phone. 

“Siri, text Connie, house location.” It took her a few seconds but she replied with. 

‘Sending location.’ You waited a few more seconds before she finally said, ‘Location sent.’ 

“Okay, I’ll see you inna’ bit.” You ran your hand the wheel, pulling into a Mcdonalds. You were craving fries.

“You want me to pick some food up? Or, are you gonna’ get something to eat?” Connie asked. 

“No, I’m not getting anything. Pick up some food.” You ended the call.

Once you arrived at your house you noticed the moving van was already there, carrying your things inside. You had given them the key, so they weren’t breaking in. Wait, did you give them a key?

You walked in, continuing to munch on your fries as you lighty started to take in the interior design that was already present before you arrived. ‘Client 4’ did state he bought some things for you, considering you were his favorite. 

You promptly tipped the men bringing your stuff in, retrieving your key from them as they left. As you unpacked, you finally took the time to really take a look at your new place. More specifically the rooms. It had two bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen, a single restroom, and the bedrooms were quite— large. 

The kitchen was to die for, it had a huge fridge in the center and a stove with a wood burn oven in the back. The living room was— insane in your opinion. You had a nice view of the city, which was even better in the dark. The restroom had a freaking jacuzzi, along with a standing shower. Additionally each room was perfect, well your room was perfect.

They each had a desk, with windows to the city below them. In your room you had a hanging light that was quite beautiful, along with a massive bed in the center. With a walk in-closet. 

A knock interrupted your thoughts, while you looked into the peephole noticing it was Connie. You unlocked it, and took Fluff into your arms. Cooing at the animal, getting a dirty look from Connie. He closed the door, mumbling curses under his breath as he went into the room. Pulling out a bag from his backpack. 

You sat on the couch, playing with your dog as she licked your nose. She was actually something your clients had bought you. She honestly came to you as a surprise, at first the small dog was merely just a prop for you to hold. Then your client just insisted that you'd kept it, saying something along the lines of 'I have far too many at home.' So, that's how you came about her. 

Connie walked back into the room. Flopping on the couch next to you. “Your rooms are good. I can do a quick check in here. If you would like.” You nodded your head, toying with Fluff’s paws. He groaned, and checked both rooms. “Alright, everythings is in the clear. I checked everything, and here.” He tossed you a bag, you swiftly caught it with one hand. Connie gave you a surprised look, while you finally took your eyes off Fluff.

“Don’t do that again.” 

Connie laughed taking a seat next to you, making you slightly jump in your seat. “So, you know, how like— having two rooms, and stuff?..” 

You nodded your head, and glared at Connie. “You’re not going to live with me, if that's what you're proposing.” 

Connie slapped your thigh gently. “Thanks, after all I’ve done for you. But no, that's not what I mean.” You snickered, while he continued. “You see, you can charge people to live with you. And, the fact that you live around ten minutes away from your school is another huge factor. A lot of people would pay alot for a place like this.” 

“A lot of people like us, would pay for a place like this. But, people don’t get a paycheck like us. And remember, people our age are dying in debt. If I do end up setting up a roommate system, I’d try to make it cheap. You know, maybe lay off a student on college debt for a moment” Connie gave you a shocked look. Your eyebrows furrowed at his expression, “What?”

“Wow, that’s the first time in a while you ever had compassion for another human being that wasn’t fake.” 

You scoffed, jumping off the couch. “Whatever. Just help me unpack.” 

Connie shrugged his shoulders, getting off the couch. “Back to what I was saying.” He grimaced once you finally looked at him, “I kinda told everyone you needed a roommate.” 

You scoffed. “You’re helping me set up flyers then.” 

“Really!” 

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Just— Just give me a week to finally have some time for myself.” Connie nodded, grabbing a few of your boxes. 

  ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

The next day at school was a hassle, suddenly everyone needed a new place to live. They were suggesting you would let them live with you. Which wouldn't be a problem, but when you brought up the idea of a monthly fee they would insist— you let them live with you for free. Honestly, how self-delusional do you have to be?

A quiet sigh came from you as Connie jogged up to your position. “I created some flyers— wait, woah. What’s up with you, you look like shit.” 

You snapped your head to him. “Yeah, I wonder why. Everyone’s been talking to me about my new house.” 

Connie slapped your back, handing you a flier. You crumpled it up, and threw it behind you. “Connie, I honestly don’t want a roommate right now.” 

Connie held a paper in front of you leading you out of the main courtyard. “C'mon. Just post on the school board announcements, I doubt anyone would contact you anytime soon. I say you have a week.” Connie placed a flier on the board, shoving the rest in his bag. “And, you don't have to reply immediately to the person. Just try to get to them in a timely fashion.” 

You looked at the paper taking in the information, there was nothing that revealed too much about the location. It had an email to where the person could contact you, and it did say pets allowed. 

You shrugged your shoulders, there was nothing that you disagreed with. So, you stuck to Connie’s word. You gave it a week, no one had contacted you yet. You honestly really liked it.

Every day you would blast music, doing a live performance as you cooked or cleaned. Then you would take long baths, while doing your homework in peace.

Additionally, a useful thing you found out was, the place was not soundproof. Which wasn’t ideal for your line of work. If you were to get a roommate, they would be able to hear your private late night calls. You found out when you were blasting music, and quickly closed the door, trying to clean behind it— when the music echoed through your room. The only place being somewhat sound proof being the restroom. Of all places. 

Still, the time was more than enjoyable. Living alone was a dream.

Until now, you silently were dreading it. You knew it was going to happen eventually, but— you didn’t want your fun to be over. 

The flier was gone. 

Immediately you thought of the student board. They could’ve just taken it down. 

A quick glance at the, ‘Happy new year!’ back from twenty-thirteen changed your mind. Someone took it, maybe they just did it cause it was bothering them? Maybe, no one was going to contact you. 

You typed away, trying to collect all the information from your professor. Historia seemed to be doing the same, with the two of you engaging in small conversation every now and then. 

She seemed to find your situation humorous. 

“Historia, this isn’t funny. I just don’t want this independent time to be over yet.” You sounded as straightforward as ever, but in your mind, you sounded so whiny. You clicked away, trying to copy a certain graph that was on the professor’s presentation. 

“Well, if you want to be by yourself. Why didn’t you take down the poster?” You pondered for a second, thinking back to your times when you did have roommates. You honestly missed Hitch, you missed the company she brought you. 

Again, she did get on your nerves, but you didn’t dislike the girl.

Historia cut off your thinking, “Which means, deep down, you secretly wanted a roommate. Lemmie guess, you're starting to get loney?” 

You rolled your eyes, toying with the keys on your computer. Refusing to talk for some time as you copied the presentation. A small, “Maybe, but I doubt it.” Escaping your throat. She giggled, and wrote down a few things. 

“But, you make it sound sad, I just want someone to help with money.” Even though money wasn’t at all a concern for you. “That's all.” 

Historia laughed a bit louder than she intended to. Catching some glances from your classmates as she spoke. “Girl, you make it sound like your new roommate is going to be a pet. You need to think about—“ Both of you glanced at your phone, you just got a notification. 

Maybe, it was just a random marketer that contacted you. Unlocking your phone you thought to yourself. That random marketer just wanted to know if the extra room was still available. 

You turned off your phone, flipping it over. Historia gave you a quick look, not bothering to press on in the moment, and continued to write. 

You didn’t open it for a day. 

Your next class, you arrived a bit early, trying to finish an assignment due that day. Historia walked in and took a spot next to you, she took your phone and asked for the code. You snatched your phone back. “And, why do you need my phone?” 

Historia snickered and gently took it back. “To see if you opened the email, silly!” 

You thought about it, then sighed. “It’s my birthday.” You hit submit, and turned back to the girl, she just showed you the screen. You had indeed not opened it. You honestly didn’t want to.

“You know, you can say no. The person’s just asking, because the place is cheap and they’re probably struggling with money.” 

A light frown graced your face as you took the phone back. “Fine, I’ll just check the email.” Historia smiled, clicking on the notification. Gracely opening it for you. 

‘Arlert Armin

To: Y/n L/n

Subject: Roommates?

Hello,

I wish to live with you.’

“Huh.”

A small laugh escaped Historia’s lips. She clicked on the reply. “Not what I was expecting, I—I mean. At least they’re straight forward.” 

You slowly nodded your head, composing a similar email. “Should I just get to the point?” 

Historia shrugged, looking at the email. “I mean didn’t you say, ‘I don’t want a roomie.’” She raised the pitch of her voice, trying to mimic you. 

You sarcastically laughed, giving her a dirty look. “Fair point.” You sighed, leaning back in your chair. “I don’t think I’m going to give it to him, what if he’s a serial killer, or something?” You’d be able to deal with a serial killer, but still, it’d be too much of a hassle to live with. 

Historia leaned back in her chair, shrugging her shoulders. “Just let them down easy, say unfortunately it's not available. There, problem’s solved.” She smirked, looking at the email you’re composing. “Unless, you want a roommate.” 

A bitter laugh left you as you looked at your reply. “No, I’m good. I like living alone.” You finished the email, and saved it into your drafts, turning off your phone and placing it screen down on the desk. 

Historia laughed, “Sure.” Her amusement came to a halt when she got a text from her friend, she replied while replaying another concern. “By the way, what if they’re in the medical course?” 

You paused, what if they’re in the medical course.  

You and Connie were watching a movie, while you updated him on the situation. He was playing with fluff’s paws as he listened. He huffed, getting annoyed with your bickering. “Maybe, they just give up, and forget about it.” 

Like if that person heard, a notification lit up your phone. You glanced at it seeing it was an email. Connie took it into his hand and unlocked it, opening the email and skimming over it for you. He laughed while replying to the email. “Don’t worry. I got this, you obviously don’t wanna go through with this.” 

You huffed taking your phone back. “How would you know that?” 

Connie scoffed, “You’ve been bitching about this since the moment I walked in the door.” You became silent, silently admitting he was right. Connie took your phone, mumbling about how, ‘I’m always right.’ 

“Connie…“ You sighed, trying to talk again. “Just.. I don’t know, forget about it.” 

Connie laughed, ruffling your hair. He knew you too well. “I know, don’t worry.” 

You lightly scoffed, shoving his hand off, and grumbling something under your breath. Connie laughed, sending an email to the random person. “Okay, they’re going to come next week with all their stuff around six.” Connie glanced at the phone and placed it down. 

“On Tuesday?” Your eyes widened slightly. “Really? Isn’t that too soon?” You made a face. “And, late?” 

Connie shrugged, sitting down next to you. A small scoff escaped your lips, catching Connie’s attention. “I just really hope they’re not as bad as my old roommates.” Connie adjusted his position, taking Fluff into his arms. 

Your next statement made him freeze. 

“And, I really hope they’re not in the medical course.” 

Connie fucked up.

And, you suddenly had a roommate.

Next Chapter (2): My Bitchy Attitude, And Your Calm Understanding One.

[5sosfanfictioncatalogue]

Sounds Live Feels Live Tour Masterlist

Hot Dog And Milkshake (ao3) - im_just_a_sucker_for_bromance Luke/Ashton  E,2k

Summary: It was the first day of their new tour and Ashton was freaking out. Luke took it up to him to try and calm his best friend down. By calming down, Luke had other things in mind; things that Ashton could not even think of. Ashton could still remember that day when he had gone to Michael’s house for the first time to meet up with the guys. They were introducing themselves and Luke had said ‘hey I’m Luke and I like hotdog and milkshake’, causing Michael and Calum to snicker behind their hands. After so many years, Ashton had finally understood what that had meant.

I Don't Ever Wanna Wait For This (ao3) -  elivigar Luke/Calum M, 4k

Summary: “Then what am I supposed to—” Luke starts haughtily, but Calum cuts him off.

“Keep it in your fucking pants or just try to plan a little,” he says. “Let me know beforehand and I’ll go share Ashton’s bed or I’ll just stay out until you’re done or— whatever. Anything but forcing me to see or hear you getting it on with someone over and over again.” Pausing for a moment, he draws his eyebrows together, then adds, “Actually, I’ll literally suck your dick in every city in North America if it means I won’t have to deal with this again.”

I Know Who You Want Me To Be (But I'm Just Not There Yet) (ao3) - alxclightwood Luke/Ashton G, 2k

Summary: Luke has some sort of identity crisis, Ashton is the best boyfriend-not-boyfriend and eventually they get their shit together.

Injection (ao3) - im_just_a_sucker_for_bromance Michael/Luke E, 4k

Summary: For two days, Michael had been sick, grumpy and moody and to make him feel better, Luke had been googling ways because everything Calum and Ashton had tried had failed. He was quite happy that his plan was more effective and he was totally not expecting a reward in the end.

Or the one where Luke tried to sweat Michael's fever out when everything else failed.

Like the Stars Love the Sky (ao3) - tigerlily_sunshine Michael/Calum/Ashton, Michael/Ashton T, 37k

Summary: Michael can’t admit to Luke that he liked kissing Calum or that he would like to kiss Calum again. He can’t, because admitting it to Luke means saying it out loud, and saying it out loud means that these feelings are real. It means that he loves Calum as much as he loves Ashton, and that isn’t fair to anybody, especially not Ashton who didn’t ask for a fiancé with one foot out of the door—not that Michael would ever leave Ashton, but the sentiment is the same.

(In which Michael doesn't realize he might be in love with Calum until Michael himself is engaged to Ashton.)

stuck in between a nightmare and lost dreams (ao3) - bluesunnie Calum/Ashton, Michael/Luke T, 13k

Summary: The one where Calum writes Ashton a song for their second album, all because of that one night when Ashton got drunk and talked about his family.

Time of Our Lives? (ao3) - UltimateOptimist NR, 8k

Summary: 5 Seconds of Summer are on top of the world and loving it....Except maybe one. Michael is finding it difficult to adjust in L.A, while his band mates love it.

Or basically Michael is finding touring and new L.A. life difficult, which is made even harder as the boys don't quite understand or struggle with it. . How can he cope when the one place he's always felt like he belonged becomes a place he feels an outsider in? Cue arguments, breakdowns and some cute moments too.

trivium (ao3) - irwah Michael/Ashton, Michael/Calum, Calum/Ashton, Michael/Calum/Ashton E, 26k 

Summary: Calum continues to join in Michael and Ashton's relationship and everything is totally fine...until it isn't.

Work Out (ao3) - im_just_a_sucker_for_bromance Luke/Ashton E, 3k

Summary: When Luke had walked into the dressing room, he had thought he would be alone but he was surprised when he found Ashton there; Ashton, who was supposed to be anywhere but there. Although Ashton claimed he was feeling sick, Luke knew it was something else, something that was right up his alley, and he took it up to him to help Ashton.

you complete mess (ao3) - sunshineash Luke/Ashton NR, 1k

Summary:  Luke walks in on Ashton cuddling a lot of random cats.

[rottedsoulx]

SO TRUE

Zane is literally the guy who brought home a bird and was like “Yeah this is my friend now but hes wild so he stays outside”

My second response to this was “oh, maybe kai would be the voice of reason” Bc i doubt back home he would have let Nya or himself keep a pet. The thing is that this is not back home. In the pilot he brought home and convinced everyone to get dragons.

So the next Ninja on the list may be Jay. And it’s like okay okay. If it’s a small animal he’d probably be fine with it. Maybe he’d even be fine with a big dog. A kitten? He might not be pro kitten but he’s not heartless

Meanwhile Cole. Cole would be absolutely against any pet. At first. He has so many reasons for any animal not to be in the house. Even when Cool Ranch is adopted into the family he grumbles about how bad an idea it is to have a pet. They’re ninja! How are they supposed to take care of a cat!

Yet. In the same way many a father do, he warms up to the animal instantly. He spoils the cat like it’s his baby. Just like he did to rocky, he orders special treats for his new baby and even attempts to cook it full course meals. He’s seen consistently cuddling and smooching on that cat.

Anyways I don’t remember what this post was talking about.

I keep finding fics where Lloyd discovers a stray animal and takes it home, and Zane of all people acts as the voice of reason and tries to convince him not to adopt it. And i get where theyre coming from, but idk that doesn't feel right to me. Like bestie Zane would absolutely not be the voice of reason in this scenario. What happens is that Lloyd finds and brings them home, and Zane backs him up in front of Wu

Like, Lloyd would pull out the puppy dog eyes as he begs everyone to let him keep it, all while Zane puts together a 583-slide powerpoint listing all the reasons that keeping the animal is a good idea actually. Together they'd be an unstoppable force

.

Lloyd: PLEASE can we keep this little kitten? She's adorable and soft and i love her

Zane: also, if we leave her outdoors it will do more harm than good. Statistically, outdoor cats suffer higher mortality and contribute to the extinction of several bird species

Lloyd: AND we already named her Cool Ranch

Zane, nodding seriously: and we already named her Cool Ranch

[campbluelake]

in the next life, forget everything

Things fall silent for a moment before Niko straightens up and runs a hand through his hair, disheveled from fighting Vual. 

“Well. Now that that’s all figured out, uh, there’s one more thing…”

He glances pointedly towards where the more ghostly of you are gathered, opening his mouth with a clear hesitance to continue speaking. 

“My contract… here’s the thing. You all did die, so, you know, technically you’re supposed to pass on. And I’m supposed to pass you on. That’s what I agreed to do coming here, and in return…

I get to live again. So, uh–”

His contract had mentioned a boon, if you recall– this must be it. But… surely he’s not intending to send you all to Hell even now, right? For his own gain? …Actually, that does sound like something you might imagine Niko doing, and the look in his eyes as he adjusts his grip on his scythe is unreadable. Perhaps you prepare to beat the shit out of yet another demon, just in case. 

Before he can continue, though, you hear a new sound. The… flapping of wings? 

You turn to look and find a small bird, black with an unusually red chest, landing on a tree. It tilts its head, looking at you all, and then opens its beak. And speaks. In an annoying voice you’ve heard for the first time rather recently. 

“Oh, well done! Great news, great news, since Vual is, well, let’s just say we don’t have to waste resources on a trial anymore! Isn’t that great! Unconventional, but it gets the job done!”

The bird chortles to himself before seeming to realize there’s other people around. Niko, meanwhile, looks shocked that it’s here at all.  

“Oh, so many humans here! Wow! Are these all the souls you gathered for me, Nicky? You always were such an overachiever! Greetings, everyone! Ah-ha, it’s been so long since I’ve been around humans. Alive ones, at least, though some of you certainly aren’t! You may call me Barbatos.”

…So this diminutive bird is indeed Niko’s boss, then. The employee in question has started to look a bit ill, and opens his mouth to speak, but is plowed right over.

“Well, it’ll take a while to process them all, but I would say this handily fulfills the requirements of your contract! You’ve been filing all the paperwork, right? Of course you have, ha-ha, well, it’s kind of a shame, isn’t it? I don’t want to lose my best employee, but deals are deals…”

At the subject of the contract, Niko’s brow furrows, and he looks as though he’s working up the power to speak again– but it’s not him who interrupts.

“You.”

The small bird is suddenly gripped in one of Max’s large clawed hands, tight enough that you might imagine the squeak of a dog toy.

“Vual has already been made as offering to stave Her anger; you will listen, or I will implore His Radiance make the same of you to sate Her entirely.”

…Okay. Sure. He’s threatening to talk to Barbatos’s manager, otherwise known as literal Satan. At this point, why not? Max gives the small bird a firm shake, bobbling its head around.

“Your contract requires that all souls are correctly processed before release. These souls- do not fall under your domain. By your admittance, Vual has broken the laws of Hell’s own making in trying to take them. Yes?”

The bird wiggles around a bit trying to escape.

“Well, technicallyyyyyy, I suppose, but souls are souls, you know, and we can always use more. You don’t know how much it takes to run Hell–”

“By that meaning, to process them correctly would mean returning them to life. These are your own words.”

Barbatos chirps angrily, leaning down to peck at Max’s hand with a sharp beak. Then it vanishes– but a snake slips out of the looseness of Max’s grip, and then a wasp flies upwards, and the bird lands on the branch again.

“Fine, fine, fine.” The bird’s jovial tone has taken on a darker edge, and you remember that despite his current tiny size and relative friendliness in comparison to Vual, this is a demon Duke as well. “You want to try to play contract lawyer with me? Fine! That definition of processed definitely wasn’t what I had in mind, but I guess that’s my mistake not catching the wording, so, go ahead! If you think you can figure out how to bring back the dead, be my guest! Oh, but I don’t know if poor Nicky has that sort of talent in him, he’s just a reaper, oh noooo–”

“Actually.”

Niko finally speaks up, seemingly emboldened by watching Max threaten his boss, who he hates so dearly. A polite smile twists across his face, fangs poking through the corners, and he waves a hand.

“You interrupted me before I could explain, but I think I’ve figured out the mechanics for bringing them back well enough. I’ve been studying, and I did it for myself anyway, didn’t I? Made myself a new body to pretend to be alive, put my soul in it– with your power, I can do the same for all of them.”

Barbatos looks indignant, as much as a bird can.

“My power? You think I’ll let you use it for that–”

“It’s in my contract. All usage of your power is voided when it ends, and you gave me express permission not that long ago, or did you forget?”

Niko looks smug, but his expression falters a moment later. Here, he finally turns to look at you all assembled.

“I can do it. I– I would’ve turned you all in for my life, sure, but I changed my mind. We can all get out of here together, but– the thing is, I’m not that strong. I know the mechanics behind the magic needed, but the strength it would take to work it on all of you is… too much. For me alone. Max, um, gave me the idea, though– if you all could… let me take some of your energy, then… I could do it.

It won’t hurt you. But… you have to be willing. To help me. I know it might be hard to trust me now, but… I just want this all to end. So…”

In a move uncharacteristic for Niko, who typically refused to trust anything to others, he asks.

“Please. Help me save everyone here. You all– even if it sucked, you had happy times here, right? It wasn’t all bad. If you’re willing, and you think about… the times you lived happily, I think I can recreate that. Or even just… how much you want to live, now. I can make that real for you all. 

But I need you all to help. One last time.” 

A soft voice calls off from the side.

“That won’t work.”

It’s Abbie, still holding herself up by her hands on the ground, looking ragged and tired.

“Well. Kinda. It’ll kinda work. Even with you stealing Barbatos’ magic and getting the energy from everyone else, it’s not going to be enough. Because it’s not your magic and you’re using it for something its owner doesn’t want it used for, it’ll fight against you. You need an anchor–a base of magic from someone who wants for this to happen…”

Her shoulders slump, and her eyes droop halfway closed.

“I…I’m too tired. I can’t…do it. I’m sorry. I would give it to you if I had anything left, but…”

Malyce staggers forward, making brief eye contact with Niko for a moment before looking down. The words said both in the trial and the fight still weigh heavily on him. But enough of Malyce’s ego. In this moment, he doesn’t matter. What matters is making this magic work.

“I can do it." 

He’s soft at first, pulling off his clawed gloves. His fingertips glow with residual magic. His confidence grows as he holds his hands out, palms up. 

"Vual may be gone, but what he gave me isn’t… Not yet, at least. I don’t need it anymore. If I want to be magic again, I’ll work for it. Let me be the launchpad, and with everyone’s effort, Niko can finish the job." 

Malyce knows that things are possible when people work together. No one has to do anything alone. He breathes in, feeling every particle of power that has been granted to him. The boons written in ancient script that he took for his own. These very boons will be his to give back. He stole lives for this magic, and now it’s time to give it back. 

Malyce’s hands soon become illuminated with a green aura. He remembers Abbie’s words just previously: this has to be the magic of someone who wants this. Everyone gets to live. Reverse the tragedy he helped bring upon these souls. Fire, blood, broken bones and shattered bodies will be no more. He doesn’t know what his future looks like, but at least the ones here will have one.

Malyce scoots a tad awkwardly towards Niko, his appreciation bubbling on the tip of his tongue. When he opens his eyes, he gives the other man a half hearted smile, the magic he concentrated in his hands moving towards Niko. 

"This should be a good start.”

And now, the rest falls to you.

[roguestarsailor]

Im trying to dissect these feelings. I get a physical reaction to this guy and I think initially it feels like love and he hits all things that makes me curious about him…and I think I wanted him to be my first. Idk about forever (despite having fantasies of this) but I wanted him to be it! It’s rare for me to feel these things! But seeing what it’s done to my psyche and how I literally hate myself and being myself and obsessed with the idea of who I think he likes based on the loose and sparse information he gives me about his former lover and changing myself in that way is BAD.

He’s so careless with his words and I had to hold them so tightly and overanalyze them so intensely that it made me feel awful too. I really wanted him to like me though. But everything signals a no; the time his dog shit on my carpet, the bruises I get from being around that dog, the losing appetite when I’m around him, the filtered words, all the physical reactions that feel like im in danger, all of it, and just naturally nothing in schedule aligns nor shared common interests, or even joking the same way (I remember showing him a vine and he FAKE LAUGHED and I don’t know how to joke with him either)…none of it aligned! Like these signals in stories typically foreshadow a doomed relationship.

If he was even a friend I think I wouldn’t wonder so hard. He’d just talk to me! At minimum I’d know how to joke with him. But I don’t. I don’t even feel like he’s himself with me. I hear so many stories from his friends before I hear them from him and it’s not natural how I talk to him. I did chalk it up to be nerves but maybe someone I actually like won’t make me feel like I have to filter myself??

I think I have an idea what love is and it’s not what I feel for him. I know this logically but my brain spirals to this all the time. It’s probably because it would have been really really fucken nice if he was the one. He has most of the physical qualities and that extrovertism that I like and a little rebellious attitude but our actual interactions? No, obviously not. I probably liked projecting my hopes and dreams because he’s as close to someone I envisioned I’d like (and I wasn’t going anywhere with any guy anyways) and just trying to force a circle in a square hole the entire time.

I’m hurt and my heart is sad but I think I’m alright. I spent all these months pining and yearning and trying to see a sign that makes sense but I can read and I need to understand that he’s not it. There’s more and by chance I’ll find someone who fits much better.

I will say getting older sucks because I’m feeling the weight of the journey and even though I don’t have a strict timeline milestone situation I do wish I am lucky biologically and seeing my peers do what we’re “supposed” to do makes me sad but I’ll be fine.

It’s a chapter closed on this one. I’ll write a reflection on this as the days/weeks goes by but I can finally breathe again. Lost my appetite today though but I don’t think my emotions are that turbulent about this guy anymore.

[cryptidmax]

The beginning of a beautiful friendship

[mypoisonedvine]

𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙮 𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙖𝙡 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘝𝘐𝘐 - 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙡𝙚) || sub!bucky barnes x dominatrix!reader

(𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐) (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐𝘐) (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐𝘐𝘐) (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐𝘝) (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘝) (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘝𝘐)

𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 || the finale.

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 || 3.5k

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 || fluff, angst, implied smut, domestic goodness, more EMOTIONS!!!

six months ago...

Bucky wrung his hands a few times before knocking on your door, feeling his heart beat a little faster when he could hear the sounds of your footsteps on the other side. He'd been dreaming of a day like this for so long— the day he finally acted on this secret obsession he had, the day he stopped fantasizing and started realizing— but all this time, part of him had never really thought he'd go through with it. I mean, there's a pretty big difference between jerking off to videos of dominant women and actually getting spanked, slapped, and choked by a dominatrix after paying her an insane amount of money per hour.

But frankly, Bucky needed a big difference from what he'd been doing. He'd been alone for a little too long, he needed someone else's touch before he lost his mind. And he knew that he needed something more substantial than a hook-up, someone who wouldn't expect him to be dominant at all. Even in a kink-less, vanilla hook-up, there’s still an onus of dominance, that’s what Bucky had realised. He’s still supposed to initiate, to guide, to be fully in control… and he hates how it feels to be in control. He’s not used to it, and it doesn’t feel right, and it just makes him sure he’ll do something wrong. So here he was, standing at your door, hoping you’d take away his freedom to do something wrong.

The latch turned and you opened it.

Fuck.

You looked great. Too great, almost overwhelming. Even better than the pictures on your website.

You looked so much softer than the women he saw whenever he searched up femdom porn (yes, that was pretty much the first thing he did once he figured out google— thankfully he had also figured out incognito mode), but your presence was twice as commanding. Your eyes scanned over him quickly and your face stayed annoyingly stoic.

You invited him in; And since then, you’d had him wrapped around your finger.

Even knowing to a certain extent what he was getting into, he could’ve never prepared for how quickly he’d fall for you. Not that he was exactly new to the feeling, but he thought guilt might eat him alive: because of course he felt awful for developing real feelings for you. You were just doing your job and he was falling into the same trap that probably every dumbass client fell into.

Or maybe they actually knew what they were doing and understood how to separate fantasy from reality. He couldn’t decide which one was worse.

He spent a few hours trying to decide while staring up at his ceiling— certainly a better way to spend the time than being social or taking care of unfinished business, right?

But leave it to you to change everything with just three words. Make me yours.

He hadn’t stopped thinking about those words— or about the way you said them— since the moment you spoke them. He hadn’t stopped changing his mind on if he could really believe you were his or not. He wanted to, more than anything; and in those brief moments he did, he felt a joy that he had no idea what to do with.

He frowned as he turned his back towards the mirror, looking over his shoulder to watch his finger run over the fading scars on his back. They’d be gone for good in less than a week, but he knew you had left plenty of permanent marks on him— just unfortunately not those that anyone else could see. He liked the way these scars looked under your fingertips much more than his; he liked everything about being in your arms.

Since you’d texted him to ask if you could have a serious talk with him soon, he worried he wouldn’t get to feel that again. In fact, nothing worried him more.

He was typically antsy as he waited for you to answer the door— he had been since that very first time so long ago— but this felt entirely different: not as jittery, but a thousand times more anxious.

At first he’d been wishing you’d answer it right away, but then he heard your bolt turn and panic landed on him like a dangling anvil dropping on a cartoon character. Suddenly the last thing he wanted was for you to open that door, to be standing there looking all perfect and shit, to smile at him and greet him and invite him in. He didn’t want it; he couldn’t take it.

But you did it all anyway, though it was obviously and immediately a new situation entirely, compared to every other time you’d done it.

You were dressed differently, still formal but definitely toned down. Nothing sexual, at least not objectively. And your smile, though it still made his heart skip a beat just like always, was noticeably softer and maybe a bit sadder.

He stepped in past you, and you surprised him by sitting next to him on the couch rather than across from him on your chair. “Do you want, like, water or anything?” you asked, breaking the silence for a moment.

“No, I’m fine,” he nodded.

Bucky had gotten pretty good at silence these past few years; it didn’t bother him, in fact he barely even noticed it. But this silence made him remember why everyone else hated silence so much: it was heavy and thick and made him overcome with the need to blurt something out. “Everyone calls me Bucky,” he finally admitted. You smiled.

“Do you want me to call you that?” you asked.

He considered your question, trying to imagine you saying it. “I… I used to think it would be better, but now I like the way you say ‘James’ too much.”

“If you thought it would be better, why did you ask me to call you James?” you pressed.

“Because I didn’t want you to know who I was.”

“I know who you are,” you informed him. “I always knew.”

He swallowed as the pit formed in his gut, glancing away to hide from your gaze. “You did a good job of… of pretending you didn’t. You never seemed scared of me.”

“Because I wasn’t. And I’m not.”

He couldn’t imagine how; but then again, if there was any truly fearless woman, he figured it would be you. “I thought you’d beat me up better if you knew what I’d done,” he admitted, almost smiling but not exactly feeling very happy. “Thought you might want… revenge.”

“Surprised that didn’t make you want to tell me.”

He laughed a bit at that. “Yeah, fair enough.”

You asked him a very different question next, one that made his throat suddenly dry: "Have you ever had something that was all your own?" you spoke gently.

"Not for a long time…" he trailed off, letting his eyes unfocus as he stared down at your floor before finding the courage to look up at you again. “Is that what you wanna be?” he asked, already wishing he hadn’t said anything in case it was too presumptuous, but you just smiled back at him in a shy sort of way.

“Something like that,” you mitigated.

His eyes darted around your face— from your eyes glancing away, to your lips that you gnawed on for a moment, to the little crease between your brows— and he found himself leaning forward before he even realized it. “Can I kiss you?” he asked quietly.

You didn’t answer, you just kissed him first; he was so relieved that you did it, too, that you took control so easily and just let him melt into your kiss. As good as it felt to submit to you, he enjoyed the new freedom he had in this moment as well— the freedom to reach up and grab your waist, to brush his hand over your hair, to tilt his head and deepen the kiss further.

It was hard to define exactly where it went from innocent to sensual to sexual, but by the time you were straddling his lap and running your fingers through his hair, it was definitely sexual.

“I want you,” you breathed against his lips.

“Have me,” he offered immediately, “I’m yours. Always was.”

He breathed in sharply when you moved your hips just right to rub up against his swelling cock through his jeans, making him grip your waist a bit harder. “Good boy,” you whispered. “You’re so good, James.”

He believed you this time, finally.

For your first real date, he took you to Coney Island. Not the classiest affair, and he promised to take you somewhere really nice next, but you didn’t mind. It was jarring to see you in casual clothes for the first time, something summer-y and light which was everything opposite to how he was used to seeing you; but he liked it, and he liked knowing a secret about you as you walked through a crowd of carnival-goers that were none the wiser.

He walked you through the fair and explained how he remembered it, showed you the few things that hadn’t changed much. He bought you a hot dog and even won you a prize at one of the games; that one where you throw a baseball and it measures your pitch speed? Yeah, it’s rigged, but he pitched lefty and it seemed to even everything out. (It’s not cheating, okay? It’s beating them at their own game, literally.)

So with a massive teddy under one arm and his waist wrapped in your other, you two walked through the winding pier, under twinkling lights and over walkways towering over the ocean below. And then you fooled around a bit on the ferris wheel. It was the ideal Coney Island experience, for sure.

Bucky didn’t have a ton of friends, per se, but he was excited for you to meet them. Meeting friends was certainly a step, though; hopefully a step you were willing to take, but he didn’t want to ask you to do it without at least having a title to introduce you with.

“I want you to be my girlfriend,” he finally told you.

“I kinda thought I already was,” you laughed.

And so, with more pride than he might have ever had for anything before, Bucky finally got to take you to meet everyone (‘everyone’ being a mix of his friends and his coworkers, who may or may not be his friends because he couldn’t always tell) and say “I want you guys to meet my girlfriend.”

Of course you were amazing with all of them; you continued that tactful “I know who you are but I’m pretending I don’t to be nice” thing that you’d started with him, and everyone seemed to appreciate it. You cracked a couple jokes, everyone laughed.

You lied about how you and Bucky met, or at least answered very strategically. Everyone at least pretended to believe you.

Afterwards, they all said something about how great you were or about how lucky he was. The only thing he ever said back was “I know.”

Now that he could kiss you without breaking any rules, he never wanted to stop. He hardly ever did, actually. He kissed you basically whenever he could get the chance; you two didn’t even go out much anymore because he wasn’t very good at keeping his hands to himself, but you weren’t exactly complaining about staying in. You were too busy kissing him back, and teasing him mercilessly while you were at it, to do that.

You had already found the fastest way to get him needy and begging, not that any way took very long. If you kissed him while you straddled his lap, wrapping your arms around him and slowly grinding against him, he lost it in minutes. And you really seemed to get a kick out of watching him lose it, just as much as always.

It made him realize that the way you looked at him before, in sessions and scenes together, was a lot less of an act than he’d assumed at the time. He just thought you were a really good actress, or that he was really whipped; and maybe the first was true, and the second was absolutely true, but regardless it had become clear that you had it almost as bad as he did from the beginning. It gave him even more respect for how well you controlled yourself, he certainly hadn’t had much self-control at the time— after all the whole ordeal was about losing control, and occasionally about trying to gain it back.

He didn’t ask you to quit your job. He didn’t want or expect you to; but you did cut down your hours, which gave the two of you more time together.

To be totally honest, part of him got a bit titillated to imagine you with your other clients. He didn’t like the idea of other men touching you, but he smirked at the thought of them begging to touch you and being denied; he liked knowing that you didn’t do with them even half of the stuff you’d done with him when he was your client.

But he wasn’t your client anymore. He was your boyfriend, and he wanted the world to know it.

six months later...

He let you struggle to reach the top shelf for a moment, just because you looked cute on your tip-toes with the tip of your tongue sticking out of the corner of your mouth, before he finally relented and helped you grab the bottle of rice wine vinegar.

“Thanks,” you smiled as he set it in the cart.

After that you let him grab everything, content to stand on the end of the cart and push you around as you reminded him what else you needed.

“We’re out of Captain Crunch!” you remembered as he passed the cereal aisle, pointing to try to get him to turn.

“Yes, and we need to stay that way,” Bucky explained sternly, “that shit is addictive. Only way to avoid it is to not have it in the house.”

You frowned but accepted that he was absolutely right, though you groaned when he took you to the refrigerated section to stock up on chicken breasts. “I swear, you would eat these for breakfast if you didn’t think I’d judge you for it,” you joked.

“What’s wrong with chicken breasts?”

“They’re just so… bland!”

“Not if you season them right,” he corrected.

“Which you don’t,” you rolled your eyes. “Come on, at least splurge on some chicken thighs. They’re basically the same but so much more flavorful.”

“Fine, but no more making fun of my cooking,” Bucky decided, placing the breasts back on the shelf and grabbing two packs of thighs instead. “I’m still adapting to 21st century sensibilities.”

“Right,” you nodded, though he caught your smile in the corner of his eye— you knew he couldn’t exactly claim to still be as conservative as he was raised to be in every way.

Like any well-planned grocery run, it ended at the frozen section where you got some fruit bars and frozen vegetables (you had this theory that frozen vegetables tasted better in fried rice than fresh ones, and so far you’d proven him right) and he got a pizza to have for dinner in a pinch. When shopping alone before, he always did self-checkout to avoid being seen anymore than he had to… he still did it with you, but he didn’t even think about who might be looking at him, because all he saw was you.

You drove for this trip, and he always felt oddly soothed by riding passenger with you at the wheel. He liked to close his eyes and lean back a bit, or occasionally look over at you (but if he did it too much you complained that he was being creepy and distracting you). It shouldn’t be too much of a surprise that he enjoyed the feeling of you taking control, considering everything, but it was one of those little ways that he hadn’t expected. He just felt so comfortable, so safe with you, and never he felt like he was a burden for asking you to take the lead when he didn’t trust himself with it. And that applied to everything— driving, cooking, speaking up in crowds, all those little things that sometimes made him anxious.

There were some things he didn’t have any trouble being dominant about, though. He was very protective of you, for example, and tended to be uptight about how late you went out for walks or where you should be going alone. And he didn’t struggle to ask you for what he wanted— he was getting a lot better at asking for help, specifically.

He used to ask you to say that you loved him, instead of just saying ‘I love you’ himself, because for some reason it was easier to make you do it first. It started as something he’d beg for in the throes of passion, fingers digging into your skin as his eyes watered (as they often did in intimate moments): please, say you love me— jus’ need to hear you say it, please? And you were always sweet about it in return, of course I love you, James, my good boy, I love you so so much. But then he’d ask you to say it whenever he felt like it— he’d come up behind you while you were reading or cooking or something and kiss the top of your head or the shell of your ear and try to act nonchalant as he asked you love me, right?

You’d laugh and roll your eyes before you answered, but it was, thankfully, always a ‘yes.’ Eventually you figured out how often you needed to say it to make him stop asking all the time, which was probably a little too often.

“I love you,” you blurted out randomly as you turned on your signal and leaned a bit to make sure it was safe to make a left— case in point.

“I love you too,” he answered back with a smile.

“I don’t mind saying it so often,” you added, “but you know that I love you even when I’m not saying it, right? I love you all the time.”

It was a simple question, probably mostly rhetorical, but it hit him harder than he expected. “Yeah, I know,” he managed to get out evenly enough that you didn’t notice he was tearing up a bit.

He put the groceries away while you took the trash out; you liked to keep the fridge pretty organized, and it was an adjustment at first, but by now Bucky had it down pat. Before you, he hadn’t even considered that the contents of a refrigerator could be aesthetically pleasing.

Dinner was leftovers in front of the TV— you two were almost done with Frasier, but after that you had ten seasons of Friends to get through. You had tried to encourage him to watch more challenging stuff— you know, True Detective, Hannibal, dark cerebral stuff with arguably more artistic merit than classic sitcoms— but Bucky had had enough darkness in his life that he didn’t need it in his fiction. Maybe he’d find the time to catch up on the last 80 years of dramas and murder mysteries after he caught up on the last 80 years of comedy.

After dinner you were going to do yoga and Bucky, not in the mood to embarrass himself with that, retired to the bedroom a bit early to read his book— he’d heard a lot about this Harry Potter guy and now that he was on the fourth book and could hardly put it down, he understood the hype. He related a bit to the unwilling war hero in its protagonist; most of the time the series enthralled him, but occasionally something would hit too deep and he’d have to put it away for a couple days. At the moment, though, he was in one of the easy parts where it was just about schoolwork and childhood antics.

He instinctively glanced at the door when he heard you open it— he wasn’t sure how long it had been time-wise, but he’d gotten through quite a few pages— but he only quickly looked up at you as you shut the door behind you, before returning his attention to the book he was reading. “So, Bucky…” you began.

“Yeah?” he mumbled.

“James.”

It wasn’t any one thing that got his attention— not just the tone of your voice or the way it got a bit deeper, not just the look you gave him, not just the way the air of the room seemed to shift all at once. It was everything about you that made his body react instantly. He shut the book and set it aside, sitting up straight to look at you expectantly.

And you seemed to notice his instinctual obedience, considering you just barely smirked at him, raising an eyebrow as he spoke his reply: “Yes, Mistress?”

[absolutepokemontrash]

Kid!MC/Teen!MC Needs someone to go to Parent Teacher Interviews for Them and Guess Who’s Available?

Masterlist

The brothers being bad babysitters/dad figures is something I love very much, I bet you all could already tell that considering the Fic/Headcanon series I have going on. I would just like you all to know that Asmo’s section is based on a true story. Anyhoo~ onto the Headcanons!

Why? Why Him? (Lucifer)

Is MC really dumb, or are they just a kid? No one knows.

Obviously MC asked Lucifer, the only competent one in the house, the most professional, hard-working, controlled-

MC got their things together and gave Lucifer the run down on their teacher(s) before Lucifer got too absorbed in extolling his own virtues in an intense internal monologue.

News flash Lucifer, this isn’t a Shakespeare play, you can’t have a dramatic monologue or soliloquy about how great you think you are

At the actual meeting, if MC is in there, no, MC is not actually in there. Lucifer will speak to the teacher as if MC isn’t there. As someone whose not a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down kind of person, Lucifer expects the teacher to behave the same and not spare MC’s feelings.

Feelings do not deserve to be spared if MC is being a nuisance. No fake-kid/little sibling of his gets to be the class idiot!

If MC’s doing very well academically, he expects to be pointed at projects or tests they’ve done and the grade on it. It really makes him proud to see MC doing well.

Even if they’re not the best academically, if they’re not failing and they’re doing well in other aspects of school, he’s proud.

If MC really struggles in a school environment and just hates it there but they’re still keeping their head above water, they get a head pat of approval.

On the drive home, if MC came with him to the parent teacher interviews and everything went well, he just happens to turn onto the street that has a Baskin Robin’s or something of that caliber.

If they didn’t go, he picks something up on the way back.

No fun treats if MC is being a disruptive little heathen in class, no kid under Lucifer’s care is going to be the class Mammon. Not on his watch.

MC was busily stuffed their face with the treats that were gifted to them. Lucifer had to hold himself back from rolling his eyes at the kid’s blatant disregard for basic table manners when it came to sweets.

“Is everything the teacher said true?” Lucifer asked, MC looked up at him with a smile.

“Yep!”

“Good, good.” Lucifer held out his hand and patted them on the head. “You’re doing well. Keep it up.”

“Geez,” MC mumbled as they continued to stuff their face. “Can you get anymore affectionate?”

“Don’t be sarcastic, MC. It’s uncouth.” Lucifer said sternly. “Besides, I’ll have you know that many people enjoy my headpats. I’m quite affectionate.”

“Really now? Name one person.”

Lucifer opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. He and MC stared each other down, one pair of eyes much more nervous than the other. Spoiler, MC was still calmly eating their treat as they maintained eye contact.

“…Cerberus.”

“If you’re reaching for Cerberus, you’ve already lost.”

…his pride was under attack. Right in front of his desert…

“You’re grounded.”

“Worth it.”

*Rides by on a Skateboard* School is for NERDS (Mammon)

Pff! Stupid human! He’s not goin’ to some lame parent teacher conference-

Wait! What’s with that face?! Ugh… fine. MC’s gone and forced his hand with those damn puppy dog eyes…

Mammon does not dress up for this event, he dresses like he would every day, maybe throw on some designer stuff to let all the parents and teachers know he’s hot shit.

If MC goes with him, he pulls up in his beloved car and takes up two parking spaces (pure evil.). Every parent present already hates him, but at least the other kids there are impressed with MC’s sweet ride. MC would have gained some street cred if Mammon hadn’t managed to trip up the stairs to the classroom in front of everyone.

He’ll act way to casual with the teacher, turning the parent chair backwards and sitting down so he can lean on the seat.

Mammon gets bored crazy quickly while the teacher lists and explains all the stuff the class is learning, so his eyes begin to wander to any and all displays in the classroom. Projects, annoying posters, class pet, anything is more interesting than this teacher’s explanation.

When MC finally becomes the main topic of the interview, he’s all ears. MC’s doing great in school academically? Ha! Nerd! Maybe giving MC a playful noogie and interrupting the whole interview wasn’t a good idea, but whatever.

If MC’s failing anything, or just isn’t that gifted when it comes to grades, it’s very much a “Aw man me too” from Mammon.

This teacher is speaking with the Great Mammon, the first demon in RAD’s history to fail three semesters in a row. If this teacher thinks bad grades will phase him, they’re dead wrong.

Grades don’t mean anythin’ about smarts anyway! I mean, look at him! He’s a fuckin’ genius but he can’t get through a history test without sobbing even though he LIVED THROUGH MOST OF IT.

MC gets treats no matter what’s up in class. Though, if MC didn’t go with him, he’s likely to forget and just order something for the two of them when he gets back home.

“Goddamn teachers and their rambling!” Mammon whined, grabbing a slice of pizza from the open box on his coffee table. “You owe me, MC! Ya really do!”

“Yeah yeah yeah.” MC said, they leaned over and rolled a pizza slice into a pizza-scroll then proceeded to eat it like a veggie roll. “How do you think I feel, listening to them every day? You know how long it takes to get to the actual class material?”

“Five years?”

“Ugh! Five years if I���m lucky! I swear, I know more about my teacher’s grievances with like… five of my classmates than I do about trigonometry, and guess which one’s on the test next week?”

Mammon winced in sympathy, then remembered he was supposed to be whining and went back to it. “School’s shit and a waste of money, ya should drop out as soon as you can and help me run my new business.”

“You mean your pyramid scheme?”

“It’s not a pyramid scheme, MC! It’s legit! It’s a multi-tiered marketing-”

“It’s a pyramid scheme.”

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA SOCIAL INTERACTION (Leviathan)

Everyone else must have been sick or something for MC to have asked Levi. He’d flat out refuse to go otherwise.

So, Levi couldn’t exactly go to the interview in his usual “I haven’t left my room or changed clothes in eight weeks” look. With the help of MC, he was able to find his military uniform at the back of his closet.

Asmo nearly fainted when he saw Levi in the uniform, not because “oooo, a man in uniform~”, it was because the outfit was so crumpled and wrinkled that it made it physically painful to look at. No time to iron and wash, the conference was in an hour!

Levi (and MC if they went with) rolled up to the school in a less than impressive ride, but one look at the uniform and all the other people present went “yep, time to be respectful (tm)”

For the first time in his life Levi was more intimidating than Lucifer! And he wasn’t even trying!

When the teacher starts explaining the course material, Levi spaces off in horror as he realizes he remembers literally nothing from school (AND HE’S STILL IN SCHOOL!) all that’s running through his head is “A squared + B squared = C squared” and “the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell”.

The actual interview was the least interesting part of the trip, the real stuff happened when Levi passed by some art on display in the hallway and something caught his eye-

Those colours… that hair… that adorable smile..!

IT WAS HER! LEVI’S PRECIOUS RURI-CHAN IN ALL HER GLORY!

Levi immediately started fawning over the art class fanart and by sheer coincidence, one of the kids walking through the hallway happened to notice.

The kid asked MC if their… parent and or guardian liked anime. MC responded with “obviously.” Levi then asked the kid if they drew his adorable Ruri-chan. The kid said no, and that they drew the My Hero Academia fanart a few rows down.

Levi was absolutely floored that there were two anime fans in one class, then his entire world shattered when MC explained there was more anime art inside the art room and other classrooms.

H-hang on… did that mean that… a lot of people here… liked anime..?

Levi needed a while to process. No snacks on the way home…

Levi and MC were sat in the back of their Uber, Levi, the Avatar of Envy himself, was having his entire sense of reality warped. S-so much anime fanart… in a school of all places..! What did this mean for the future of anime?!

“Levi. Stop.” MC sighed. “If this were an anime, the camera angle would be doing that thing where it’s right on the bridge of your nose and dramatic music plays in the background.”

“S-so many kids in your class like a-anime huh..?” Levi stuttered, weakly trying to smile. “Must be nice..?”

“Oh, that’s just my class. The other classes and grades have their fans too.”

“Oh… really?”

“Levi,” MC stopped looking out the window and looked at the otaku that was having a full scale silent mental breakdown. “Anime isn’t even a niche interest anymore. It’s a pretty casual thing to watch now. At least a third of my class watches- Levi?”

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGHHHHH! ANIME! A THIRD OF THE CLASS?! ANIME… HIS PRECIOUS ANIME… WAS BECOMING A NORMIE INTEREST! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-

“Levi?” MC waved their hand in front of their spaced out demon’s face. “Leviiiii? Okay he’s dead.”

The Know it All (Satan)

Ah, a smart choice, MC. Satan would be glad to help further their education. He’ll do everything in his power to make sure that the human’s brain is fed all that sweet sweet knowledge.

Satan can’t dress himself normally, MC had to coax him into a suit jacket, but he still only wore one sleeve.

MC was coming along to the interviews whether they wanted to or not, it’s important to hear what they need to improve on from the teacher themselves after all.

The two arrived pretty early, so Satan asked MC for a tour of the school. It was pretty tame until they reached the library. Satan was horrified at the state of some of the books…

Their spines lined with duct tape… pages missing and torn… someone apparently used a taco as a book mark…

The first thing Satan does when it’s time for his interview is demand the teacher take better care of the library, even though they’re not the librarian. MC tries to explain this, but Satan is too distraught to listen to reason.

He enjoyed hearing about the course material, but he made it known if MC thinks the assignments are too easy that they need to be given more challenging work. THEIR BRAIN NEEDS TO BE STIMULATED DAMN IT.

It was up to MC to either agree with Satan and nod to the teacher, or make frantic eye contact with them to try and communicate “NO DON’T PLEASE”.

Similar to (ugh) Lucifer, as long as MC is doing their best, he’s happy for them.

…but if they are in any way in the running for valedictorian he is HELPING THEM WIN.

He decided to stop at a cafe or bookstore to let MC pick out a “congrats on surviving your pitiful school” present after the interviews.

MC gleefully perused the shelves of the bookstore, there were so many books too look at…

“I’ll buy you as many books as you’d like, MC, just,” Satan shuddered slightly. “Promise me you won’t treat them like those poor library books…”

MC put their hand over their heart. “I swear on the duct taped book spines that I will never treat a book like that.”

“Good… good…” Satan breathed a sigh of relief and went back to looking at his book about cats.

“Are you… reading a Warrior Cats book..?” MC asked tentatively.

“Yes, why?”

“Satan, put that back.”

“I Will Seduce the Teacher For the Sake of Your Grades, Don’t Worry.” (Asmodeus)

Oh MC dear! He’d be delighted to go! Just let him get ready~

Asmo may not be the best choice, but he was at least going to be the best dressed person at that conference. (And MC just had to come too so all the other parents could be jealous of how well coordinated their outfits are)

He teased MC a little by saying he was going to flirt with their teacher to make sure they passed the class, but he was just kidding! …but he made sure to ask if their teacher was cute, he needed to know!

While waiting for his turn, Asmo flirts with some of the single parents, if he doesn’t see a wedding ring, they’re fair game.

Once his time slot arrived, MC realized that Asmo is one of those “my child has done and will do nothing wrong ever” types. This may have ended up working in MC’s favour if they were a class nuisance.

If MC is doing very well in sports, clubs, grades, anything, Asmo is fawning over them and gushing to the teacher about how great, smart and adorable they are.

Asmo surprisingly does not exactly flirt with the teacher, he was just teasing MC after all. But um… if MC’s teacher just happens to be cute and young, he may turn up the charm, just a little. Enough to make the teacher giggle and make MC cover their face in embarrassment.

After the interviews Asmo will probably schedule a nice day out for the two of them, shopping, a movie, mani pedis, something fun!

The real weird stuff happens in the months after the interviews… if Asmo did lightly flirt with the teacher, MC gets quite a few questions about their guardian. Questions that ask if Asmo is single in not as many words…

Oh lord, MC’s teacher developed a crush on Asmo.

Nail painting night was supposed to be a fun occasion, but MC was hopping mad and embarrassed. Asmo didn’t seem to notice as he continued to paint the little human’s nails.

“And then I told Phenex to get lost. The nerve of that little monster, right MC?” When MC didn’t reply, Asmo looked up and tilted his head. “MC?”

MC’s angry face would have been much more threatening if they weren’t just so adorable, but it was getting the message across.

“MC..?”

“Asmo.” MC’s glare deepened. “My teacher wants to know if you’re single.”

Asmo blinked a few times, before he hit his tongue to keep from laughing. “Really now~. I knew they’d be madly in love with me-”

“WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIIIIIIIIIIIS?!”

Oh My Demon King is That a BAKE SALE?! (Beel)

Of course Beel said yes! He’d gladly go to MC’s parent teacher interview!

He even put on a nice outfit :D he ended up looking a bit like a secret serviceman guarding MC, the tiny president.

Beel stopped for McDonald’s on the way there, all the other kids were so jealous of MC when they stepped out of the car eating fries.

But a little something something caught Beel’s eye when he and MC walked into the school… was that a… bake sale?

MC quickly explained that the bake sale was fundraiser for their class trip that year and the snacks weren’t complimentary. He had to pay.

And pay Beel did. He cleared out the entire table. MC’s grade’s overnight trip was going to be decadent as hell. That was no longer a crowd funded thing, that trip was privately funded by a tall buff ginger secret service member and this tiny in comparison child.

Kids are incredibly blunt, just like Beel, so when a random kindergarten kid wandered over, looked up at Beel, and very knowingly said “you’re very tall”. Beel was like “yeah”. The kid then said “what’s it like being that tall?”

Beel’s response to this kid’s question was to pick them up and hold them for a few seconds before placing them back down. For just a few moments this kid knew what it like to be over 6’4. Of course, more kids swarmed in and asked to be picked up.

Sure it was cute, but Beel now has an army of kids ranging from kindergarteners to third graders.

Finally, the conference actually began. Beel snacked the entire time and dutifully listened to everything the teacher had to say.

After the interviews are over, he checks with MC to make sure everything the teacher said was true and that they weren’t lying. If all was well, the two made their exit.

They stopped at Wendy’s on the way home.

“I’m so full…” MC groaned, Beel held up a massive cookie.

“So I can eat this?”

“No. Gimme that.” MC took a very defeated bite out of it. “My stomach says no but my mouth says yes…”

“I don’t want you to get a stomachache, MC,” Beel said worriedly. “No more snacks.”

“It’s a little late for that. It’s past nine and I’m still eating, there’s no way I’m getting to sleep at a reasonable hour.”

“Oh…” Beel mumbled. “I may have not completely thought this through.”

“*Snore* Huh? Wha? MC’s Grades? Uh… Fuck…” (Belphie)

MC must be failing a class or something because why on earth would they pick Belphie otherwise.

They ask him to go while he’s delirious from just waking up from a nap, he sort of half nods and mumbles some gibberish before going back to sleep.

MC had to basically carry his ass to the school. Belphie drooled all over them in the waiting room, and when it was their time to go into the interview, Belphie had to be manually put into the chair and slapped awake.

He barely listens, he just sits and nods along with whatever the teacher is saying. The teacher could say MC brought an alligator to school and he’d just go “uh huh…” “mmmph… yep…” “really now?” then yawn.

The only thing that could possibly get Belphie to be interested is if MC is studying space. If they are, than boy howdy is Belphie suddenly interested in their education.

Other than that? *snore*

If MC is in fact failing or doing poorly, MC’s teacher asks to see another one of MC’s guardians at a later date. Their plan failed miserably.

MC drags Belphie out of the school and yells at him for not helping them. Belphie, still sleep delirious, tries to press the snooze button. MC does not have a snooze button.

“Belphie!” MC shouted, shaking the Avatar of Sloth awake. The House of Lamentation’s resident bastard was somehow sleeping standing up outside. “HOW COULD YOU?!”

“Eh?” Belphie half-snorted and looked around confused. “What’d I do? Where are we?”

“At my school! You said that you’d go to my parent teacher interviews!”

“…MC I don’t think I’d pass well for you.”

“YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO GO AS MY GUARDIAN!”

“Sheesh,” Belphie murmured while he rubbed the remaining sleep from his eyes. “You humans are so noisy.”

MC looked up at their dearest demon friend, and gave him their best glare. “I’m going to take all your fancy temperature changing pillows and switch them with normal pillows you traitorous bastard.”