#IF I COULD AFFORD TO SEE THE GUT THAT ACTUALLY GIVES A SHIT I WOULD

[endlessfuckup]

just had to shit away $1000 on health insurance premiums and now i wanna throw up

[hopefulfuturenovelauthor]

Headcanons of what's like to date Bruce, Dick, Jason, Martian, Wally, and Clark?

Hi, sorry for taking so long, but I am very grateful for your patience!

Here you go...

Headcanons of what's like to date Bruce, Dick, Jason, Martian, Wally, and Clark?

I would like to state that I’m assuming you meant Martian Manhunter and not Miss Martian, but in the case that I am wrong and you meant Miss Martian let me know and I’ll add her to this or write a super-long essay of your guy’s relationship or something!

As always please do not copy my work in any way, shape, or form. Thanks!

Warnings: none i think... not spell checked...

Bruce Wayne

Dating Bruce Wayne? Gotham’s favorite Billionaire and the Batman? Wow, good luck.

There is a lot of angsty shit in your relationship. Keep in mind it’s not like you guys have like crazy issues or anything, not to say that the Joker isn’t a crazy issue, but I mean that you don’t actually fight with each other a lot. 

You disagree quite a bit considering you watch him on monitors and he goes out and actually gets hurt, but all of that frustration and worry comes from a place of care.

However, you didn’t talk to him for days when he decided to let Dick join him in the field. You were beyond upset, especially since you knew the dangers of crime-fighting yourself, seeing as you used to be a vigilante. 

Regardless of that, it was Dick that convinced you to cut Bruce some slack. Eventually, you came to agree with the teenager, but only after you kicked Bruce where the sun doesn’t shine.

On a nicer note, definitely lots of gifts coming from his end even though he is called the dark knight.

Even when you were both playing hero and he didn’t know who you were under the mask he gave you little gadgets. You two had also met outside of hero-ing and in your real lives where he constantly graced you with the treat of coffee and/or donuts. 

He likes to get you nice treats and sweets. He knows you don’t care for expensive gifts, especially since you work for a lot of nonprofits.

As for PDA on a scale, I will give you a 7.5/10. A solid 2.5 for physical affection such as hand holding, forehead kisses, whispering in each other's ears, and being a little too close to each other but not so close that you freak out everyone else around you.

As for that leftover 5 on the scale, holy shit do you guys never shut up. The constant flirting is where most of this score comes from. Saying embarrassing and inappropriate shit anywhere and everywhere is common with you. You tease each other relentlessly and enjoy seeing the other squirm. It can be quite uncomfortable for others around you, but you tend to keep the more spicy comments quieter, which leads to all of your odd whisperings.

You sort of live with him…? You guys are most often at his place, but you did decide to keep your own just because you wanted something that you paid for and could afford unlike his gigantic fucking manor.

Bruce cares for you deeply and understands why you want to keep your independence and have at least something of your own, especially considering that you guys work together often.

You are close with all of his family, including each kid he adopts, takes in, or has under his proverbial wing. In fact, you kind of think they prefer you over him, or at the very least Jason definitely does. 

It might also be common sense now that Alfred also likes you more than Bruce because, in your guys' relationship, you have all of the brain cells and are logical. 

You both can be impulsive and rude. You both can come across as very blunt and private people. You work well together despite everything.

You were very glad in the end that you both found someone so supportive and understanding. 

You both were also glad that you had the guts to kiss him because, honestly, he was never going to make the first move without it being an epic disaster.

Dick Grayson

Yay! Okay, this guy and you wow. May I just say couple goals here. Like yes, wonderful, perfect together.

Will you go off on someone for hurting his feelings? Count on it. Whether it is physically fighting or verbally berating someone, you also support everyone’s favorite Blue Bird.

Cute nicknames? Yes, as I stated previously, Blue-Bird, you know because he had been Robin and then he became Nightwing, and Nightwing’s suit is black and blue. Also, his eyes are blue and they look so pretty you could stare at them all day. Also, often used but none as creative as Blue-Bird, sweetheart, darling, cutey, and love.

His pet names for you, are Darling, beautiful, sweetie, bundle of too much adorableness, most wonderful human being to ever exist, my reason for getting out of bed every morning, and love. It is obviously a wonderful mixture of names, and yes, sometimes you do worry about him.

I mean how could you not, you were there since he became Robin, you comforted him through every phase, from being a rebellious teen by denouncing Bruce, becoming Nightwing, forming his own group of heroes, and making the obvious mistake of wearing tights as a part of his costume (that one was particularly hard for you).

I will now rate your PDA, congrats you have received a 6/10. You guys like to give small face kisses (forehead, top of the head, cheek, nose, temple, etc.), you guys give each other small pecks on occasion, and always say ‘I love you’ when one of you has to leave. You hold each other's hands a lot. You guys are very sweet and very wholesome. The only time you aren’t is when you get reunited after a long time (2+ weeks) or a life-threatening thing happens (which is pretty often, I’m not going to lie). 

When you reunite do you share that time slowed down and you are running to each other with the wind in your hair moment before frantically grasping one another to share a passionate kiss. 

Sometimes he will tickle you and pick you up just to spin with you. This happens quite a lot and the two of you often have tickle fights.

You get along with his family, but you have no trouble standing up to them for him. You will fist fight with Jason and tell Tim to ‘shut up and go to sleep’. If Damian starts talking crap you won’t physically hit the child, but you will steal away his pets with treats, which annoys him because food > him.

You will scream at Bruce if necessary. Dick and his adoptive siblings will have to physically pick you up to get you away from the situation.

You guys never fight, except when you eat the last of each other’s ice cream. 

Jeez, you two are so cute together.

Jason Todd

You met early on but got together a few years after his death.

He used to annoy the shit out of you, but the events involving the Joker led you both in the same direction.

You both have a better understanding of each other than anyone else. You are field partners and the only real anti-heroes of Gotham.

You were quick to share an apartment once you both learned each other’s civilian names.

It is easier than you both expected to fall into a rhythm, which only made it easier to go from something platonic to something romantically domestic.

You never seemed to get in each other's way and could somehow calm the other down when the world became a little too quiet or loud. You both rarely slept in the separate beds you had brought and maneuvered into the one bedroom. In fact, neither of you really slept on a bed. 

Most nights you stayed up as late as you could and either returned home and passed out on the couch or watched tv till 3 am, cuddling, and passed out on the couch.

You guys are a little different than others. PDA is more of healthy ways to deal with trauma mixed with a little codependency (but nothing terrible, sometimes shit just gets hard for you both and you have some really off days). Hand holding, back rubs, hugs, and playing with each other's hair and hands are just ways to calm each other.

But back to PDA. Yes. 9/10. You will both totally make out in front of other people spontaneously without a care in the world. He tends to initiate it, but you certainly never have an issue with it.

After all of the shit you two have been through you don’t really care about other people’s comfort around you because you feel safe with each other and are each other's security blankets.

Pet names are definitely common. It is probably the most annoying thing he does when you work together fighting crime. You always hated how he was so arrogant and acted childish when he was Robin. Now he just calls you pet names and flirts ceaselessly with you while you fight together. He will call you sweetheart, darling, beautiful, gorgeous, love, my love, love of my life, and more when you are in the field. He calls you them outside of your night shift too, but that does not annoy you at all. 

You tend to use many of the back, if not all of them, because he means just as much to you. 

He always makes the most adorable face when you cradle his head and call him beautiful. Like this is the softest he will ever be with someone else and he just looks so small and cute and in need of a hug.

If he annoys you, expect gifts in the form of food and drinks. If you annoy him, expect to give him extra hugs and books. 

Yes, you read together, cuddling. Typically different books, but he acts as your personal heater and you love it.

Coffee shop dates, take-out-stay-in dates, and video game dates are to be expected. Also, pastries on top of buildings in the middle of the night are a great pastime.

Also, one last thing, just to mention, you are the only one allowed to use or even touch his guns.

Martian Manhunter

Telepathically communicating, yayyyyyyyy! Okay maybe too soon with that one. But really, expect to be snorting in a silent room as everyone looks at you like you're crazy except for him because he’s smiling fondly at your reaction. 

You two are very sweet together. You help the Justice League with PR stuff, so you talk with the group of heroes all the time.

You often work with the big names and more controversial people in the League, but you work with everyone when you need to.

Also, J’onn can fly so expect to be carried in his arms all the time. He won’t even think about it twice because why would he take you somewhere in a car when he can literally swoop you off your feet bridal style and fly off as you look up at him in complete adoration.

For the moment you’ve all been waiting for, PDA rating. I would say 3/10 in public and 6/10 in private. By that I mean outside world public and the justice hall, mount olympus, etc. as private. In your guy’s place he’s just a cuddle bug or a second cat because yes he bought you a cat for one of your anniversaries.

He cooks you dinner. You join him often, but like he loves to cook you dinner. You think it is really sweet, but he also loves to learn different earthly activities. That and M’gann sends him recipes she thinks you’ll like (and you always love them).

You once made him chocolate cake by the way and now he has a new favorite thing. He loves it and didn’t stop talking about it for months. 

He likes to hold your hands a lot. Sometimes when one of you is stressed the other reaches out in hopes of grounding them before they overthink. It’s very sweet and you both love the gesture.

You sort of also took M’gann under your wing when she first arrived and it melted yours and J’onn’s hearts when she first called you her aunt/uncle. At this point you're like the mom of the YJ and the go to friend for the league. It’s all very sweet but sometimes J’onn feels like the League is hogging you and ‘has to’ drag you away from everyone quite literally, which goes a little something like this:

“Oh, but J’onn, I was having a lovely conversation with Bruce.” “Oh, I’m very sorry, Y/n, but we really have to go,” as he starts to pull you out of the room. “Alright, sorry Bruce we can talk, more some other time?” Once you both make it out of the room you release a breath, “Dinner?” “Yes.” “Great because I’m hungry and Bruce was gnawing my ear off.” After that you both just laugh.

Dinner goes great by the way and you share chocolate cake at the end before going home to cuddle with your cat and watch baking and cooking shows.

Wally West

Just to get it out there, you show your guys affection through food and physical touch 

You make Wally whatever you can cook and make a lot of it for his boosted metabolism. You also order extra pizza for him.

He tries to bake you your favorite desserts but sometimes lacks the patience and other times he eats half of it.

He typically just always buys you your favorite snacks and desserts. Even then he always ‘sneaks’ a bite.

Your PDA is surprisingly low, but as he matures it definitely increases. Like Dick had told you all those years ago it took a while to get used to Wally eating.

I would rate you a 2/10 at the beginning of your relationship and an 8/10 when at your best. (basically Young Justice S1 Wally compared to S2)

You are always touching each other. I don’t mean in an inappropriate way, but considering it is Wally that isn’t unheard of, just not often done in public.

On top of that, he will carry you everywhere, superspeed, normal speed it does not matter. Hand holding always, hugging always. He just wants physical contact. And piggy backs.

But like also, his pickup lines. I repeat his pickup lines. They are so cheesy and corny and you find them endearing somehow. I mean I do too, he is a sweetheart so yeah.

He treats you so well too. Your well-being matters so much to him and if you need something, he will be there in like 3 seconds regardless of where he is.

Nicknames should be expected: whatever you do, whatever you like he finds a way to make it a nickname. He does use babe a lot, but it feels a little basic so he comes up with new one's all the time. Sometimes they stick and other times you choke on air, but the scientific method says that you will fail and retry so it doesn’t phase him.

For the record though, he is Wally so a lot of his nicknames are food based: honey, cupcake, sugar cube, sweet potato, and more.

If you nerd out with him he will never, I repeat, never let you go. 

Also if you wear his merch he will be all over you. Depending on the situation and the place it might get a little spicy, but in most cases he will wrap his arms around your middle and just hold you tightly as he falls back into a chair or couch or something. He will not let you go and will nuzzle his face into your neck for hours. For someone that is so fast and gets bored so easily, he will never want any of this to end. 

Clark Kent

Yeah, you know. You knew. You were well aware of who he was. One single pair of glasses did not fool you. I mean, you didn’t say anything until like the seventh date, but you knew.

Yay, lucky you are normal, in fact, you do not play hero in your free time, but you do have some abilities.

You blame the particle accelerator explosion that occurred in your last home for your abilities. But they were easy to hide and really helped with your job.

You are a psychologist/part-time therapist. You met Clark through an interview you did about the effects of the most recent attack in Metropolis on the citizens' mental health. You had to fight for this article to even exist, but you did so because you could feel the fear that radiated throughout it. 

You did everything you could to provide as much help and information as you could on the topic. Clark had been the photographer for the interview and you both immediately hit it off.

He asked you out to dinner when you stopped by his office to discuss doing another article. Clark said that to celebrate the occasion he could take you out if you wanted.

You said yes because free dinner was nice and he seemed like a good guy, so you thought why the heck not?

Of course, the date went well and you highly enjoyed his company. He asked you out again and said yes.

On your third date, he had to leave early for whatever reason, and then a minute later Superman flew by and started to stop a robbery a block away. Interested, you got as close as you could and were very shocked when you saw Superman’s face. 

You didn’t mention it, but he had the same aura with the slightest bit of guilt that you thought was likely toward leaving you mid-date.

Once he knew you knew he eased up a lot and told you all about his past and Krypton and his powers and his hero-ing. 

You guys have great communication, which is in part due to your empathic abilities. You can always tell when something bothers him and he is more than willing to talk through whatever troubles him. You do the same understanding that you both thrive off of honesty with each other.

Conversation always comes easy. 

Some activities you like to do together are going out for dinner, movie nights, baking, picnic dates, and annoying Bruce Wayne.

Your PDA scale would be like a 4/10 at most. You are very sweet with each other, but sometimes you both find it odd being extra coupley with others around you. Since Clark has super hearing he can tell when people are uncomfortable and since you have your empath abilities you can feel it too. Other people’s moods also affect yours in general so the more people there are the more overwhelmed you feel so you try to avoid anything more than a quick peck on the cheek. 

However, it is still very obvious you two are together because you spend a lot of time with each other and go to lunch together basically every day.

Around the Justice League, you can be a little more open with your affections but you both still prefer privacy.

Nicknames: yes. There are some of the basics: darling, dear, love, etc. Clark particularly likes calling you my dear and you enjoy calling him sweetheart. Sometimes you joke around when he enters a room and you say, “It’s a bird, it’s a plane, it’s my boyfriend, Clark Kent.”

[modelbus]

can i request a reader (with sbi and also separate) who’s rich rich like she was born with a gold spoon and whenever she gives them gifts or treats them food they feel bad BAHAHAHA but it's just readers love language

can this be a drabble or whatever you can do :DD

I got your other message saying you wanted headcannons, so here you go! No wilbur for obvious reasons.

Included: Cc!Tommy, Cc!Phil, Cc!Techno, + all of them (platonic)

Rich Reader Headcannons

Tommy

Unapologetic about using your money.

He cares at first, and even when you say you’re paying he’ll order cheap things from restaurants, but after you give him the go ahead he will be a menace

Expect to lose all your money to Legos, his one true addiction.

“I could stream building this one, but this one would look so good in my room…” Tommy mumbles, squinting at two Lego boxes. You’re starting to regret letting him talk you into stopping by the store for what he said would be a quick visit.

It’s been two hours.

“Just get them both, Tom.” You finally sigh.

He lights up, no better than a kid on Christmas Day. “Fuck yeah!”

He’s money conscious, and will still note the price of things, but after he gets used to it he’s fine with you paying.

Doesnt blink twice at gifts.

You get this man anything and he will GOBBLE it up. Give him an Apple Watch? Great, his forever, he’s already wearing it. Give him a toothpick? He’s using it, perfect.

Won’t ask you to pay, and is very willing if you don’t want to, but let’s be real you always do pay.

He’ll say “thank you” at least. Five days later, maybe, when he finally remembers, but he says it!!

Talks you into buying things that you don’t need.

”I mean, you have the money. Y’know. Just saying.”

Phil

This man hates it, change my mind.

It’s a competition to see who can pay first with this man, and he does it out of pure spite.

Actually, he does it because he wants you to feel normal and not like you have to pay because you’re rich.

“I have the money, Phil!” You insist, holding your card.

“And I don’t care. I already gave them my card, I’m paying.”

When you make a stupid financial decision and buy a $1,000 lightsaber (blame Tommy), he just kinda sighs at you.

If you approach him for financial advice, he will genuinely tell you helpful things as if you weren’t incredibly rich.

He accepts your gifts, but always makes sure to somehow give you one in return.

maybe not of equal value… he isn’t as rich as you… but of equal love <3

Techno

Have you SEEN this man’s setup? He is in NO POSITION to decline gifts.

Will secretly be desperately in need of literally anything and just. Wont get it. So you end up buying it for him…

You order him food online to have it delivered to him and man just won’t say thank you. He’s rather awkwardly send you a photo of the food on his desk, entirely eaten.

Or he’ll just drop a photo of his new setup in discord for you.

He will “anonymously” acknowledge you when he streams/records a video on his new gear though.

“And if you’ve noticed this video came much faster than normal, it’s because of a new PC which runs at light speed.” He zooms into the face of his Minecraft character. “It’s not a toaster guys! Praise the rich gods!”

He literally can’t afford to buy you gifts in return.

Well he COULD but that man sees the shipping and is horrified.

His gifts in return are those photos of whatever you give him.

Techno genuinely is VERY appreciative though!! Like you are practically saving this man’s life by buying him shit.

He won’t ask for anything, you’ve just got to use your gut instinct to figure out what to give him.

All

Having all three to spend money on is a DREAM for you.

Phil forces Tommy to say “thank you” every single time. Repeatedly.

Techno sends his photos in the group discord, and Tommy will jokingly rage that he didn’t get a new PC or something that Techno did.

Paying when you all go to eat is a competition of speed between you and Phil. He started getting sneaky and approaching the waiter/waitress before they even brought the bill.

So you had to compromise and agree to give your cards to the waiter and let them pick a card at random.

(you win most times because you’ve got a fancy ass card)

For your birthday they tend to kidnap you from your bed and take you to do a surprise so you can’t find a way to pay or something 😭

They’re all in awe of your house, meaning you love having them over!!

Best vlogs occur at your house, let’s be honest

[thiccpersonality]

Damian (Gremlin) Wayne...and his even more gremlin-esque family pt.2

Bruce enters the dining room, ignoring Alfred's curious glance as to why he is early for dinner in favor of sitting at the head of the table. His icy blue eyes looking around the room confused as to why none of his own kids are on time.

Bruce: "Alfred?"

The question in his voice is all Alfred needs to hear for him to turn around, his face calm and voice reassuring, helping to ease Bruce's nerves: "No need to fret master Bruce. Your boys have only taken the time to know each other is all, I went down there myself and they were doing fairly well together...all thing's considered."

That was a straight up lie, but what his son doesn't know won't hurt him. Alfred is praying right now that none of the boys have found a way to kill each other already...or it's more like, he hopes they haven't chosen a way to kill each other yet. Heaven forbid Alfred has to clean one of his grandchildrens blood, guts and corpse(s) off of his pristine floors.

Bruce relaxes a bit at his butler (father) telling him that. Before Bruce can ask where they are though, the sound of multiple footsteps is heard making their way to the dining room, before the boys enter though, Alfred can't help but ask why Bruce was so early for dinner.

At the question Bruce flushes a little, clearing his throat and messing with the carefully folded napkin lying on his plate: "Oh...I didn't want to leave Damian alone in a room full of strangers on his first day. I know he barely knows me as well, but I was told from him that Talia at least talked about me a lot. I'm actually more surprised at how quickly he's taken to me."

If Bruce were to look up he'd see Alfred staring at him adoringly, but due to his own bashfulness, he keeps his head down...until his kids stumble-crash-through the door in a very loud pile.

Richard to Jason: "I always sit next to Bruce! Stop trying to always take my spot you cretin!"

Jason to Richard: "That right there is the reason I always try to take your spot! Makes your blood boil, doesn't it?"

Tim to Jason: "Jason, you are too fat! Cut the junk food out of your life and get off of me!"

Jason pushes more of his weight onto Tim: "Hypocrite. Stop being a caffeine addict and then think of preachin' to me about cutting things out of my life. Although, now that you suggest it...I think I could afford to cut you out of my life."

Tim groans at how heavy Jason is. A disgruntled look in his eyes and displeased frown on his lips as he struggles under the larger form: "Trust me. Any participation I have in your life is forced, if it weren't for Bruce, you would never interact with me."

Jason's eyebrow twitches in agitation at the sassy reply, a pained shout ripped from his throat at Richard suddenly biting him: "Oy dickhead! Why'd you bite me you mangy little bitch!?"

Richard smiles at Jason innocently: "My mouth slipped onto your arm, my apologies."

Jason growls and lightens his weight on Tim to face Richard more: "You little-my fist will slip onto your face if you pull that shit again!"

Before Richard can give a snide remark, they all hear a suspiciously meek voice speak up from across the room. The three arguing youths turn-snap-their heads to the source of the noise, gasping simultaneously at Damian standing next to Bruce's chair, big green eyes glancing up at him in a (begrudgingly admitted) adorable display of innocence.

Damian: "Father...am I allowed to sit with you?"

Bruce's agitation at his eldest three arguing is quickly replaced by love at the sheer (UwU-kawaii) curiosity and affection in his baby son's gaze. The older man can't help the soft smile on his face as he nods, curiosity winning over as to why Damian would even ask: "Of course you can, hun. Why would...why would you need to ask that?"

The gremlin inside Damian Wayne is screeching in victory at how he has Bruce wrapped around his little finger already. Keeping up the innocence he answers in all honesty, however, he knows his father is someone who wouldn't appreciate his answer no matter how normal it seemed to himself, which is exactly why he says it.

Damian shrugs and innocently says: "Back with grandfather and mother, they didn't allow me to eat with them until I was good enough to eat with them. If I didn't perform my duties in a proper manner I would either not be allowed access to my dietary needs or be separated from them in my room or a cage until I was good enough to dine with them."

Terror is written on Bruce's face, who would do that to an innocent little bean like his son!?

Damian gasps softly in surprise as large hands settle under his arms and lift his small form onto a firm-but oddly soft enough and comfortable-lap. The scent of cinnamon, vanilla and a tiny bit of rose fill Damian's nostrils, Bruce bringing his youngest son's head to his neck as the shocked man buries his nose in the spiky hair.

Bruce softly speaking to Damian: "I'm sorry. They will NEVER do that to you again, you can eat as much as you want. You can even sit with me anytime you want...don't ask."

Damian forgets the competition for a little while in his father's warm embrace, melting slowly into the sturdy form before realizing his "competition" and turning his head towards them. His smirk haughty and eyes gleaming with arrogance at the conundrum he has caused for the three blind mice over there.

Alfred gently clears his throat after a moment of silence and takes the left side seat next to Bruce: "If you gentlemen wouldn't mind not wrestling on the floor like middle schoolers and taking your seats. That would be most delightful."

Six sets of eyes home in on the right side chair. The three straightening up and looking at each other challengingly before breaking out into another battle by pushing at each other. Too focused on the fight to see Bruce tilt his head back in exasperation and Damian happily chewing away at his salmon and rice in victory.

Bruce gives a bewildered look to Alfred after he's done sighing, his pink lips tugging into a frown: "I thought you said they were getting along well?"

Alfred lifts his fork to his lips, gunmetal blue eyes watching the eldest three in amusement, his own lips stretching into a smirk over his utensil: "I also said all things considered."

Bruce just sighs and starts to eat his food as well, holding onto Damian securely as he watches the chaos unfold.

[thegreatyin]

How would the Scoundrel react to Miss Emilia Stone, do you think? To give you an idea of who she is, the Threadbare Outrider is one of the alternate identities of Barnabus Moss, and possibly the closest to who he actually is - he's only still an egg because he's too busy with his job to give too much of a shit about being trans right now.

She is functionally the Hyde identity; open revolutionary, Parabolan wanderer, purveyor of extreme and generally unnecessary violence. I also considered naming her the Extremely Unlicensed Silverer - she has never actually fulfilled the requirements to become a proper silverer (she thinks the sunglasses look kind of dumb) but she offers equivalent services for cut-rate prices to people who can't afford a "real professional."

In terms of her actual personality, she is... frighteningly happy. To steal a phrase, she wields her joy like a hammer; judiciously and with great violence. Moss is basically drunk on life whenever he's her, and it very much shows. She is a release valve on all of his life's worries - whenever he gets too pissed off at his life as Moss or Haversham or the spy, he can just duck into Parabola and gut a few chessmen with a meathook to unwind.

Correspondingly, he gets really irritated under the hood when she has to act consistent with the persona rather than how he actually feels - for example, Emilia is the kind of person who doesn't really dislike anyone, so when someone pisses him off she can't really show it without breaking the cheer, and it is thoroughly upsetting to him.

I think original flavour Moss would probably be fascinated by the Scoundrel, from a professional standpoint - he has a degree in the Correspondence and the whole bat thing is very interesting - whilst simultaneously being deeply, deeply exhausted by the man's life choices. Meanwhile I think Emilia would enjoy doing this to him.

Thoughts?

first of all, love the OC dissertation, chewing ur little guy like a gummy bear as we speak

second of all, the scoundrel would probably react the same as they always do- with overwhelmingly smug manners and more than a little bit of "i'm better than you and i'm being generous and indulging you by existing in your presence"... at least at first.

depending on how their interactions go from there, the scoundrel would either be delightfully open to infodumping about the bat thing to the point of tedium, or needlessly spiteful for Literally No Reason aside from a vague sense of pettiness and jealousy. how dare she get to be so damnably happy all the time, how dare she act so damnably carefree about it, etcetera etcetera. whether or not they'd like to admit it, i could see them holding a grudge against emilia purely on the principle of (supposedly) having everything they've ever wanted.

which is to say, they absolutely get scrunched like a cat, and they are biting her + biting her + biting her + biting her + biting her + biting her + biting her + biting her + biting her + biting her + biting her + biting her + biting her + biting her + biting her + b

[empyrean-thrones]

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

-XADEN-

“Don’t you see what happened? What Xaden’s done?” Aetos asks Sorrengail, panicking like the infantry soldier he should have been and insinuating that I changed the outcome of Threshing.

If I act every time someone drags my name through a pile of bullshit, I’ll never get anything done. For the most part, I take note of the offense, file it away for future consideration, and move on. As Sgaeyl loves to remind me, dragons are not concerned with the opinions of the sheep…or most humans.

But Aetos’s fingers dent in on the shoulders of Sorrengail’s uniform, right above the bandage from where she took the blade from that limp-dick first-year Tairn incinerated, and unexplainable rage pumps into my veins like little shards of ice, cutting everything in its path. I slam my mental shields down just like I do every time I’m near anyone , let alone a memory-reader.

“Please, do tell me what it is you think I’ve done.” I step into the moonlight that illuminates most of the flight field and sever the flow of power from Sgaeyl, letting the night’s shadows fall back into their natural state so this asshole can see me clearly.

“You manipulated Threshing.” Aetos takes his hands off Sorrengail’s shoulders, and I decide to let him keep them. For now.

Seriously. Of all the laws I break around here, that’s  the one he goes with?

I almost laugh, but then the asshole puts himself in front of Sorrengail, like Violence actually needs his protection. He didn’t see her out there on the field today like I did, or he wouldn’t be hovering like a nanny.

“Dain, that’s…” Sorrengail steps out from behind him.

“Is that an official accusation?” Gods, please give me a reason to beat the pompous, Codex-loving shit out of him. Just once.

“He’s nothing but an irritant. Have some self-control,”  Sgaeyl lectures, like her affection for the little gold dragon isn’t what put us in this fucking situation.

I keep my gaze locked on Aetos and off Sorrengail’s wide, hazel eyes and the scrapes that mar her skin. I definitely don’t let my attention wander down those tight curves—

Fuck, she’s a distraction. One I can’t afford, and yet one I’ve just been saddled with for the rest of my godsforsaken life. And instead of glaring up at me with that fire I can’t seem to stay the fuck away from, it’s fear making her eyes appear more amber than blue in the moonlight.

Fear for…Aetos? Something unpleasant twists in my gut.

“Did you step in?” Aetos questions, his voice pitching toward whiny.

“Did I what?” I lift my brow, letting all my loathing for his spoiled ass shine through. The pint-size morsel of straight-up arsenic nearly got herself killed  on that field, and his concern is for protocol? “Did I see her outnumbered and already wounded? Did I think her bravery was as admirable as it was fucking reckless ?” I make the monumental mistake of looking at her, and the rigid hold I keep on my temper slips. She could have died out there. She almost did. Right in front of me.

“And I would do it again.” She tilts her stubborn chin at me.

“Well-the-fuck-aware!” Shit.  So much for only slipping — my control just evaporated. “Did I see her fight off three bigger cadets?” I narrow my eyes at Aetos. “Because the answer to all of those is yes. But you’re asking the wrong question, Aetos. What you should be asking is if Sgaeyl  saw it, too.”

“You did not just bring me into this nonsense.”

“You sure as hell dragged me  into it. Since when do you get all mushy over smaller dragons?” Not that the golden one isn’t cute. But going soft on cute  gets you killed out here, which is exactly what makes Sorrengail so dangerous for me.

Aetos looks away nervously, as he should.

“His mate told him,” Sorrengail whispers. Guess someone filled her in on Tairn and Sgaeyl’s mating bond.

“Since when do you get emotional over human women?”  Sgaeyl challenges.

“I’m pissed, not emotional,”  I correct her. “She’s never been a fan of bullies,” I confirm. “But don’t mistake it as an act of kindness toward you. She’s fond of the little dragon. Unfortunately, Tairn chose you all on his own.”

“Fuck,” Aetos murmurs, finally putting it together.

“My thought exactly.” I shake my head at the squad leader. “Sorrengail is the last person on the Continent I’d ever want to be chained to me. I didn’t do this.” In one second on that field, my attitude toward Violence changed from maybe-I’ll-kill-her-or-maybe-I-won’t to protect-her-at-all-costs.

And not because she’s brilliant, or beautiful, or infuriatingly capable of shredding my carefully crafted control, even though she’s absolutely all of those things. No. I had no  choice in this. Tairn made my decision for me.

“And even if I had.” I step into Aetos’s space, and to his credit, he doesn’t retreat as I hover over him. “Would you really level that accusation knowing it would have been what saved the woman you call your best friend?” At some point, Sorrengail is going to have to recognize that the last year in the quadrant has changed her little friend into someone she doesn’t actually know.

His silence is fucking delicious, saying more to incriminate him than I ever could.

“There are…rules,” he stammers, trying his best to stare me down even though I have inches on him. Odd time to grow a spine, but good for him.

“And out of curiosity, would you have, let’s say, bent  those rules to save your precious little Violet in that field?” Her name tastes odd on my tongue, softer than the nickname I prefer.

“This is cruel, even for you,”  Sgaeyl notes with a hint of amusement.

“It’s unfortunate that it hurts her, but she’s going to have to toughen up to survive our partnership, and Aetos can’t be anywhere around us.”

“Oh, so we’re not discussing that you were already moving when Tairn landed?”  she fires back. “That had he not arrived, you’d be guilty of the very thing the colonel’s offspring accuses you of doing?”

“I moved on instinct to protect—”

“Let’s not embarrass each other by letting you finish that sentence.”

I fucking hate when she does that. She’s the only being on the Continent with a sharper tongue than mine. Well. Violence might give her a run for her money.

Damn, Aetos still hasn’t answered.

“That’s unfair to ask him.” Sorrengail walks straight up to me, putting herself beside Aetos as the rhythmic beat of dragon wings fills the air. Guess the Empyrean has made its choice as to if they’ll let her bond both dragons.

“I’m ordering you to answer, squad leader. ” I lock my gaze on his. Come on. Show her who you really are.

Aetos swallows so obnoxiously loud that I can hear it, then squeezes his eyes shut. “No. I wouldn’t have.”

I scoff. Fucking rule-loving coward. He doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as Violence. She’s half his size and a thousand times braver. Talk about a disproportionate relationship. There’s no rule in this godsforsaken college that would keep me from saving Bodhi’s, Garrick’s, or Liam’s life…and now hers .

Aetos swings his face toward Sorrengail, but even I can see the damage is done. She looks like someone just shredded her favorite book.

Shit. What is that uncomfortable weight sitting in my lungs? Is that… No. It can’t be guilt. I can’t remember the last time I felt guilty about…well…anything that didn’t involve a marked one.

“It would have killed me to watch something happen to you, Vi, but the rules—” Aetos whines.

“It’s all right,” she interrupts, lifting her hand to his shoulder.

And it’s enough to turn the guilt to nausea, which I’m oddly thankful for.

“The dragons are returning.” I note the obvious as they start to land, causing cadets to scramble out of the way. “Get back to formation, squad leader.”

Aetos scurries away like the little rat he is.

“Why would you do that to him?” Sorrengail damn near shouts at me, then shakes her head. “Forget it.” She dismisses me, walking away without another word.

I blink. Swear to Amari, the five-foot-nothing pain in my ass is the only person who ever  has the nerve to dismiss me. I’m moving before my common sense can tell me to leave well enough alone.

“Because you put too much faith in him.” I catch up to her in a matter of steps. “And knowing who to trust is the only thing that will keep you alive—keep us  alive—not only in the quadrant but after graduation.”

“There is no us ,” she retorts, barely avoiding a collision with another rider running by, causing my heart to jolt. Yesterday, I might not have cared.

Today, her blood is my blood.

“Oh, I think you’ll find that’s no longer the case.” I grab hold of her elbow and pull her out of the path of another imminent collision. Is this  what it’s going to be like, trying to keep this woman alive? She’ll stand up to three armed bullies to defend the smallest dragon, but she won’t watch where the fuck she’s walking ? “Tairn’s bonds are so powerful, both to mate and rider, because he’s  so powerful. Losing his last rider nearly killed him, which, in turn, nearly killed Sgaeyl. Mated pairs’ lives are—”

“Interdependent, I know that,” she snaps back, anger highlighting the blue in her eyes as she rips her gaze from mine, focusing on the movement of the riot as they land.

What in Dunne’s name is wrong with me that I’m noticing shit like that?

“Now who’s getting mushy?”  Sgaeyl asks.

“Attracted and mushy aren’t the same thing.”  And I’m already pissed at myself for the first. I’m sure as hell not slipping into the second. “Each time a dragon chooses a rider, that bond is stronger than the last, which means that if you die, Violence, it sets off a chain of events that potentially ends with me  dying, too. So yeah, unfortunately for everyone involved, there’s now an us  if the Empyrean lets Tairn’s choice stand.”

Her eyes flare and her lips part.

And I’m definitely not thinking about her mouth, not when I have bigger concerns like how to keep her alive. Not thinking about the best angle to kiss her, either. Or what her perfect  ass would feel like in my hands.

“And now that Tairn is in play, that other cadets know he’s willing to bond…” Gods, they’re going to come after her. On the mat. In the halls. In the damned bathing chamber that I can’t exactly patrol. I force my gaze away and exhale with enough force to actually call it a sigh.

“That’s why Tairn told me to stay with you,” she whispers, like she’s finally grasping the severity of our situation. “Because of the unbonded.”

“The unbonded are going to try to kill you in hopes they’ll get Tairn to bond them .”

Garrick heads my way, and I shake my head. Any news he has from last night’s mission has to wait. “Of all the people in the quadrant, Tairn had to bond Sorrengail?”  Life is about to get infinitely more complicated.

“Feel free to question his motives,”  Sgaeyl suggests.

“Hell no. I prefer my head attached.”  He’s one surly motherfucker. “Tairn is one of the strongest dragons on the Continent, and the vast power he channels is about to be yours. The next few months, the unbonded will try to kill a newly paired rider while the bond is weak, while they still have a chance of that dragon changing its mind and picking them so they’re not set back a full year. And for Tairn? They’ll do just about anything.” I can’t help but sigh for real this time. “There are forty-one unbonded riders for which you are now target number one.” I hold up my pointer finger.

“And Tairn thinks you’ll play bodyguard.” She snorts. “Little does he know just how much you dislike me.”

“He knows exactly how much you dislike  her and how often you stare—”

“I will volunteer for every cold-weather mission in existence if you—”

“Rude. As if your inability to control your own hormones should result in my discomfort.” She mentally shudders. Ruthless and vicious as my girl might be, she draws the line at the cold unless we’re flying for Aretia.

“He knows exactly how much I value my own  life,” I counter, my gaze roaming down Sorrengail’s body. There’s absolutely nothing  to dislike about what I see. In fact, if Amari herself ever designed a woman with my downfall in mind… Well, fuck. Maybe that’s exactly what Violence is—my downfall. Soft skin. Sharp mind. Fierce temper. Deadly with a dagger. Brave to a fault. And utterly unruffled. “You’re freakishly calm for someone who just heard she’s about to be hunted.” What makes her lose complete control? What kind of man would she let unravel her?

“She’s two years your junior and in your chain of command.”  Sgaeyl feigns outrage.

“And you’re fifty years younger than Tairn. Your point?”

“It’s a typical Wednesday for me.” Sorrengail shrugs, and my gaze locks onto the flush in her cheeks, that delicate bloom of pink that tells me she’s not as unaffected by me as she likes to pretend. “And honestly, being hunted by forty-one people is a lot less intimidating than constantly watching dark corners for you .”

Fair point.

The gold dragon lands behind us, followed by the monstrosity Sgaeyl calls a mate, and I walk the hell away as quickly as possible now that Sorrengail’s protected, heading across the field to where Sgaeyl waits at the end of the row with the other wingleaders’ dragons.

Garrick stands just off to the side of Chradh—his Brown Scorpiontail—and lifts his eyebrows as I approach. “So, you and the general’s daughter…”

“Not funny.” I shake my head and ignore Sgaeyl’s chuff beside me as General Melgren takes the front of the dais. My skin crawls, just like it always does when he’s near. Fucking murderer. It’s not hard to tune him out; I’ve practiced ignoring him for years. Besides, I don’t need to listen in order to know what he’s going to say.

Tairn will get his way. She’ll bond both dragons. Even the Empyrean isn’t going to tell the second-largest dragon on the Continent no when he finally wants to bond. They want him back on the battlefield.

“Is this going to be a problem?” Garrick asks as Melgren prattles on.

“No.”

“Right.” The word drips with sarcasm.

“I’m fine.” I scan the first-years who survived Threshing.

“I’ve seen corpses more fine  than you,” my best friend mutters.

“Of course corpses are fine. They have nothing  to worry about.” And I’ve just been handed Violet-fucking-Sorrengail to protect if I want to live. Which I do. Or rather, I have to. Especially since Melgren just announced that she gets to bond her dragons.

I lower my shields just enough to feel for the bond. The hard sapphire one I share with Sgaeyl is locked into place as always, but now there are two more. The onyx I recognize as Tairn, and the other, a glimmering strand of…silver, like the ends of her hair. Fuck . He really did bond her. Only a mating bond like Sgaeyl and Tairn’s could link me to another rider whether or not I want it.

Sorrengail looks across the field at me, and I slam my shields back into place and hold up my pointer finger. She’s now target number one around here, and my biggest liability.

“Guess we’ll need to keep her alive,” Garrick mutters as General Sorrengail steps forward to give her yearly speech about family even though she threw hers to the dragons.

“Yes.” How the hell am I going to keep her alive through all the first-year shit I’m nowhere near? I look across the field and spot Liam, my foster brother, standing in front of his new Red Daggertail as the dragons gift their riders with relics to channel magic. “Maybe I should move Liam into her squad.”

“Liam?” Garrick questions.

“He’s the best in his year.” I nod as the first-years break out in celebration. “I trained him to fight, so I know he’s capable of protecting her.” Plus, he’s as loyal to me as I am to him.

“Or you could give her a chance to make it on her own first.” Garrick folds his arms across his chest and glances sideways at me.

There are a multitude of reasons he might be right.

“But if that’s the route you choose, everyone likes Liam, so hopefully she will, too. It will make it easier for him to guard her.”

“She’ll like him.” That unpleasant feeling flares in my gut again, twisting into a knot.

Garrick grins. “Don’t worry. He won’t fuck her.”

My eyes narrow at Garrick. “Why would I care if he…” The words die on my tongue as Aetos walks behind Sorrengail and reaches for her back. That asshole is unlacing her armor. He’s got his hands on her skin. I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth to quell the quickly rising nausea.

“Relax, he’s lacing her back up,” Garrick says, and I know without looking the asshole is still smiling. “See? She’s already turning around.”

Sorrengail turns in Aetos’s arms, and he lifts his hands to her face. No doubt he’s pilfering through her memories to see if I actually interfered.

“Nothing to… Oh shit.” Garrick’s voice fades to a whisper as Aetos lowers his head and kisses Sorrengail.

Fire rushes through my veins and shadows spasm around me, distorting my vision for a second. Dain-fucking-Aetos has his mouth on my  Violence.

Not mine. But that doesn’t stop the knot in my stomach from unfurling, spreading like acid into my system, burning through my chest and making it hard to draw breath until that snot-nosed asswipe lifts his head.

“Damn. You all right over there?” Garrick asks, laughter lacing his tone.

“I’m…” I pin my feet to the field with shadows to keep from marching over there and feeding Aetos my fist. How fucking dare he kiss the mouth he wouldn’t bend a rule to protect, when I would—

“Yes, what would  you do?”  Sgaeyl asks.

Fuck me. What wouldn’t  I do?

“You’re looking a little green.” Garrick flat-out laughs, and I force air in and out of my lungs as Sorrengail steps back from Aetos.

He grins down at her, but…wait. She isn’t returning the sentiment. No, Sorrengail looks like she just accidentally kissed her cousin and can’t retreat fast enough. Talk about awkward.

“In twenty years, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you jealous before. This is amazing.” Garrick claps his hand on my shoulder.

Jealous.  That’s exactly what this hot, corrosive feeling is—jealousy. And now I’m linked to this woman for the rest of our lives.

I need to stay as far away from her as possible.

“But you won’t,”  Sgaeyl predicts, and I’d be tempted to raise my middle finger if I didn’t think she’d bite the damned thing off as a reminder that she can.

[mollyjeanne615]

Could you please write a song adapting Ted and Charlotte’s conversation/flirting/argument in The Guy Who Didn’t Like Musicals before he leaves her alone with Sam?

Like… there’s the genuine love between them; their respective issues, fears and unhealthy beliefs getting in the way of it; their regret that they can’t just be happy together while also not taking action to make that happen; the stress of being stuck in an alien zombie apocalypse; Charlotte’s grief over and Ted’s resentment of Sam; and their difficulty actually communicating all the previous things. And of course, the sexual tension. I just think that all of those layers interplaying would make a really good song. Especially since their dynamic wasn’t explored much in the show.

There could even be a coda where Ted, after leaving, muses that he could have done better, but he’s been very careful to never give her reason to expect better from him, so she’ll get over it. They’ll be back to their version of normal soon enough (messy as it is). So he doesn’t need to go back in there and apologize or say some heartfelt shit or anything. Then the final notes are the first ones of “You Tied up My Heart”.

I say this every time but holy SHIT this was fun

So I tried to get as much of this prompt into one song as I could - it doesn't cover the entire scene, so there would be a little bit of dialogue between this and "You Tied Up My Heart," but I think it captures a lot of their relationship and connection. There could also totally be some underscoring from this going into the next song in a full production. (Also this wouldn't be in a full production cause they wouldn't be singing, but I dream.) I also cheated a bit with the orchestrations - I've been trying to make them as playable by the original bands of the shows as possible, but for this I switched out the bass part for a second guitar cause why not. There's a little bit of "Time Bastard" in the opening synth part, and there's a pretty big motif/reprise/stolen chord progression in the bridge of the song - I was trying to think of other Hatchetfield songs relating to Spankoffski stories and sexual temptation and all that, and I think this one did the trick lol. I'm super proud of the demo for this one - it came out somewhere between "Dead Girl Walking" from Heathers and "D.O.A." from The Lightning Thief, and I'm really in love with it. Hope y'all enjoy!

In the Worst Way

CHARLOTTE: Ted!  I can’t believe you’re thinking about that at a time like this, the whole world could be coming to an end!

TED: Yeah.  Exactly.  The whole world’s gone to shit and you’re worried about what someone else might think about you?

CHARLOTTE: Well, when you put it like that…

TED:

You think you’re such a good, good girl You pick your nails, you hide your stress But it’s the end of the fucking world So you can afford to decompress

You put your image on a throne You crumple underneath the crown But you need to grow a backbone Before it breaks you down

You’ve been in bed with a scumbag But baby, can’t you see You have a chance to upgrade To a sleazeball like me

So if I’m dying tonight I’ve got a great way to cap off my life I’ll be going out doing the thing I love Screwing around with another man’s wife Maybe there’s better things I should worry about today But I’d rather be here with you So let me say I want you in the worst way

CHARLOTTE: Oh, you’re such a horny bastard.

TED: Always have been, always will be.

CHARLOTTE:

My body’s telling me to run My mind is saying you’re no good But I need something just for fun So I guess I probably should

I’ve wished upon so many stars To be more confident and crude So I’ll embrace the love that’s ours With a badass attitude

TED: Okay!

CHARLOTTE:

There’s something in my gut that says You might still be alright Cause I need someone to love me Before we bite the dust tonight

So if I’m dying today I’m gonna let you lead me astray I might be meeting my maker pretty soon So I’ll get down on my knees and pray Maybe there’s better things I should worry about today But I’d rather be here with you So let me say I want you in the worst way

TED:

Ooh, I want you in the worst way, yeah

TED AND CHARLOTTE:

My happiness is coming first, I won’t be on my own Let all those without sin cast the first stones I’ll do all I can so you’ll never be alone At least until we kick the bucket

CHARLOTTE:

But should I just stick with the devil I know

TED AND CHARLOTTE:

Well, you know what, fuck it!

They make out passionately as a rocking electric guitar solo backs them up.

TED AND CHARLOTTE:

So if I’m dying right now I’ll spend this moment breaking a vow There’s nowhere else I need to be And I needed a little break anyhow Maybe there’s better things I should worry about today But I’d rather be here with you So let me say Yeah, let me say I want you in the worst way

TED:

Let’s let the chips fall where they may

TED AND CHARLOTTE:

I want you in the worst way

CHARLOTTE:

My husband’s brains fell out today

TED AND CHARLOTTE:

I want you in the worst way Maybe there’s better things I should worry about today But I’d rather be here with you So let me say I want you in the worst way

They kiss again on the button of the song.

[irkimatsu]

physical or emotional characteristics you would like in a human husk

Sorry for sitting on this for a bit! I'll admit, part of me was being autistic and overthinking this. Is this about what I'm personally attracted to in Husk, or what I think would be best for his story in canon? Is this about what he was like before he died, or what he'd be like if he could be human again after everything that's happened to him in hell?

I'm going with "how I see him as a human on Earth before death, and who I thought he was regardless of my own personal attractions and biases". (Well, a little bit of my own biases. No such thing as unbiased fiction. But accuracy is my priority on this one.)

First and foremost - human Husk is black. I will die on that hill until canon tells me otherwise. There could be other pieces of heritage in there somewhere - I don't think I'm qualified to speculate on that too hard - but as far as skin tone goes, he's black. I also like when art gives him dreads, it just looks right, though I'm not as much of a stickler on that matter. Gotta have some scruffy facial hair, though, I demand that much.

As for why... is it all the good fanart that made other options look wrong in comparison? Is it because he's voiced by Keith David and I just can't imagine a white guy sounding like Keith David? Those are definitely pieces of it. I know it's not canon and I'm not out here attacking people who lean otherwise on Husk's race, but as for me, he's black, end of discussion. On the shorter end of the average as far as male heights go, but he's not noticeably short in isolation. Definitely taller than my short and stout self. Weight probably fluctuates depending on his situation - his finances as a gambler would be all over the place, and so would his diet, varying between lavish meals in overpriced steakhouses, and dinners at home consisting primarily of cheese puffs and bottom-shelf beer. I do like him with a gut, though. Maybe he's just naturally predisposed to having a gut, even when he's starving. (Told you there'd be some bias.)

I'd definitely want to put decent thought about what it was like for him as a black man growing up in early 20th century Las Vegas, but without being 110% certain that anything I'm saying makes any fucking sense, I'm biting my tongue on that one. Definitely a topic I'm interested in, though.

I should also probably mention that yes, I know it's a common headcanon for Husk to be a trans man. It's interesting! I have no actual reason for not writing it myself. Not sure what to do with it, I guess? If it was canon I'd of course pay more attention to that aspect, but for now, whoops. You guys have fun, obviously! Just like with the popular ship, if anyone ever took "Irk doesn't write this thing" as "Irk thinks that thing is bad" I'd cry, don't do that

I like the name Oscar for him while alive. Saw it in a post on here once and it just felt right. Thank you, random Tumblr user I forgot who you are whoops again! Until canon tells me otherwise, he's Oscar in my heart.

I think his dress style while alive would match a similar trajectory to his Overlord-to-servant transition - a snappy dresser when he can afford it, would never be caught dead looking the least bit disheveled. Button-up shirts, freshly ironed suits, the finest colognes! But after he's a washed up divorced drunk, who gives a shit. His clothes are a lot more tattered now... but honestly, living in a place like Vegas where half the population are various flavors of downtrodden, washed-up addict, he doesn't stand out. At least he has that going for him.

Personality-wise, I think as a child and a young man, he was a big dreamer, even a bit of an attention whore. He's wanted to be a performer for as long as he can remember, ever since he started seeing magic shows and jazz bands as a kid. He may still be introverted in the sense that putting on a show is exhausting and he needs his space, but when he's in the right frame of mind, the stage is where he belongs. He worked so, so fucking hard to be a performer! He really could have been something if Vegas didn't chew him up and barf him out...

That dreamer attitude also made him a serious romantic when he was younger. If you accept a date from that man, he will spoil you. Flowers, fancy dinner (if he can afford it), a personal serenade... he doesn't fall into actual honest-to-god love very often, but when he does, he falls hard and puts everything he has into showing the person he loves that he cares. He does lean toward monetary gifts = affection, though... please, Husk, sometimes your partner really would be happiest with a hug and a song. But he doesn't see it that way, he has to keep gambling to be able to afford the lavish lifestyle his lover deserves. Fucking Vegas.

As an older man on Earth, after a turbulent divorce and decades of addiction and depression, he's a lot like the version of himself in the hotel. Doesn't give a shit about much besides where he's going to get his next drink. He does miss his dreams and wonder what could have been if he didn't screw it all up... but there's no point thinking about wasted opportunity. It just hurts. Drink it away instead. He spends his last few years alone, gambling and drinking and just waiting to finally fucking die.

Death was supposed to be a second chance for him, you know? He could pick himself, become someone again! Too bad for him that "someone" was once again a gambler, and that addiction is always going to catch up with him...

This is a rambling mess. I apologize! I just hope I answered the question correctly! Sorry if I messed it up!

[pakeithpsy]

Creativity: A Life Wasted

I think I know what my problem is now.

I don't actually enjoy art, or writing, or animating, or designing games, or ANY of the creative process.

What I ACTUALLY enjoy is just having ideas and then hyperfixating on them for ages, fantasizing about how cool they would be until I inevitably get bored with them.

I like coming up with new ideas and ruminating on their possibilities more than I do actually acting upon them because I'm a pathetic failure of an adult who was never once challenged or defied by his peers and now I'm completely unprepared to actually do the work because it no longer makes me happy.

I'm just a complete fucking joke. I don't deserve to call myself a creative. I'm no better than all those AI douchebags who want all the glory of being an artist with none of the effort, and even they have more fucking drive than I do. Goddamn Christian Weston Chandler has more balls than I do - at least they actually fucking MADE something.

In 2017 I applied to online art college, having spent my entire life drawing the wrong way. It was the wake up call I needed, because it made me realize I'm not an artist, I never have been, and I never will be and that I was completely unfit to live in the adult world. If I ever wanted to pass, I would need to completely unlearn everything I knew about art. Nobody ever taught or explained any of the elements of art or figure drawing to me - all my art teachers when I was in school never once explained any of this. I had spent my entire life drawing the wrong way and had it committed to muscle memory. All of this new information and the speed at which it was being fed to me was confusing, scary, overwhelming. Everything they said I had to do sounded extremely hard, tedious, exhausting, and just beyond any of my capabilities.

I ended up falling behind because the material was just so difficult and moving too fast I gave up on even trying because it just didn't seem possible or worth my time. I felt like I couldn't do it. I KNEW I couldn't do it. I had spent my whole life thinking I had a calling for art when in reality my peers were just coddling me to spare my feelings, never once asking me if I had a plan or helping me find the resources I needed or even just giving me the tiniest ounce of criticism that my dream was unrealistic. Everyone told me I'd grow up to be an artist or a writer or animator and I just believed them like a fucking idiot.

I nearly killed myself because I felt like such a burden on my family, wasting all their money on trying to help my incompetent ass when I was too far gone. I was holding them back from enjoying and enriching their own lives because all that time was wasted on trying to get me to make something of myself. All my life I had been a constant disappointment to them and to myself. I thought I was nothing but a bane on their existence - all their dreams, all their aspirations, their own chance at happiness, all gone because they had to give it up to take care of me, and I repaid them by being a lazy piece of shit who refused to change or grow up. I genuinely thought their lives would be better if I had never been born and they'd be happy to see me dead, no longer bound by the chains of my arrested development and constant failure. I was doing nothing but holding them back. "If I were dead, then Mom could find a job instead of having to stay home all day taking care of her incompetent adult son," I thought to myself. "Then my brother won't have to wait on me or put up with my crap, everyone will be able to afford nicer things now that they're not throwing all their money away on classes that I refuse to get anything out of."

Now I wish I had gone through with it, that way all the people whose time I've wasted would get those precious hours of their life back, and so I wouldn't have had to watch as the creative industry, the place I thought I belonged, get gutted and mutilated and stomped into nothing by corporate greed, leaving me no option but to go indie, an impossible task for trash like me. I have no following, no connections, crippling fear of socialization and failure, no money to hire help, no experience in running a production, no TALENT for any of this. No matter how much I try I simply cannot learn because I can't handle even the tiniest setback or hurdle. What a complete joke. What was I even thinking? The only way to get what I want is to change who I am, something I've been trying to do for years but every time I try I keep spiraling back and ending up back at square one.

A while back I took an animation class specifically for people with autism. I was far and away the best artist there (for what little that means). Everyone else's skill was on par with a third grader who just started using MS Paint. But did they care? NO! They were just happy to be there at all. They LOVED drawing, they were EXCITED to start using Animate and they dived right in. Meanwhile I was busy bawling my eyes out because I couldn't even draw a still image of someone throwing a simple punch. I couldn't do anything more complex than a simple bouncing ball because the thought of drawing anything more complicated overwhelmed me with fear. So even compared to other disabled people I'm a complete and utter embarrassment. Hell, just this week at another class I was frustrated because I couldn't even draw a fucking APPLE correctly, aka Basic Drawing 101. What was I thinking, trying to convince myself I belong here?

I haven't talked about it in a while, but I have a whole adult cartoon concept I've been working on since at least 2013, for the past decade of my life it's been my main goal to see it finished. I have a whole series bible, several episode outlines, a script for a full 30-minute episode, and a whole storyboard for a short pilot of sorts that I even got my friends to record voices for. I was hoping to pitch it to Adult Swim or another network and then work my way up from there. But I wasted so much time fantasizing about what it could lead to that I never stopped to think about what would happen if something changed. I didn't know TV and streaming would become so utterly fucked that pitching to them would become a losing game, especially for a lowly nobody like me who can't even crack a thousand views on YouTube anymore unless it's a vocoded Family Guy clip. And as for going indie, what's the point in that? It's an adult comedy conceived in 2013 with all the humor that would entail, and the minute people figure out the punchline of the short they're going to immediately decide that they hate it, it has no potential, and I'm a lazy hack without ever seeing everything else I have to show for it. I feel like the only way anybody would even give it a smidgen of a chance is if I were to spoil everything that happens later (i.e. the parts that aren't meant to be funny), but I don't want to have to ruin the surprise just to get people to care one iota about it. I want people to support it and care about these characters because they genuinely like what I've made and want to see more of their antics and stories, not because they check all the boxes in their list of requirements for what a "real" cartoon should be. Any passion I once had for the idea is gone because of factors out of my control, and what little passion I do still have is merely out of spite for shows that are pretentious and up their own ass with drama and lore and the mere thought of giving the middle finger to the mindset that animation only matters if it's angsty and unfun, not because I still believe in this world and its characters.

"WELL JUST MOVE ON TO A NEW PROJECT DIPSHIT." Okay. Fine. I have. I've got TONS of ideas for other things I'd like to make. But why should I when I have no faith in myself that I can even do it? Why put in the effort when my passion for art is dead in the water? Nothing I can do right now will get me any closer to fulfilling my dreams. I can't afford to hire a crew, I wouldn't know the first thing about directing, nobody's going to give me the money because nothing I can make with my current skillset would ever grab anyone's attention, let alone make them think it's worthy of financial support, and every attempt I've made at trying to improve myself so that I can make something more impressive always comes up stillborn because of my crippling anxiety and a lifetime of terrible habits.

Chris Wade, Pan-tastique, and Tracy Butler were all right about me, I just want success laid out in front of me without having to do any of the work and I'm an insult to creatives everywhere. A stupid, selfish square trying to shove himself into a round hole. A manchild who would rather fantasize about fame and admiration than spend a single fucking minute actually trying to fix himself because he knows he doesn't have what it takes. The literal definition of an AI chud who thinks all that matters is the idea and doesn't want to put in a single bit of effort, yet I continue to insist I'm better than them instead of just throwing in the towel already.

I'm sorry I ever wasted anybody's time trying to act like one of you. I'm not one of you. I never was. I'm just a mewling little wannabe who needs to go back to the mental hospital before he hurts himself or someone else, shielded from our deteriorating, rotted society where only scum succeed and good people suffer and basic survival becomes more and more unaffordable due to the ruling class never being happy with the billions of dollars they already have.

I just wish someone had the courage to tell me no as a kid. To discourage me, to shoot down my dreams, to tear my awful art and shitty stories to shreds figuratively and literally. Maybe then I could've saved myself before I crashed and burned with nothing else to fall back on. Maybe then I could've found a new passion, something that actually matters to me, something I can actually do and enjoy doing. Maybe then I'd be happy. I'd be someone surrounded with pride and accomplishment and a sense of meaning instead of a bunch of useless middle school-tier doodles and sculptures that I fantasize about destroying because I can't stand the sight of them and all the failure they represent. Someone who was proud of who he is and what he's done. Someone who could've found new idols to collaborate with instead of being constantly disappointed by a bunch of backstabbing Hollywood scumbags. Someone who didn't feel like a constant failure and can't even speak up to his own family or therapist because he's too fucking embarrassed by the idea of asking for help out of fear of judgment and everyone seeing how pathetic and vulnerable he is and would rather run to the arms of strangers who don't know or care about him since it feels less personal.

But no. It wasn't to be. Instead I'm a miserable loser who ruined his own life and will never make anything of himself unless he gets a complete personality transplant and should've just kicked the bucket 6 years ago when he had the chance.

[synamartia]

First day of a stay-cation and I am in a GOOD FUCKING MOOD. NOTHING CAN STOP ME HAHAHA god i gotta chill tf out

Part 2, here we go~! ❤

♡ For all his efforts, he hadn't actually noticed you. While he tended to stay at the back of the room, you were always further back, on the balcony, at the bar. He went about enjoying his nightlife wholly unaware someone was watching. Because of this, he did things that were considered quite dangerous for a woman.

Baby's gettin' better at tailinggg~ 🎵

♡ Many more nights you buried your face into your pillow and thought about his hands on you, his breath at your ear. His "Shhh." You couldn't replicate the feeling. No matter how you tried.

GIRL SAME.

♡ Leaning in, you rested your hand on the hand he set on your hip and whispered into his ear, "Touch me again without my permission," you lifted his tie, a flirtatious move to anyone watching, "And the next time you see this tacky tie, you'll be shitting it out." You patted his chest. "Excuse me, I'll be right back."

♡ "Hands off, move along." The stranger flashed his identification papers, making the offender leave quickly with his head down. "Miss you need to be careful out here. There's been people missing from this ward. Pretty thing like you should be home."

Okay FIRST OFF-- *points up* We can look after ourselves. Second-- the FOREBODING FEELING I WAS JUST HIT WITH-- oooofffff 😭 Should I be scared? Worried?? aroused???

♡ I don't want this.

The fucking snort I let out at this line 😂

♡ "I don't care for liars." Alastor was in front of you before you could even shout from shock. You looked around him to see a crumpled body on the ground and a black car.

okay look, the fight part of my fight or flight instincts would've kicked in so hard right here like i would have decked him the second "I" left his mouth

♡ A waxed canvas was lining the inside, "Clever." You hadn't meant to say it out loud. He hummed happily at the compliment and you sank your teeth into the reaction. Everyone wants something; power, money, sex, praise. Find the right combination and even the toughest hearts would swing open.

You know what, I've always preferred the receiving end of the praise kink, but this line here got me wondering what the give feels like. 🤔 I'mma save this for when I get back to writing, try to explore it a bit~

♡ "Perhaps I should eat you?" He leaned close.

♡ His tongue as soft as his hands rolled over your own, every time your mouths pulled away and drew back together was thinning your frontal cortex. Alastor could taste the faint metallic tinge of the man's blood on your mouth, and he found his sleeping libido shiver awake. Always a fan of kissing, he now found his mind wandering to other parts of your body, other acts of affection, as he felt you'd call them.

yeeeEEAAAHHH BUDDY let's go! I. Am. Ready.

♡ "That's why I like you," a wink. "Wear comfortable shoes tomorrow." He flashed a smile, pushing his glasses up. Before you could question him he hopped into the car and drove off out of the back of the side street.

EUGH. WHY. *collapses in defeat* I have such a love-hate relationship with the slow burn. 😭

♡ He always took his time, sensing out those who were good candidates. The abhorrent, the abusers, the cruel. There was something so satisfying, deep in his gut, to watch a person with power over others cower in fear. The same eyes that relished in the pain they gave to those under their thumb shaking in realization the were now the prey. Begging for mercy they didn't afford others. Alastor sighed. He remembered your pained sob in the park, frustration and disappointment at his lack of reaction. Eyes fluttering closed, if you had gotten in the car you'd not be disappointed in him now.

CALLED IT not really

♡ Truth was he had enjoyed a whiskey and your songs for several months now, always at the seat closest to the door, out of sight and out of mind. His favorite of your casual dive bar digs were the trousers you occasionally wore. You looked so sharp.

I keep forgetting this is taking place around the time of the Great Depression and women wearing pants was considered SCANDELOUS back then. Love that you peppered small bits like this in there to remind readers of the timeline~ 👌❤

♡ "You," he leaned against the bar, "owe me a drink. And alcohol always pairs well with dance."

Oh, we owe you more than just a drink, dear.

♡ "Then talk to me like a man." Your glass made a thud as it hit the table. Alastor's eyes widened as they always did when you said something wildly amusing to him.

Do. It. do it do it do it--

♡ Alastor smirked, "Autumn Hind is not your real name. That is clearly a stage name."

Wait did I miss something? I'm stupid, what's the pun here--

♡ Swirling your drink in its crystal, you smiled, "It's a good one though, you have to admit." His brow cocked, not understanding. "Hind, a doe. And what do does do in the fall?" Your own brows rose suggestively.

Oh. OH-- okay okay i get it now 🙃

♡ He looked down now, eyes meeting yours gain, "That was before I knew how entertaining you could be."

Give us the chance and we'll show you just how entertaining we can be *eyebrow wiggle*

♡ His grin widened. "And your precision. One cut and that brute was down. It was remarkable." The hand holding your waist began to tighten. It egged you on, whether he intended it to or not, "I can appreciate the way you carry yourself." Your freehand ran across his vest, suit jacket left at the table, "I wish I could see more."

Oh. Oh no. Hazel, what have you done. You've awakened something DASTARDLY in me. HAZEL WHAT DID YOU DO--

♡ Alastor pulled you both from the wall and turned you, pressing your body into the sink. You were staring at your reflection, Alastor's eyes meeting yours in the mirror, "I'm happy to do many things for you... just not exactly what you're asking for; not right now. Not in this tiny dance hall bathroom."

asdfkjwlkjwf-- I'm banging my head against the wall rn but I love the slow burn, the chase so much AHHHHHH--

♡ "Okay, okay, affection received." You patted his head, pushing him away by his forehead. "Don't need to end the night in a paddy wagon."

oh Hazel you TEASE!! D':

♡ You turned around, partly acting like you didn't know him at all and partly hiding the way your face twisted. Unsure what exactly you two were doing, you didn't want to create hassle for either of you. Alastor laughed, "The very same! Alastor, it's a pleasure to meet you." With your back turned you couldn't see the woman's face, but she made a barely audible squeak.

I've never been the jealous type, especially when it comes to fictional characters. But the combination of your little tease just now, the caffeine from 4 monsters, and the heavy metal I got going on in the background right now has me ready to throw hands at words. WORDS, HAZEL. i love it give me more

*sprints to part 3* I SHOULD HAVE DONE THIS AGES AGO.

A Doe in Fall (part 2)

I have a terrible case of the big bad sads so enjoy part 2 earlier than I planned

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦

Part 2 Liar

You not-stalk Alastor for weeks but don’t find anything blackmail worthy to grab ahold of. But luckily (?) for you, a chance encounter pulls you deeper into his hobbies and therefore his scope of fascination. Most importantly, do murderers go on dates?

「Warnings/Promises: Smut, HumanAlastor x FemBurlesquerReader, Alastor eats pussy like beignets (MESSY), dancing, shoe stress, murder, dead body, food metaphors, stalking, masturbation, Tommy is a bad dude, allusion to coerced prostitution, praise kink?, public sex acts, stage name is a fucking pun GOTCHU BITCHES, Gluttony」

minors dni please

The nights you didn’t work were spent casually looking for Alastor. Not stalking, just …. pursuing. 

You found over the course of several weeks what places he never attended, and a few that he did like clockwork. As much as you wanted to approach him, you knew you’d end up checkmated again. You just wanted to observe the man, surely you’d see something you could use against him, something tangible.

What was he doing? Knife carrying smooth talker who fingers ladies in the park? There was more to him than you anticipated. That addictive adrenaline rush was calling you to chase him. You’d catch him in the act of whatever men like him did, and—- well, you’d figure it out then. Was he a mugger, maybe? The knife would make sense. But he disposed of bodies so well, a month and no mention of a corpse anywhere. You didn’t want to even touch the thought bubbling up in the back of your skull. It was getting louder and louder, heavier than the other thoughts.

A repeat killer.

You decided, somewhat foolishly, if he was a killer it would be best to know that information. So you needed to continue even if the cards all read death. Right? 

Right.

For all his efforts, he hadn’t actually noticed you. While he tended to stay at the back of the room, you were always further back, on the balcony, at the bar. He went about enjoying his nightlife wholly unaware someone was watching. Because of this, he did things that were considered quite dangerous for a woman.

Many nights you found yourself alone in wooded areas. Well, “alone”. 

During your casual stalking you found him to be quite pretty, in a sense. He walked smoothly, always had pressed and tailored suits. Slender fingers, wide shoulders, small waist. Fingers.

Many more nights you buried your face into your pillow and thought about his hands on you, his breath at your ear. His “Shhh.” You couldn’t replicate the feeling. No matter how you tried.

If all else failed, no juicy blackmail available, maybe just endear yourself to him. Bed him. Get the conquest done and let him go on with his little crime spree or whatever it was he was doing when you weren’t watching. Because so far all you’ve seen is a man who loves to dance and enjoys whiskey. 

After another show done, body sore, you did your tour of the theatre. Tommy was snapping his fingers at you from the bar, his attempt to tell you to come over. Every day he seemed to become more and more brutish.

“What can I do for ya?” You tried to keep a bounce in your step, arches aching. 

“I want you to meet someone.” Tommy turned to a small man at the bar, hair thinning and combed forward. You guessed in his sixties. “Give Mr. Wilson a warm welcome. He’s one of your most generous benefactors.”

You nodded, smile slipping as you mind started to consider what was happening. You had heard some girls were taking dates, offering private shows, but you had been under the impression that was entirely of their own free will and desire. Had Tommy turned pimp? Your gaze flashed to Tommy, his stare cold, and then back to the man. “Well, thank you very much doll! Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Wilson.” Tommy saw someone walk by and followed, leaving you with the older man. 

“Your dance was something else, sweetheart.” You nodded, his hand coming to rest on your hip. “I bet those hips do more than dancing.”

Leaning in, you rested your hand on the hand he set on your hip and whispered into his ear, “Touch me again without my permission,” you lifted his tie, a flirtatious move to anyone watching, “And the next time you see this tacky tie, you’ll be shitting it out.” You patted his chest. “Excuse me, I’ll be right back.”

You pushed through the crowd and out of the front doors of the theatre. The air chillier tonight than past weeks. Looking around, you balled your fists. You wanted to hit something, break something.

Without any destination you tore off down the street, angrily huffing to yourself. You looked both ways to cross the intersection when you saw a familiar silhouette. A car honked, your hands coming up in apology as you finished crossing the street to follow Alastor.

Was your luck miraculous? Or malignant? You made it several blocks before a man stepped in front of you. You weren’t listening, trying to look past him to see where Smiles was headed.

“Will you fuck off?!” You pushed him out the way only to have him pull you back by the arm. Before you could let out your frustration, a stranger walked up to you both. 

“Hands off, move along.” The stranger flashed his identification papers, making the offender leave quickly with his head down. “Miss you need to be careful out here. There’s been people missing from this ward. Pretty thing like you should be home.” 

Your mouth formed various shapes, no words fitting.

“Detective Brady.” He handed you a card.

I don’t want this.

“Sure, thanks.” You snatched it with two fingers and practically jogged away. No sign of him, no indication where Alastor went. Were there any forested areas? He often took strolls in shady parks but you couldn’t remember any nearby. Turning around you realized how far you’d wandered from the fanfare and lights. The area was dark and deserted, not just Alastor but no one was around anymore. You stashed the card in your bra and rushed past an alley, giving up and deciding to just go home, when your ears caught the sound of dragging fabric on pavement.

Ice. Your blood chilled. Taking a few steps backwards, you turned to look into the darkened side street. You saw nothing, but heard a familiar wet sound.

Would it matter? Death?

You lifted your heels, walking on the balls of your feet to not make any sound as you approached the black shadow blanketing the majority of the side street.

A glimpse of brown leather shoes peeked into the light, soon your eyes adjusted as you too entered the inky darkness.

“I don’t care for liars.” Alastor was in front of you before you could even shout from shock. You looked around him to see a crumpled body on the ground and a black car.

“Is there a problem?” His eyes scanned your face, his usual smile no longer so inviting but instead manic and wide. You don’t know what possessed you, the adrenaline was flowing again and drowning out your more sensible thoughts. 

Your eyes were locked on his golden brown stare, “Only… if you’re quite attached to his wallet.”

He burst into laughter, wiping tears with the back of his bloodied glove. A small smear of blood was left behind on his cheek.

“I have no need for it.” He reached down and fished it out of the man’s pocket, “And neither does he!”

You caught it with both hands, “Well doesn’t that make me the lucky lady of the evening.”

“Don’t speak too soon. I’m quite cross with you.” He gestured at you with the knife, “We had a deal.”

In what could best be described as an out of body experience you watched yourself rush to his side and lift the man’s legs, “In the trunk?”

Alastor stared at you, teeth showing as his smile grew, “I’ve seen films less entertaining than you.” A stifled laugh as he lifted the man from under his arms and you both carried him to the car. You dropped the legs with a loud thud, Alastor gently setting the man down and opening the trunk.

A waxed canvas was lining the inside, “Clever.” You hadn’t meant to say it out loud. He hummed happily at the compliment and you sank your teeth into the reaction. Everyone wants something; power, money, sex, praise. Find the right combination and even the toughest hearts would swing open. 

After he tossed the man, the knife, and the gloves into the back, you reached for his hand. “Your wife is going to be miffed. Blood is so difficult to get out of cotton.” You scratched at the bit of blood that had stained his cuff. “Spit works really well. But lemon juice and baking soda before any store bought cleaners will help.”

Alastor took his hand back, adjusting his sleeve to hide the red spot, “Oh she has much bigger issues to deal with.”

Your mind raced. A chauvinist? Abuser? A weight settled into your stomach; disappointment. “Is that so?”

Giggling, he leaned against the bumper, one leg crossing in front of the other, “Considering she doesn’t exist, she’s quite terrible at laundry. And I haven’t eaten a meal in years.” A giggle devolving into a full chest laugh. 

A terrible joke, you smacked his chest, “Cruel! Unfunny!” 

“Perhaps I should eat you?” He leaned close. 

“I hear I’m quite sweet.” You smirked, heart pounding in your chest with such force you were rocking slightly with each pulse.

Alastor felt his blood pressure rising. He should kill you. Just to be safe. But—- oh, this was so fun. You hid any fear you were feeling perfectly. He could be forgiven to think he was staring into a mirror. If he met himself in an alley, well, he would feel quite safe. Perhaps you we’re of a similar inclination?

He watched your throat as you gulped. You licked your thumb and wiped at his cheek, “You always make a mess, hun.”

Alastor felt the world spin as you then dragged your blood stained thumb over your lips, red lipstick smearing with it. “Sweet eno-,” he swallowed your words, hand coming to your neck and pulling you into the kiss. No patience, his tongue swiped over your mouth and plunged in at the smallest parting. 

Your mind was screaming, finally, yes. 

His tongue as soft as his hands rolled over your own, every time your mouths pulled away and drew back together was thinning your frontal cortex. Alastor could taste the faint metallic tinge of the man’s blood on your mouth, and he found his sleeping libido shiver awake. Always a fan of kissing, he now found his mind wandering to other parts of your body, other acts of affection, as he felt you’d call them.

No time. He pulled away, “Against the wall.”

You practically threw yourself into the bricks. Alastor pulled a gas tin from the trunk and began dousing the street. You frowned, body relaxing.

“You’re taking the food metaphor too far. Fire? Really?” You took a second to realize there was no odor.

A laugh in threes, “Water, dear.” You watched the blood thin and begin snaking down to the gutter. He set the can in the trunk and closed the hatch. After opening the drivers door he turned to you, “Do you trust me to drive you home?”

“Honestly, no.”

“That’s why I like you,” a wink. “Wear comfortable shoes tomorrow.” He flashed a smile, pushing his glasses up. Before you could question him he  hopped into the car and drove off out of the back of the side street.

Alastor found himself singing a little louder as he drove home. A thrilling evening becoming somehow more exciting. He realized that always seemed to happen when you stumbled into his plans. Still annoyed you had followed him, his thoughts shifted to possibilities. A kindred spirit could make things easier. More fun. Safer. But who were you? Much like himself you wore a mask. He could see it clearly as it always began to slip in his presence. 

He pulled his car behind his home, backed up against a large greenhouse. Still in the idling vehicle, his fingers came to his lips. What a peculiar creature you were. Killing the lights and letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, he considered what to do. The possibilities kept coming in waves. But he stopped himself, never one to live in fantasy. Helping toss a dead man into a car wasn’t the same as killing. Yes, you showed no outward concerns, but he couldn’t be sure you wouldn’t turn tail the second things got more intense. 

He always took his time, sensing out those who were good candidates. The abhorrent, the abusers, the cruel. There was something so satisfying, deep in his gut, to watch a person with power over others cower in fear. The same eyes that relished in the pain they gave to those under their thumb shaking in realization the were now the prey. Begging for mercy they didn’t afford others. Alastor sighed. He remembered your pained sob in the park, frustration and disappointment at his lack of reaction. Eyes fluttering closed, if you had gotten in the car you’d not be disappointed in him now. 

A deeper sigh. But you didn’t. Which was wise. He thought better of you for it. Opening his eyes and leaving the car, he went to the trunk to begin his work.

You couldn’t sleep. Not because of the dead man, you were getting used to that. It was the lack of information. Comfortable shoes? For what? He didn’t give you a time or place to meet.

Tomorrow was Sunday, you realized. Ah, the bar. That was the only place that would make sense. 

Sundays were big nights for your theatre, but you weren’t needed unless a girl was sick. You simply weren’t at that level of fame for your little company and this was fine for you suddenly. You spent your Sunday pacing your small one room apartment and changing shoes.

What did Alastor have planned? With the little you knew about him it a could be a capital crime or a walk in the park. You genuinely couldn’t imagine and it was exciting. A normal man asking you—- was this a date? Was it presumptive to call it a date? You couldn’t quite see Alastor dating. You let the question go. Most men would take you for a movie and perhaps a chaste kiss at the door of a cab. With Alastor it could be literally anything. How do you dress for anything? 

Your friend teased you, arriving early to her bar and chewing on your lip. 

“So, either you suddenly wanna look nice for my dive, or you’re expecting someone.” She was wiping down the counter.

“I adore your customers, Betty.” You hopped from the seat, needing to reapply your lipstick.

Your singing voice was strained, nerves keeping you tense. Looking into the modest crowd you couldn’t find him. A cornflower yellow dress, a little too tight around your waist but you didn’t let that stop you. The collar a loose and folding slit from shoulder to shoulder, you were positively cute, he decided. Leaning at the bar he couldn’t see your face, but under the small lights you were glowing nonetheless. A little ball of pride rose in his gut, noticing you clearly had put more care into your appearance tonight than most Sundays. 

Truth was he had enjoyed a whiskey and your songs for several months now, always at the seat closest to the door, out of sight and out of mind. His favorite of your casual dive bar digs were the trousers you occasionally wore. You looked so sharp.

When your set was done, you tried to be gracious as you left the piano’s side. Alastor watched you from his seat, letting your face light up once again when you recognized him. He gave a noticeable look to your shoes. 

“Those will do.” 

“Do what?” 

“You,” he leaned against the bar, “owe me a drink. And alcohol always pairs well with dance.”

Maybe a date, you thought. You offered him your arm, “Lead the way.”

As you walked, arm in arm, you found yourself not needing to speak much. His arm was so solid in yours. You felt like everyone was looking, the handsome man and the pretty young thing. Did you two look sweet? Like the cleanest cut kids in the neighborhood? Did you look like the kind of people who sat in pews once a week and clasped hands over dinner?

Did you look like the sort to toss bodies in cars? No, decidedly not. And it made you feel powerful. What a perfect act. The feeling of looking nothing like what you were was akin to the addicting rush of your cat and mouse game with most men. 

“Do you like those group dances? Like the Big Apple?” Alastor asked as he opened the doors for you. 

“Not particularly…”

“Perfect, neither do I.” He laughed. 

A small table in a small nook of a booth lining the small dance floor. You clinked your glasses together, no toast necessary, and watched the couples swing around the room. As the 20’s were fading from the rear view, you all hoped dance would be less stigmatized. But part of the fun was how scandalous it was. 

“How was your day? Made it home safe and sound?” Alastor crossed his legs and leaned into the plush booth seat. 

Oh, this was going to be… normal? You choked a little on your drink, surprised. “Honestly?”

“Always.”

“I sat in my apartment changing my shoes repeatedly.”

Alastor’s laugh was loud and sharp, but you didn’t find it obnoxious. You liked it.

“That wasn’t my intention. I just didn’t want to risk you being unable to dance.”

You rolled your eyes, taking a slow sip with your gaze on the dancers, “Ya know how to avoid that? Tell me to wear shoes for dancing.”

A snicker, “Perhaps I’m not quite as skilled with talking to women as I like to think.”

“Then talk to me like a man.” Your glass made a thud as it hit the table. Alastor’s eyes widened as they always did when you said something wildly amusing to him.

“Hmm, I don’t talk much to men.” He thought, “Not for long conversations, that is.” Your mind conjured up the two dead men. “I never asked your name. Is it too late now?”

“You saw it on the posters. Autumn.”

Alastor smirked, “Autumn Hind is not your real name. That is clearly a stage name.”

Swirling your drink in its crystal, you smiled, “It’s a good one though, you have to admit.” His brow cocked, not understanding. “Hind, a doe. And what do does do in the fall?” Your own brows rose suggestively. 

Alastor hit the table, “A deer pun?! Oh darling, we’re going to be fast friends.” He offered you his glass for another wordless toast.

“I thought it was pretty funny, for a burlesque dancer no less. A horny little deer prancing on stage. Better than Allie Way and Frosti Winters.” You grinned into the glass, proud of yourself.

You could see Alastor physically relax beside you, dancers moving about in front of you both. 

“And yours? Your day, that is.”

He hummed, “I slept late, stayed up late. Took care of our newly penniless friend.” 

You wanted to ask more, what did you do with him? Can I come next time? Is there a pool of gators somewhere eating well today?

He leaned in to you, “May I have this dance?”

Your smile was uncontained, all desire to control your outward appearance was lost in the fun of dancing with your newest partner. Was there anyone else in the room with you anymore? Who knows. The music kept playing and that was all you needed. 

Alastor was a marvelous dancer,  you noticed other women glancing his way, eye lashes fluttering but ignored as he focused on the movements. This was how you managed to not-stalk him so well, he was completely unaware of the interested gazes of those around him.

While he didn’t notice the individual stares, Alastor could feel the attention on him and it made his chest puff. He loved it, how he could feed an image to the masses and be seen as he saw fit. It was something you both had in common, even if neither of you had strong enough egos to vocalize it yet.

When the music wound down, a slow number for the lovers, you hadn’t expected Alastor to stay on the dance floor. A slow dance, one arm on your hip, hand in hand. 

Now close, you felt you could speak without risk of others eavesdropping. 

“Why did you invite me out? I have a distinct memory of you saying you had very little affection or time.” You were shorter than him, your shoes not very tall, so you had to speak up and at his neck.

“A man who says he has no time is a man unwilling to make any.” Alastor led you in a small sway along the floor.

“Oh so you just didn’t see me worth the effort before.” You said it half teasingly, half seriously.

He looked down now, eyes meeting yours again, “That was before I knew how entertaining you could be.”

You pouted, entertaining was not the word you wanted to hear. Enthralling, Enchanting, Endearing. 

“There’s that face again. What ever could it mean.” Alastor’s head cocked to the side.

“I’m entertaining at work. You don’t need to take me out to enjoy my entertainment value.” 

He laughed again, making you glare, “Darling, being entertaining is high praise. And you’re not entertaining at work. You’re bewitching.” He pulled you a little closer, “The way you make those men act a fool. Truly a sight. You wield a power many women just dabble in.”

You shimmied a little against his chest, “Well if we’re giving out compliments…” you remembered the satisfying hum from last night, “The canvas was clever, but the water in the cans was brilliant. Nothing suspicious about a little petrol in the trunk.”

His grin widened. “And your precision. One cut and that brute was down. It was remarkable.” The hand holding your waist began to tighten. It egged you on, whether he intended it to or not, “I can appreciate the way you carry yourself.” Your freehand ran across his vest, suit jacket left at the table, “I wish I could see more.”

Your chest pressed against his, trapping your hand. “Ooh, you are observant, little one. Why did you agree to come out? Still chasing my,” his hips pressed against yours, hand sliding down slightly to hold you close, “affection?”

Fingers playing with his buttons, “Hmm, debilitating fascination and your affection. Do you have any to spare?” You smiled sweetly up at him.

Your mouths were on each other before the bathroom door closed behind you. Alastor locking it without looking, one hand staying on your neck. The small room was just a single toilet and a bathroom cabinet with a built in sink. Little tulip shaped light sconces above the mirror made the room brighter than the dance hall. Your nails lightly grazed his scalp, him humming in return. His body was pressing yours against the wall, despite his thin frame he had a power to him. Hands on your hips, holding you firmly in place. Your hips tried to roll against his anyway.

“Is it praise? I’ll sing your song until I’m blue in the face, until my lungs give out just tell me what you need.” You whined. 

His head shook softly, thumb pulling down on your chin to open your mouth. “It isn’t that simple. It’s not something you can say.” 

His tongue swiped over your own, neither in your mouths. He tasted like whiskey, bitter and fragrant. Your eyes fluttered shut, feeling his body against yours. You were vibrating; the way you always did when he was near you.

Kissing, tongues, body presses.  You were tangled together.

“This isn't… doing anything?” You asked, his lips coming to your neck. Sighing, your hand gripped his hair weakly. “That feels good.”

He shook his head into your skin, “I don’t see any desire to carry it further. But I enjoy it for what it is. And you seem to enjoy it. Is that enough for you?”

You wanted to scream, to argue, but as he pulled away and you stared up into his sharp honey brown eyes, you felt helpless to deny him anything. Did you need sex? Really? It’d been three months now without it and you were only recently clawing at the sheets with thoughts of Alastor. Being in his mouth was better than being strangers. Sliding fingers back into his hair and drawing him closer, your leg came up and hooked on his hip.

Alastor pulled you both from the wall and turned you, pressing your body into the sink. You were staring at your reflection, Alastor’s eyes meeting yours in the mirror, “I’m happy to do many things for you… just not exactly what you’re asking for; not right now. Not in this tiny dance hall bathroom.” 

His hand snaked up your chest and lightly held your neck, you fought back a moan.

“Well, if it’s good enough for your wife….” 

He laughed into your skin, other hand slipping down the front of your dress and cupping your crotch. “I’ve heard no complaints.” The way he anchored you, arms twisted and firm around such vital parts of you, made your whole body relax into his arms. A parachute safely secured around you as you fell. Mouth to your ear, hot and warm breath, “Turn around.”

Head spinning, you turned in his arms. Alastor lifted you up and onto the countertop of the sink, lips crashing back into yours.

The sound of music shook the thin walls of the room, heart erratic in your chest. His fingers slid up both thighs slowly, a familiar feeling for you now. His hands your favorite dance partner. 

His eyes didn’t leave yours as he dropped to his knees, your legs closing in embarrassment before he slid his hands between them. 

“Did you ask for more affection, dear?” He pushed your dress up around your waist, two fingers pulling the fabric of your panties to the side. You wanted to rip them off, damning your garters. You felt feverish as you watched him bury his face into your pussy. Your wetness was evident by how easily he glided through your folds. One hand gripped the counter, the other combing through his chestnut hair. Alastor kept his eyes on you, reading your face as he moved his tongue over your heat.

Mind racing for something clever to say, you opened your mouth but just gasped out his name as he sucked gently at your clit. One of your short heeled shoes you stressed over fell off as your knees came up around his head.

You were confident you made the right answer. With the music thumping along you didn’t feel any need to keep yourself quiet.

Your breathy moans and little hip rolls into his mouth made Alastor smile against your skin. He had learned many ways to keep people satiated. 

With a struggle, you opened your legs again allowing his tongue to drop down and into you. Nose rutting against your sensitive clit with every movement of his tongue in and out. 

A pounding on the door made you jump. 

“People are waiting!” Someone yelled.

Alastor pushed his tongue deeper, wriggling up and down against your twitching walls. Your head fell forward, “Alastor-,” you choked.

He buried his nose into your muff, eyes closing.

The door knob rattled, “Hello!”

“Alastor.”

So warm. Your body was so warm on his face. Your smell was making him feel feral. Gluttony. The way you were twitching and heaving under his tongue, groaning his name. Had he ever felt so powerful while on his knees? Had he ever enjoyed someone else’s body in such a bloodless way? No. Decidedly not.

“We’re gonna get the key!” The man at the door said.

“Okay, okay, affection received.” You patted his head, pushing him away by his forehead. “Don’t need to end the night in a paddy wagon.”

Alastor’s tongue was still out, eyes glossy as he looked up at you.

For the briefest second you considered wrapping your thighs back around his head and waiting for the key.

You hopped off, grabbing your shoe and leaning to get it back on. Crouching down you kissed Alastor’s nose and wiped his chin clean with your handkerchief before pushing it into his shirt pocket. “Up, up!” Hand in hand you barreled out of the door before the staff could see you and rushed to the furthest corner of the hall.

When you stopped and looked back you saw a staff member looking around annoyed, a man putting his hands up and entering the bathroom with a huff.

Before you could say anything, compliment or scolding, a woman was in front of Alastor. Your hand slid from his naturally. 

“I am so sorry. Are you the host of that jazz show?” The woman had her hands in front of her, nervously twisting the handle of her purse, “Sorry if you’re not! You just look like the description, tall… handsome… cute glasses.”

You turned around, partly acting like you didn’t know him at all and partly hiding the way your face twisted. Unsure what exactly you two were doing, you didn’t want to create hassle for either of you.  Alastor laughed, “The very same! Alastor, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” With your back turned you couldn’t see the woman’s face, but she made a barely audible squeak. 

While you were eavesdropping, a man offered you his arm. Your hand slipped to Alastor’s back, giving him a touch as you slid into the strangers arms for a dance.

He turned around to see you hit the floor and smiled, returning to the fan before him. After a few more compliments about his voice and his appearance, the woman shrunk a little, “Are you free tonight? I don’t have an escort home…”

A hum, soft smile, “Ah, I would love to see a fan safely home. But, alas, I am here with someone.”

What an easy excuse. It was nice to not need to lie.

“I see…. Oh, uh, your glasses… here, they’re a little smudged,” she offered him her handkerchief but he declined, pulling yours from his pocket.

“Danced too hard?” She chuckled, trying to elongate the conversation.

Alastor hummed, fogging the glasses before wiping them clear. “Eating, actually.”

“Oh you’re a messy eater, huh?”

“So I’ve been told.” He folded the square into a triangle and returned it to his pocket.

“What a… delicate handkerchief.” She looked at the soft yellow fabric and saw your yellow dress twirling behind him. “Ah. Well….It was a pleasure to meet you.” The woman sheepishly excused herself, letting him watch you dance around the floor with the stranger.

He’d never so explicitly told anyone his proclivities as he had done with you. Growing up he learned quickly his interests misaligned with other young men, but he didn’t really understand it well enough until he entered his early 20s and had to learn skills his peers didn’t. A man can only turn down so many offers for sex before people begin to question him. Certain rumors could be downright dangerous. 

Your eyes kept returning to him, your smile meeting you eyes as you twirled. 

While he had bed a number of partners, it was more often than not the result of physical reactions and what felt like necessity. The few times he genuinely felt he could enjoy in indulging in carnal pleasures he found himself utterly alone. He enjoyed dating, necking, kissing, but he could only keep some people so happy for so long. Quite a few women assumed marriage would solve the issue, and pushed him. Which made the inevitable break up easier. 

His reputation was that of a rake now. The popular host who rarely dates but often canoodles.

He laughed to himself, if rumors spread of his recent antics with you he’d be practically blacklisted from certain clubs. Alastor watched you graciously leave your dance partner and hop up to him. If he were any other man, you’d throw your arms around him and make him swoon for you. But he was Alastor. Your confusingly respectful killer. So you stopped yourself, instead offering him a smile.

“I wasn’t aware you were a radio host.”

“You never did ask my job.” You both walked back to the table where his jacket was lying in the booth seat.

“Honestly did not care. Which is unusual for me. Normally my first question to men is what they do for work.” You tried to avoid looking at the bathroom before settling back into your seat beside him.

He lifted his hand and gestured for another round, “Should I be flattered or insulted?”

“Oh definitely flattered. There were much more interesting aspects to you.” There was a little space between you, a foot or so of emptiness. 

You scooted closer, Alastor glancing to you before shifting his legs and closing the last few inches of distance. Thigh touching thigh, you sat silently while your drinks were poured and brought to your table. 

“To sinning,” you offered a real toast, Alastor laughing his signature laugh and raising his glass.

“To sinning!”

His hand came to rest on yours, both settled on your lap under the table. Your cheeks were hurting, desperately trying to keep your smile looking demure and not stupid-school-girl-in-love. His fingers folded into yours, and you entirely lost the plot, face melting into a lovesick grin.

Alastor leaned into you, “Are you alright? Liquor already gone to your head?”

You squeezed his hand, “Different kind of intoxication, doll.”

The evening was, in a word, divine. You danced with reckless abandon and enjoyed various degrees of affection. You were surprised to see Alastor so open, you had pegged him as less wanting to draw attention to himself. But no, he clearly relished in making heads turn.

He offered you a ride, and this time you took it. You didn’t live far, you just wanted a little more time. When he stopped the car, you jokingly turned around and looked into the trunk. 

“We’re very alone.” You mused. He hummed an agreement, getting out of the car and opening your door.  “Wow and a gentleman.”

“A testament to my mother. If you’re comfortable, give me a wave from the window when you get in.” He closed your door behind you. 

“I don’t mind if you know where I live, you’ll have easier opportunities to kill me, I’m sure of it.” Placing two hands on his chest, you leaned up, “Is a good night kiss too forward?”

Alastor stifled a laugh, “Quite! My image of you is shattered.” before leaning down to meet your lips.

When in the apartment you turned on a light and went straight to the window. Leaning against his car with both hands in his pockets, Alastor was smiling up at you. With a wave from you, he got back into his car and left.

To say you were on cloud nine would be an understatement. Clouds couldn’t carry the weight of your joy. You’d fall to the ground like lead, regardless of the cloud classification. And with that feeling you went to bed smiling, unaware of the dark catalyst barreling towards you.

༻Masterlist༺

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot , @pseudobun , @fraugwinska✨, @alitaar , @straows , @alastorssimp , @angelicwillows

ADIF @multifandomfanatic02 ,

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan ,@valkyrie-expeditions

[yappingmoxie]

I’ve noticed I’ve started apologizing a lot more again for silly things that don’t really need an apology in the first place and idk. Idk why that’s starting back up again bc I rlly thought I’d moved on from that. Like when I was 18 and had just moved in with my partner at the time bc of a lot of complicated things I remember I knocked over their red bull they’d JUST opened and I started crying and apologizing so much and it took them being like “hey wtf? it’s just a drink. not a big deal I’ll clean it up” for me to start realizing how fucked up I was lol. Like I already knew how I grew up wasn’t okay but like idk. I just kinda thought it was slightly more shitty than just shitty and it took me a while to call it abuse. Because even then I was still wanting to defend my mom about like. Everything really. Idk. I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately. And I miss her even tho she was absolutely awful to me lmao. But yeah. Idk. Maybe that has something to do with the whole over apologizing thing idk. The last time I saw her or even spoke to her was when we got in a fight because she was lying and saying when I “moved out” (she kicked me out) I took myself off her insurance when I literally would never do that lmao. Like I have a serious condition with my back that needs me to get MRIs every year to make sure I don’t literally become a quadriplegic lmfaooo. And she knew that but took me off her insurance anyways when I wouldn’t move back in with her to take care of her like she wanted. Like I would have never taken myself off her insurance knowing I couldn’t (and still can’t) afford my own. I haven’t had anyyy medical treatment for my back since before 2017 because of her. So idk why she lied about that other than because she knows it was a shitty thing to do to her daughter who has literally cleaned actual shit off of her multiple times because she was too high to walk to the bathroom herself lmfao. Idk. I could get into that a whole lot more and all the absolute batshit insane things I had to deal with growing up with her but idk if it’d be good or bad for me considering I feel myself backsliding in a lot of ways already. Like idk. I still have actual nightmares from when my sister moved out and she tried to kill herself in bed next to me lmfao. I know she said she “didn’t mean to” put a second morphine patch on but I quite literally found her suicide note when I couldn’t wake her up the next morning. Like I was literally laying right next her when she was crying and writing it all out (without ever mentioning me btw but I guess that’s just petty to bring up esp considering she threw it away when she left the hospital and swore she never wrote it lmfao. but I remember it so). She would have literally died if I’d listened to my cousins mom about how “she was fine just real tired” and didn’t call my grandma and then 911. I’d seen it before lmfao. In 6th grade. When I didn’t listen to my gut that something was wrong and her boyfriend died because of that. Like yeah he was a fucking asshole but still like. Idk 11/12 was hard to see my mom having to give him CPR when he was literally already turning colors. I remember mom making me check his breathing before we went to sleep and idk. That’s something that sticks with you so I knew everything wasn’t okay. I knew the difference between just being high off her ass and hard to wake up vs literally overdosing and unable to be conscious. Lmao idek how I got on this topic when I was just ranting about regressing before but whatever. Here I am lmao. I probably should actually talk about it more instead of whatever this was bc clearly it’s on my mind but I digress idk

[thecryptidprincess]

I got hella scammed.

This is a long ass thread so strap in, folks.

So, two weeks ago I was looking for apartments on every website possible to find a place to live in New Hampshire (so I could be closer to my boyfriend and find a better job and, y'know, eventually get a car so it would be easier to find a place to live together and all that jazz) so I found this neato little place on Craigslist. It was within my budget so I reached out to the person who posted it and they seemed legit. We have multiple email threads going back and forth discussing the apartment, and I was like cool I'm in. I signed the lease (it was an extremely legit looking lease), sent payments for rent and security via PayPal, and renter's insurance, and was supposed to go see the place yesterday on Sunday and get my keys and I thought I was all set.

Well, this is where the realization comes in. The person wasn't getting back to me after Friday, wasn't telling me what time to go view the apartment, so on a whim and a gut feeling I went over to where the apartment was. It was nice, but then a nice man came out of the building and was talking to me about why I was there. I told him why, but I didn't realize I gave the wrong street number when I was talking to him. He went to walk his dog and I checked the lease again and realized that man I was just talking to came out of the unit of the building I was supposed to be viewing. I'm feeling a lot of things at this moment. The man comes back and I tell him what I've discovered. Turns out, this guy I'm talking to is the ACTUAL LANDLORD of the building and he lives in that unit on the property. I'm upset. I'm almost on the verge of tears and he talks to me about what I should do. He's nice enough to give me a ride to the police department and I report the fraud. I'm crying in the police department, of course, but I have all the PayPal information as well as a Chime Bank account number with a name attached plus email on email on email of correspondence I've had with this supposed "manager" of the property. The police are now investigating the crime since the amount of money I sent makes this not a misdemeanor, but a fucking felony.

I get back on the train to get back home, and I'm feeling like I got hit by a truck. I lost my job, barely was working, I have more credit card debt because I can't even pay my credit card off and I have late medical bills, and now I'm scammed out of so much money that my dad helped with because he wants me out of my current apartment due to the abhorrent conditions and amount of rent I pay.

I went to the bank this morning to tell them of the fraud, HOWEVER, due to the way the payments were made there is limits to what the fraud department can do to get the money back.

I feel so lost. I feel so unmotivated. I've been kicked so many times while down these past month I can't even see a dim light at the end of the tunnel. I can't afford food. I can't afford to pay my bills. I've hit the lowest point of my life, and I don't know how to keep going. I'm feeling so many different emotions. Sadness, anger, shame, guilt, just...everything. I just wanted one thing to work out, and at this point, I don't know how to make things work anymore. It's been a shit time.

[brain--drop]

[Ben Drowned,Jeff The Killer,Ticci Toby]

(Not sure if this is a HC or a Ask)

How would they react to meeting a bully from the past and discovering the reason they bullied them was because they were in love with them?.

I hope I understood the assignment. I won't lie, this is a more realistic take on the possible reaction the lads would have, therefore, some warnings up ahead//

[Warnings: rough language, stabbings/murder on reader]

Ben:

With Ben being a human ghost who travels through electronics, I find it hard that you would meet him and have the conversation. For this reason, you wouldn't find him, he would find you as he goes through all your files and information you put out there onto the internet

You were lying in bed watching a show when you started to take notice on your tv glitching out and getting fuzzy, the effect increasing with each passing time until you seeing this boy come out your tv via The Ring style

While you're sitting up in shock from seeing a guy dressed as Link, he's giving his signature and terrifying smirk at you. "What's wrong, looks like you've seen a ghost. How long has it been exactly? Time seems to be weird once you're dead."

When he notices you can't even say anything else, he sighs in a little annoyance, thinking he'd get a more interesting reaction from you. "You know, it's quite ironic what you did after my passing. Confessing that you thought I was thoughtful and left this world too soon, even though you basically made my life miserable."

He snaps you out of your trance by shocking you enough to make you shiver and twitch on your bed. "So tell me, how does it feel that you might have been the reason that I drowned in that lake so many years ago?" That was the last thing you ever hear before you just fade away from life, your screams echoing as with Ben's laughter as he shocks you to death with no mercy

Jeff:

The two of you had met pretty late in the night on an empty street, Jeff obviously trying to lay low since he can't afford to get caught, but you had noticed his signature white hoodie from checking on the news

How you got to actually making decent conversation with him passed a simple "hello" is a mystery, though you could tell by how Jeff looks at you that he recognized you too

The mood quickly turned sour however the moment you told him the reason for the bullying, Jeff making no hesitation on taking his handy dull knife out and stabbing you in the gut, twisting it for good measure as you gasp in shock and let out a silent scream

"You though you were so funny, didn't you? Bully and mess with the new kid like we're a bunch of stupid elementary kids that think cooties were a thing." He speaks lowly to you, taking the knife out and stabbing you again on the same spot, but deeper

Due to the dullness of the knife, the pain was excruciating but you couldn't bring yourself to scream so you try to struggle. Jeff wasn't having it though and eventually takes the knife out again and slices your neck, leaving you to bleed out under the flickering streetlight. "Fucking pathetic."

Toby:

From the wavy tuff of hair and his subtle tics at the moment, it's no mistake to you, that is Toby. You never thought you'd see him again though with him sitting on a swing of a park in the evening to pass the time

You sat on the swing beside him and you felt a bit bad as you see him stiffen up from your arrival. You strike a bit of small talk with him, the gears turning in Toby's head as he tries to go through blurry memories of his life before being a proxy

The moment it hits him though, he stands up immediately and starts to walk off without looking at you. When you catch up to him and pull him back, he jerks away and bites back at you. "I have n-nothing t-t-to say to you! Just fuck off!"

You managed to pull him back enough to speak to him and confessed the reason for your bullying, making him tug you towards him to catch you off-guard and punch you square in the face. "Are you fucking sh-s-shitting me?! What were you, 8?! Do you have any idea how f-f-f-fucked that is?" He looked down at you pissed and disgusted, storming off

In about a few days though, it took Toby to have an episode from the interaction to find your location, swiftly and frantically killing you off in your sleep with multiple axe stabs. You brought up memories he thought he'd forgotten entirely and he can't have you going around saying he was still alive and well.

[bakasara]

I think it's fair to celebrate that we're now seeing queer genre stories featuring middle-aged actors/characters in addition to queer teen dramas, and I welcome that observation – but if I may, that wasn't exactly the point here!

Moving away from Western heteronormative consumerist beauty standards is part of the discourse, but it's not strictly necessary that your leads be 50 to do it.

The difference here is with media that, at its core, sells the dream of an ideal capitalist subject through conservative, heteronormative, sexually sanitized depictions of human connection and meaning-making.

All the coolness and the sexiness that kind of media is selling is entirely superficial; it follows solely the logic of consumerism, it corresponds to no substance underneath, to nothing of human value, to a careful avoidance of anything that could ever twist anything in anyone's guts.

On the one hand, it is following a principle that airbrushed-but-sexless is polite and non-upsetting to the minimum common denominator of consumerism: your average puritanical USamerican conservative, whether he identifies as right wing or as center-left liberal. The marvel movie (and its alike narratives) is not there to be in any way thought-provoking, or destabilizing of the status quo.

On the other hand, this kind of depiction also speaks to the well-established capitalist principle that the subject has to be empty for you to sell "it" a product. A subject that is stripped of meaningful ways of making connections (of all kinds) with others will fill the void with products that afford quick, short-term satisfaction. It's the logic that takes you from "societies everywhere have always put shit on their faces for decoration and social communication" to "the modern-day make-up industry".

Whereas narratives like OFMD have something of value to say about all these things like masculinity and sexuality and desire, and how they go into human connection. I picked the two images up there because to me they depict two characters who are fantasizing about each other sexually, among other connotations to their fantasies. The point of origin was the objects carried by dream!Ed and dream!Stede in these fantasies having phallic implications. Not in a pop Freudian "any elongated object is a penis" way, but based on the actual larger context of these scenes.

Stede has just been stabbed in the gut, but he re-lives the event in his fevered dream as dream!Blackbeard stabbing him instead. We don't see where, but metaphorically it's through the heart, sealing Stede's fate to fall in love with him. That attraction towards Blackbeard has a definitive erotic component to it, though, as much as any stabbing between Ed and Stede is later clarified to be erotic– with the 1x06 stabbing scene playing out as Ed teaching Stede how to sexually penetrate him/another man.

Something similar goes for Merman!Stede. He's obviously a romantic fantasy, but we know that Ed sees Stede as the best person to enjoy life with, that Ed values sex as a meaningful pleasure in life, and by putting two and two together, that he's wanting to have sex with Stede. It's not surprising that a fantasy where a beautiful, safe, loving Stede comes to save him from the brink of death would carry some erotic imagery with it.

In both cases, erotic desire and sexual intimacy are simply a part of how these characters experience significant connections to others/each other. These are far from the only examples of this rhetoric in OFMD, and the point the show keeps making is that it's fucking fine. It's ok to give it importance. It's a normal and healthy part of human life – a non-universal, but common enough experience, that is as legitimate as any other way of making meaning.

Look– to offer another facet to the topic– I remember picking up Prodigal Son at one point, because Michael Sheen was in it. The premise is that there's this Special Detective with Disorders (the son) who has to consult with the Genius Psychopath Serial Killer (his father). The family is upper-class, they have like a whole mansion or whatever, the women have beach waves, all the tropes of the genre are played straight and the way it's shot is super conventional, as are all the dialogues and plot beats. I remember I'd keep thinking, "Wow, this show wants so much to be the pop Hannibal, the version of Hannibal that goes mainstream instead of becoming a queer niche cult classic".

But you can't make a pop Hannibal. When Hannibal-the-series shows you these hyper-polished characters, Hannibal Lecter in primis, it's not playing that straight. The shots are experimental for a reason, the artistic exaggerations are deliberate, the dialogue convoluted on purpose. The contrast between "Hannibal as the rich, white, respectable host, esteemed doctor in psychiatry" and "Hannibal as the human-devouring monster" is studiously emphasized through the black humor that cuts across the show. The ultimate rhetoric behind Hannibal was that, stripped of social conventions dictating the appropriate boundaries we keep not to inglobate one another, at the heart of human beings is a visceral, impolite, amorphous thirst for impossible closeness with another being capable of understanding us. It was exploring and asking questions about that desire. You can't sanitize that! There's no "easy-consumption" pop version of it. You legitimate such things as part of the human experience, or you don't.

You know?

polar opposite of that "marvel characters are 30 and sexy and instagram-polished but actually none of them have a sexuality, they never eroticize each other and are never horny". if you even care

[fivelakesinwriting]

can you do like a part two on where you’re actually pregnant with barry’s baby, and he walks in on you putting things away in the new little bungalow you bought and he’s like “i can do that mamas”

Author's Notes: This is a second part to Tough Day - thank you so much! Baby Daddy Barry? Yes, please.

Warnings: Pregnancy, Swearing, Sexual references - Sexual innuendos (daddy kink? if ya squint?)

Requested? YES! Requests for OBX are OPEN!

*My work is not to be transferred, copied, translated or reposted to any other sites without my permission. Please see my masterlist for all other works and warnings. Thank you! xoxo

Barry pulled the rented truck into the driveway of the new home on the hot weekend afternoon. The road beneath the truck was bumpy, they couldn't afford a paved drive, but that was just fine with the both of them. A small little bungalow with two bedrooms was all they needed.

"Home sweet home." Barry mumbled as he parked the truck and killed the ignition. He looked over at his girl, six months pregnant and gave her a small smile.

"It's so cute, Barry. I love it. You did so good." She smiled over at him, reaching a hand over to rub the back of his neck.

"Yeah? Thought it would do the job for that lil' monster cooking in there." Barry grinned as he pocketed the keys and hopped out of the truck, quickly making his way to the other side to help her down.

"I told you to stop calling Him that." She pouted, taking his outstretched hands, cautiously stepping down to the ground. She pressed her hand to her lower back, giving a small wince as she spread her weight on both feet.

"He gonna be just like his mama. A fucking handful." Barry grinned as he rubbed her swollen belly over the stretched tank top of his that she had all but stolen. He didn't mind, he loved how it fit her before she had been carrying his baby and he loved it more now.

"Oh, please. I'm beyond pleasant." She scoffed as she ran her hands through her hair, her eyes scanning the new piece of property they got to call home.

Barry breathed out a laugh, nodding his head. He knew better than to argue with a pregnant woman. Especially his pregnant woman. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her up the little dirt path to the small step stones that led to the porch steps.

"Go inside and put your feet up. I'll bring all this shit inside, it's too heavy for you anyways." Barry muttered as he unlocked the door to their little home and opened it for her.

"Don't have to tell me twice. He's kicking the shit out of my guts today." She groaned as she held her belly then pouted at him.

"Little monster. Go in and rest. I'll be inside soon, gotta take the truck back." Barry laughed softly as he kissed her forehead.

"Okay, Daddy." She smiled up at him.

"Don't start." Barry grumbled with a smack of her backside before he turned and made his way back to the truck, his fingertips running over the scruff on his top lip.

Barry unloaded the boxes in the back of the truck and lifted them to the ground at the back wheel. He prioritized them by need then started bringing them in. He brought two heavy boxes into the house, one full of the baby items they had accumulated over the last few months, and their own bedroom items and set them by the front door.

"What are you doing?" He asked when he spotted his too pregnant girlfriend standing on her toes, trying to reach the top cabinet in the kitchen.

"I'm trying to clean these cabinets so we can start putting our stuff in them. But I can't reach." She replied, straining on one foot to reach the top shelf.

"Stop. I've got it, Mama. Just go and sit down. Take care of my boy, alright? I'll do this shit." Barry muttered as he grabbed her hips from behind and pulled her down, flat to her feet.

She turned around and wrapped her arms around his neck, her belly pressed into his. Barry smiled as he placed his hands on either side of her bump on the inside of her shirt.

"Who would have thought, all I had to do to get you to help me around the house was get you to knock me up." She smiled as she pulled herself as close to him as her belly would allow.

"Only a matter of time the way you throw yourself at me and call me Daddy all the time." Barry grinned, his hands running from her soft belly to her backside.

"Easy, Big Guy. I'm already pregnant." She laughed when he bent forward to press a few open mouth kisses to her warm neck.

"Then I don't have to be careful." Barry grumbled against her skin, his thumbs hooked in the belt loops of her shorts.

"No, but you do have the take the truck back to the rental place or we get charged for another day." She smiled as she placed a hand on the back of his neck.

"Fine, woman." Barry groaned as he pulled his lips from her neck, his head tossed back dramatically.

"And do you think you could grab me some iced cream on your way home?" She asked sweetly as she wrapped his necklace around her fingers.

"What kind you want?" Barry grinned as he pulled his hands off his girlfriend and reached into his pocket for the keys to the rental.

"Will you get the matcha iced cream?" She asked as she bit her bottom lip.

"Seriously? That's fucking disgusting. Why can't you like something normal? Like chocolate." Barry grimaced.

"It's not me! Blame him! He likes food that's green." She replied with a point to her belly.

"Fine. I'll get your gross iced cream, but I'm not happy about it." Barry teased with a rub of her belly.

"Do you think you could get me some key lime pie, too?" She asked with a kiss of his chin.

"You gonna share a piece this time?" Barry asked, a hand on her lower back.

"With my baby daddy? Of course." She smiled up at him, her hands in the back pockets of his pants.

"C'mon, woman. You're already pregnant." Barry grinned, as he pressed a kiss to her forehead then reluctantly pulled himself away from her to exit the house and take the truck back.

He lit up a cigarette outside the house - his goal to quit smoking almost entirely by the time the baby was born - and hopped in the truck. He sat in the truck for a moment, just letting it idle as he looked at his new home.

"Fucking matcha." Barry grumbled with a smile as he put the truck in reverse, and backed out of the new drive.

Please let me know what you think if you have a moment. Thank you so much xoxo

Requests for OBX ARE OPEN!!!

Hottie List:

@sodasback @barrysjumpsuit @starkey-babie @fashion-fasting

[tripleaxeldiaz]

nobody wants to hear you sing about tragedy

read on ao3

Eddie’s fine. Really. He’s got a fresh scar on his right shoulder, a twin to his other one, and a couple more medical bills to pay off, but other than that, everything is good.

Why shouldn’t it be? Things could be worse — he could’ve lost his arm, could’ve been shot in the spine instead, could’ve not survived the trip to the hospital. But he did — he’s healed, he’s still breathing, and he’s ready to get back to work on Monday, to stop staring at the inside of his house and get back to the life he’d finally started to feel settled in. There’s a twinge in his chest every time he thinks about actually being back out in the field, but it’s just nerves, a small worry at getting back into the swing of things. He knows the team and how well they work together, so he’s sure one rope rescue with Buck is all it’ll take to feel normal again.

He’s fine. Or almost fine. Really, he is. He doesn’t let the tremble in his hands or the ice in his gut tell him otherwise.

~~~~~~~~~~

It doesn’t really register, the first time it happens. There’s a glint of light in his periphery, and for a second, his arms go numb. It’s just a second, though — he sees the flash again, sunlight shining off an axe Ravi is packing onto the truck, and he moves on, doesn’t think about it again.

The next time, the wind whips by his ear a little too fast after a call at the pier, and he turns around so quickly he cracks his neck, the thought of bulletbulletbullet ricocheting in his head. It gets him a concerned look from Bobby and reminds him that he never called that therapist his doctor mentioned at his last visit, but he elects to deal with it later and moves on.

Things keep happening, but they’re all small, insignificant — someone laughing too loudly at dinner, the feel of hot asphalt under his hands as he reaches under the ambulance for a runaway bandage roll, a phantom jolt of pain in his shoulder when someone accidentally jostles him running to the truck.

Tiny things, meaningless, not even worth remembering.

He’ll get used to them, eventually. He’s been healing, isolated from the real world for months now, it’s going to be a bit of a shock to his system and his senses.

He doesn’t call the therapist.

~~~~~~~~~~

Buck’s happy. Genuinely happy, in an open, honest way that Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever seen. His laughs are still loud but they’re freer, unrestrained, and his smile is bright enough to light whatever room he’s in. It makes something sing in Eddie’s chest, especially when all that wattage gets directed at him. If he’s honest, the music’s been there for a while, it just took lying in his own blood, reaching toward the only thing that felt like safety, for him to finally put a name on the song that’s been playing.

Talk about shitty timing.

Because Buck’s with Taylor now, and as much as he still doesn’t care for her, she’s helping with Buck’s new attitude too. He sees the soft smiles that linger after a text from her, and he only gives himself a minute to wish it were for him instead before reminding himself how much of a miracle those smiles are at all.

If he had watched Buck get shot, been splattered with his blood, been soaked with it as he tried to stop it from leaking out of his chest, he’s not sure he would’ve had any kind of happiness to spare.

So he adds this feeling, this particularly green beast twisting in his chest, to the list of things that he’s just going to have to get used to, and moves on. Buck is still in his and Chris’ life, still at their house more than his own, still the center of both of their worlds, and that’s enough. 

It has to be.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Wow, Eddie, you look like shit.”

He glares at Chimney as best he can, but he’s too tired for it to hold any heat. “Good morning to you too, Chim.”

Hen sits next to him at the table where he’s nursing his second mug of coffee of the day, downing the first one before driving Chris to school. She presses the back of her hand to his forehead, and he tries not to melt into the touch too much.

“You don’t feel warm,” she says, “but you look like you’ve been hit by a truck.”

He shrugs, staring down at his coffee. “Just haven’t been sleeping well.”

That may be an understatement. Not sleeping well implies sleeping at all, which Eddie’s not sure he’s been able to do in the past few days. It was easy enough when he first got home, still on pain meds that made his eyelids constantly heavy. And when Chris crawled into his bed the night after his sling came off, quiet but sniffling and burrowing into his side, it was a relief to gather him up close, a hand stroking through his hair as they both drifted off, clinging to each other. It was good for both of them, necessary to remind them both that Eddie is still here, but Chris went to his own room on Monday night instead of Eddie’s, and Eddie refused to take that choice away from him. 

So he’s been alone, in a too dark room with a too big bed and a too loud brain that only shows him flashes of light and blood and fear whenever he does try to close his eyes.

Just another thing he has to get used to.

He sees Chim and Hen exchange a look and hopes to God they don’t press it. He’s beyond frayed, his state of exhaustion warring with his almost constant state of hypervigilance, and he’s not sure if he’d snap or cry or both if they try to ask him any more questions. Either way, that’s not how he wants them or anyone else to see him, especially not at work. At work, he’s Mr. Cool, always level headed, always in the game, always on top of it. Despite the jumpiness, despite the sense of dread that seems to be a permanent fixture under his skin, he’s been able to keep that attitude going, even getting lost in it sometimes, feeling like the Eddie of four months ago again. If that starts to unravel, who knows what other parts of him will fall apart with it?

Luckily, they seem to get the hint, a pat on the back and a squeeze on the shoulder as they leave the loft to restock the ambulance. But even once they’re gone and he’s alone in the quiet of the loft again, Eddie feels exposed. Fragile. Vulnerable. Teetering on the edge of an abyss he can’t afford to fall into. And he hates it, because this isn’t him. He’s the protector, the provider, the guy who’s survived getting shot twice now, and as much as he encourages Chris to be open and emotional, it still feels wrong to him, like something too close to failure. He knows, rationally, that talking about the mess in his head would probably help, but it would also feel like a loss. Like this one-sided war he’s been fighting was all for nothing.

He hears Buck before he sees him, his unmistakable bounding up the stairs echoing through the whole loft. Just that sound, just the knowledge that Buck is about to be in his vicinity, is enough to yank Eddie back from the edge. He’s not settled or calm or better, but he’s not worse. These days, that’s all he can really ask for.

Buck takes Hen’s vacant seat, stealing a sip of coffee and chattering about a traveling art exhibit he thinks they should take Chris to. Eddie feels the vice on his ribs loosen, letting Buck’s voice and enthusiasm wash over him, pushing him back to center. He doesn’t quite make it, not when Buck stops talking mid-sentence, brow furrowed and looking so intensely at Eddie he can probably see right through him

“You look tired,” Buck says. 

Tired isn’t a strong enough word. But he smirks half heartedly instead, willing a little bit of his confidence back to get the subject changed sooner. “And here I thought I looked good today.”

“No, you always—“ Buck clears his throat and shakes his head, “You just look like you could use a nap. Are you okay?”

And for the first time since he woke up in the hospital with a new hole in his body and extra demons in his head, Eddie doesn’t want to say he’s fine. In the face of earnest blue eyes and worry lines, he doesn’t want to lie, and that’s exactly what an I’m fine would be, no matter how much he’s been trying to ignore it. He doesn’t want to downplay and pretend that it’s nothing, because it’s Buck. Buck who has seen him lower than he’s ever let anyone see, who slept on his couch so he was never too far away from him or Chris, who knows when Eddie needs to be pulled or pushed or pressed or none of the above. 

He doesn’t want to just say he’s fine, because he’s not.

The courage to say so finally fills him, just in time for Buck’s phone to light up, Taylor’s name flashing across the screen on two messages. Buck doesn’t even glance at his phone before flipping it face down and pushing it to the side, but it’s too late — Eddie feels his walls going back up, any bravery leaving to make room for the reminder that Buck is in a good place and Eddie will do anything to keep him there. He’ll take another bullet, he’ll keep every emotion under lock and key, he’ll carve his own damn heart out of his chest if he has to. He cannot — will not — be the reason that smile that’s become so natural on Buck’s face dims by even a watt. 

The crease in between Buck’s brow has only gotten deeper the longer Eddie hasn’t answered, so he musters up the most genuine smile he can. “I’m okay, Buck. I promise.” The lie cuts through his throat like broken glass.

Buck squints at him, scooting forward until his knees are digging into Eddie’s thigh. “You’d tell me if you weren’t, right?”

“Of course,” he says, another lie, more salt in the wounds he’s already given himself. Buck’s quiet for a few long moments, studying Eddie’s face, and Eddie prays that he doesn’t crack, that Buck doesn’t keep pressing. By some miracle, he doesn’t, just rests a hand on Eddie’s knee and squeezes before heading to the pantry for a snack.

The vice is back as soon as he’s out of sight, and Eddie’s list of things he has to learn to live with is starting to feel a little too long.

~~~~~~~~~~

Healing isn’t linear. It’s something he’s heard from every doctor he’s seen, every therapist he’s been assigned to, something he’s experienced first hand, physically and emotionally. So when he wakes up one morning feeling rested, energetic, and normal, he’s wary. He doesn’t want to focus on it, afraid he’ll scare this fragile feeling away, but he also wants to soak in it as much as he can. Wants to remember the easy laughs with the team and the night of board games with Chris and Buck when he’s inevitably surrounded by darkness again tomorrow.

He falls asleep and he doesn’t dream and he wakes up and feels...normal. Again. Same thing the morning after, and the morning after that. For a whole week, he doesn’t wake up with the taste of blood in his mouth or a soreness in his shoulder. He hears birds and sees the sun peaking in and feels something dangerously close to good. The wariness is still there, but every day it gets pushed a little farther back in his mind, making it a little easier to believe that while this feeling might not last, maybe it won’t be as dark when the clouds roll back in.

He’s wrong. 

The restlessness comes back with a vengeance — a thrumming in his blood that won’t let him sleep, that amplifies every sound to sharp snaps that remind him too much of the gunfire he’s been trying to forget, putting him constantly on edge again. There’s a heaviness too, making it hard to breathe, hard to move, even though staying in one place for too long feels like putting a target on his back for the monsters that have made a home in his head.

He tries to keep his cool, tries to keep the facade up, but it’s hard to keep your balance on a frayed tightrope.

Bobby notices the shift right away.

It doesn’t help that even the quiet thump of the oven closing makes Eddie flinch where he’s sitting at the kitchen counter. He had hoped that watching Bobby make breakfast would calm him, remind him of the countless hours he’s spent in Abuela’s kitchen doing the very same thing, but it doesn’t. He’s still jittery, worse than he can remember being, and everything just feels like too much. 

Bobby sets a to-go container down in front of him, and Eddie flinches (and curses himself) again. He looks up, confused, and is met with Bobby’s I’m about to tell you to do something and you are not allowed to say no look. Usually it’s Buck on the receiving end of that one.

He tries for a deflection. “Are we going somewhere, Cap?”

The look stays in place. “We are not. You are. There’s enough in there for you and Chris, take it home and don’t let me see you here for the next 48 hours.”

“There’s still three hours left of shift.”

Bobby pushes the container closer. “Go home, Diaz. Be with your kid. We’ll talk when you get back. And if you won’t talk to me, we’ll find someone you will talk to.”

Normally, he’d fight back. Raise his hackles, insist he doesn’t need any special treatment or intervention. But he feels like his insides have been scooped out and replaced with lead and cement and he’s tired. He barely has enough left in him to keep himself upright.

He slowly picks up the container and gets up to leave. Bobby calls his name as he gets to the top of the stairs.

“We’re here for you,” he says. “You’ve been through too much to be handling this on your own. Just let us know how we can help.”

I would if I could, but I don’t even know where to start. 

He just nods, hopes his face looks some degree of reassuring, and heads to the locker room.

~~~~~~~~~~

The way Chris’ face lights up when he sees Eddie waiting for him in the front office is enough to thaw the ice in his chest for a minute. He can hear the exact octave his mother’s voice would reach if she heard about him pulling Chris out of school for “no good reason”, but he also could not give less of a shit.

He feels a little bit more like a person with Chris in the backseat. That’s a good enough reason for him.

They set up camp in the park near their house, Bobby’s food and extra snacks Eddie picked up spread out between them, and Chris fills Eddie in on all the things he missed while he was working. He tries to focus on everything — Chris’ excitement about his upcoming science fair, the Sour Patch Watermelon sugar stuck to the tip of his nose, the way his hands move with his words. Eddie feels better, more settled, just getting to bask in the sun and in Chris like this, but he still feels heavy, like every move he makes has him fighting against gravity, threatening to pull him into the dirt. 

There’s a crack from the playground in front of them, and Eddie’s blood turns to ice. He’s halfway to standing before he sees it’s just some kids snapping sticks in half to build some kind of log cabin. He lets out a slow breath as he sits back down and wills his heartbeat back to normal.

Chris is staring at him, eyes intense and brow furrowed, very similar to someone else they know.

Shit.

As soon as he’s settled, Chris moves to sit in the criss-cross of his legs. He’s a little too on the lanky side for this anymore, but Eddie’s absolutely not going to complain. Chris twists until he’s looking Eddie in the eye. Eddie does his best not to look away.

Chris rests a hand on his cheek. “It’s okay if you’re feeling bad,” he says. “You can talk to me about it, if you want.”

The crack comes from Eddie’s own heart this time. His kid has been through so much in 10 short years, and it’s only made him wiser than he should be, compassionate and understanding and open, ready to be there for anyone without a second thought. He’s good in every sense of the word, and Eddie’s in awe of the fact that he, somehow, has something to do with that. And the last thing he wants to do is lie to his son, but he just...can’t. Talk about it. Not now. Not yet. Not in a way that will keep Chris this good.

He has no way of articulating all that, so he just wraps his arms around Chris’ middle and squeezes him close.

“I know, buddy. Thank you. I’ll be okay, and we’ll talk soon.”

It’s not a lie, but it’s not everything.

It seems to be enough for Chris, though. He nods and pats Eddie’s face before reaching into his backpack and pulling out a library book. “Well, I’m gonna read to you until you feel better, just like you do for me.”

It’s the first real smile Eddie’s cracked in months. He kisses the top of Chris’ head, settling his chin there as Chris leans back into his chest.

“Sounds like a good plan to me.”

They sit there for a while longer, Chris reads to him about Percy and Annabeth and Grover, and Eddie, inexplicably, feels a little bit lighter.

~~~~~~~~~~

Buck’s Jeep is parked outside when they get home, and Chris practically breaks down the door to greet him. It looks like he’s gone all out, too — Chinese food on the table, the promise of cookies and cream ice cream in the fridge, and a list of movies that Chris ecstatically agrees with as Buck lists them off. Chris hurries off to change and clean up for dinner, and Eddie moves to start opening plastic lids and cardboard containers. 

“You didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” he says. He leaves out just having you with us is enough.

Buck waves him off. “Anything for you two.”

He could leave it at that, keep up the comfortable silence as they move around the kitchen in tandem, but there’s a nagging memory that he has to ask about or he’ll never stop thinking about it.

“Didn’t you have a date with Taylor tonight?”

Buck tenses ever so slightly, a container of dumplings shifting in his hand. “Cancelled,” he says with a shrug.

Eddie knows there’s more, but Chris comes back before he can ask, and it doesn’t feel like a conversation they can have in front of a 10 year old. So they eat, and fall into the familiar banter between the three of them, and for half an hour, Eddie can be present. He can forget the last six months and the weight still hanging off of him and live in this moment, with the two most important people in his life, and pretend that this is all there is. Just these two and their joy and warmth that wraps around him tight enough to make him feel alive again, if only for a little while.

Two bowls of ice cream and one and a half movies later, Chris is dead to the world. Buck carries him to bed and Eddie tries to ignore the new ache that’s sprung up of the course of the evening, the one that wants and pulls towards Buck like a magnet. The one that almost purrs when Buck settles back on the couch so close they’re touching from ankle to (good) shoulder, contentedness washing over the living room as they find a rerun of The Shawshank Redemption playing on cable. It’s not perfect, there’s still a roiling in his blood that won’t seem to leave him alone, but he feels better than he has in God knows when.

Buck shifts closer to Eddie, eyes glowing in the light of the TV, and Eddie never wants him to leave. “Thanks for coming tonight. I— Chris and I both really needed this, I think.”

“I told you, anything for you two. Always.”

He ignores the way his stomach flips and tries to focus on the movie. He gets about five minutes of peace before another thought comes back, still nagging him, mixing with his anxiety enough to actually force him to say something.

He aims for cool and casual. “So, you and Taylor...everything okay?”

Buck gives him a very long, almost challenging look before turning off the TV. Seems he missed that casual mark. “I should be asking you the same thing.” “Very funny.”

“I’m not trying to be. I’m really worried about you, Eds.”

“This isn’t my first time getting shot, I know how to handle it.” He doesn’t mean for it to come out as bitter as it does, but he can’t bring himself to care, either. He doesn’t have the energy to keep a filter up anymore.

“Eddie, I’m serious.”

“I’m fine, Buck,” he says sharply, and he’s surprised his teeth haven’t fallen out of his head yet with how hard he’s lying through them. He hates that he’s lying to Buck at all, but those smiles he’s gotten used to have been fewer and farther between recently, and he knows it’s his fault. He might feel like his own seams are coming apart, but he’ll be damned if he rips Buck open too, even if it means pushing him away from his mess. “You’ve got a life and a girlfriend to worry about, I’ll figure everything out on my own.” 

“I don’t.”

“What?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend. We broke up.”

Eddie pauses, curses the faint hope that sparks in his chest. “Why?”

“Because I’ve been a little distracted by someone else for the past few months. It didn’t feel fair to her to keep it going.”

He gives him another long look, and Eddie might be a little dense when it comes to things like this, but that look breaks through loud and clear. This is it. This is real. This is everything he’s wanted for the past six months — and probably longer than that — but now that it’s happening, it doesn’t feel right. Buck was happy, free, finally settled into his own skin, and it’s all gone now because of Eddie and his stupid, broken everything. He knows he won’t be able to give Buck everything he needs, at least right now, but Buck needs to know that too. “Buck—”

“Nope,” he says with a firm shake of his head. “I know you’re gonna try and blame yourself for this somehow, but…don’t. It was bound to happen anyway. Because you’re right, I do have a life, but it’s you two. You and Chris. That’s all I need it to be. That’s all I want it to be. And I hate that it took so long for me to figure out, that it took you getting shot, but we’re here now.” His eyes shutter a bit as he looks down at his hands. “At least, I hope we are.”

And there it is. So simple, so easy, for Buck to admit this huge thing that Eddie thought he was dancing around on his own. The ease reminds Eddie, through his fog of sadness and anger and every other bleak feeling that’s been controlling him, that that’s what makes them work so well together. Honesty. Being able to show all their ugly, mismatched inside parts to each other and still find the beauty, the ways to help, the ways to hold each other together when they need it the most.

And Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever needed to be held together more than he does right now.

“Ask me,” he whispers, the sound seeming to echo around the room.

“Ask you what?”

“Ask me if I’m okay.”

Buck shuffles on the couch until they’re facing each other, takes both of Eddie’s hands in his. 

“Eddie,” he says softly, “are you okay?”

The world blurs as the tears he’s been fighting finally break free, but he feels strong. Brave. Like he can do anything now that Buck’s holding his hand.

“No,” he says, a crack in his voice but the conviction behind it still firm. “No, I’m not okay.”

The floodgates open, and he lets everything wash over him, all the things he’s been holding back, forcing away in the hopes that they’d just disappear one day. He’s floating and sinking and lost in the waves of it all, but strong arms wrap around him and pull him close, and there’s relief. Not a lot, not enough, but it’s there, for the first time since he woke up in the hospital. He feels safe here, with Buck wiping away his tears and pressing kisses along his hairline. He honestly forgot what safety felt like, was sure he’d never feel anything like it again. But he knew it that day he was bleeding out on the street, and he knows it now — it feels like Buck’s sweatshirt and smells like his aftershave and sounds like whispers of it’s okay and I’ve got you.

It all subsides, eventually, but Buck still holds him close, presses their foreheads together so there’s nothing else Eddie can focus on. His eyes are piercing, bright like Eddie only usually sees when Buck has a plan that refuses to be derailed.

“Let me help, Eddie,” he says, punctuated with a kiss on Eddie’s cheek. “I know you think you can do this yourself, but you don’t have to. I don’t want you to. Let me help you carry it.”

His voice left with the rush of everything, so all Eddie can do is nod before sinking back into Buck, into relief. Even that simple motion, the silent acknowledgement that he’s not alone anymore, is enough to let small seeds of hope sink into him and take root. They’re still weak, still unfamiliar, but they’re here, waiting to grow. 

And Eddie knows, with a certainty that he forgot he was capable of, that Buck will be here to help tend to them, no matter how long it takes for them to blossom.

~~~~~~~~~~

When Eddie wakes up the next morning, he still feels weighed down. There’s still an edge, an unease low in his gut, anxiety still crawling through his veins.

He’s not okay. But he looks over and sees Buck — breathing even, arm thrown over Eddie’s stomach, keeping him close — and the ever-present darkness fades from an angry black to melancholy grey. Not perfect, not even close, but better.

He’s not okay. He hasn’t been for a while. But now, finally, he feels like he will be.