#Still rough around the edges with some snark but genuinely cares about his family and learns to love and realise he is also loved

[batfamfucker]

💀

In the canon in my mind I ignore all the deaths and revivals and retcons and pretend that Jason was the only one to die because every time they kill another batfam member off only to revive them later, it loses its meaning in general, but especially because it's kinda like a slap in the face for Jason's arc every time it happens, as well as for why his relationship with Bruce became so strained. Bruce's grief from losing Jason is one of the most defining arcs of his character. Going from Professional but Warm to Cold and Distant and almost Brutal, being closer to the 'No killing' line than ever, only to be pulled back into the light and forced to open up again when Tim came around.

It goes unsaid that it's defining for Jason, Red Hood, ect. How his views on the afterlife would've changed, how his value of self was affected and relationships strained, how there's likely gaps in his memory.

I hate that every time they do a cheap kill for shock value it completely overshadows the trauma and affect on these characters that was caused by Jason's murder, that deserves to be explored, and that I personally want to see them actually, properly reconcile and heal from.

I would say Damian is the only other member to actually die but it was during his childhood with the League, and I doubt it happened only once. There was a headcanon somewhere about how he had brown eyes but they turned green because of the Pit and the family didn't realise Damian had ever died until they found old baby pictures of him and saw the colour change. I personally really like that idea too. So essentially they didn't know until much later.

Anyway, that's the Batfam storyline headcanon in my mind.

[inactiive-shit]

Eventually

Masterlist

Sanders Sides Fic

Warnings: implied rough past

Pairing: Logince

Words: 2,121

~~~~~

“Ready to get your ass kicked?” were the words Roman had uttered at the start of the night with a GameCube controller in hand, ready for a relaxing, easy win at a game that no one had ever beat him at. Logan had said, “Please. I was raised on Mario Kart. You wish you could beat me,” and aimed a rare smile just short of vicious at Roman. It had made his heart speed up and stumble, but he had shoved that whole mess back and grinned back as best he could before selecting a character.

But that had been a couple hours ago. Now, Roman finds himself the sore loser of a game that he thought he had in the bag. “Double or nothing!” he declares, throwing up his hand and almost losing his controller.

“We have not bet anything,” Logan says, but he doesn’t seem the least bit confused by Roman’s assertion. He leans back in the bean bag chair (he insisted he hated it but he had let Roman talk him into buying it, so really, who was the liar?) and smirks in that damn infuriating way that he always has. “But if you would like to figuratively lose more of your dignity, the choice is yours.”

Roman gasps in outrage and immediately selects his best character: Princess Daisy. “Oh, it is on like Donkey Kong,” he mutters. Logan snorts and selects his own favorite: Luigi. Not the worst choice he could make, but to ever imagine that Luigi could match Daisy in any way was, is, and always will be ludicrous.

“Which track?”

“It’s time to taste the rainbow,” Roman says. It’s his secret weapon, but when he was young he would play Rainbow Road for hours, over and over again. He can do this in his sleep. 

“I don’t - ah. Rainbow Road,” Logan says. “Interesting choice.” He settles into his seat as Lakitu drops down and the countdown begins. He looks far too smug for someone who is about to be dropped a couple steps down the totem pole, but Roman figures that will be rectified shortly. He doesn’t need to rub his imminent win in Logan’s face.

“Get ready to eat my dust,” Roman snarks anyway. He accelerates at the perfect moment and gets that extra boost of speed, but so does Logan. They are side by side for first place but it won’t keep up for too long. They speed around the bends like there’s no tomorrow, and for Logan’s Luigi, there isn’t. Roman swervs his car to the side and hits Logan. They bounce apart, but Logan flies off the track and has to be retrieved by Lakitu.

“Fuck you!” Logans exclaims, mashing the buttons on his controller despite knowing it won’t get him anywhere faster. Roman cackles and hits a speed boost, leaving Logan as far behind as he can. Logan continues to cuss as he finally gets dropped back on the track and promptly gets hit by a shell. Roman starts laughing so hard he almost drives over the edge of the road. He finishes the first lap in first place while Logan is still slowly working his way up the ranks from where he’d fallen to fifth.

Roman lets his eyes flit back and forth from his half of the screen to Logan’s, keeping a careful eye on where all the NPCs and his competition are. It’s only this that keeps Roman alive to the third lap. He sees when Logan hits an Item Box and gets a Spiny Blue Shell. As soon as he deploys it, Roman stops driving just long enough to be passed up by the Bowser in second place. The shell Logan threw takes him out and lets Roman begin his final lap still in first place with Logan muttering angrily under his breath.

“Get ready to taste defeat, nerd,” Roman says, smirking. Logan doesn’t respond, but he does hunch over his controller even more, eyes laser focused on the screen.

Logan climbs the ranks as they race toward the finish line, and he hits a speed boost that Roman missed. Suddenly, he’s feeling a lot less secure in his win. In the end, though, it doesn’t matter. He makes it barely a second before Logan does and nearly throws his controller down in his sheer excitement over winning.

“Fuck!” Logan exclaims. “You are a dirty cheater.” He is pouting, as much as he might say he’s above such juvenile expressions. Roman laughs outright at him.

“I am a squeaky clean winner, and-” He cuts off and hits Logan’s hand out of the air as it nears him. Logan flinches back, eyes wide and obviously stung. He pulls his hand to his chest, cradling it and Roman realizes that he hadn’t really softened his blow at all when Logan had most likely just been trying to be friendly.

“Shit,” Roman says, face flooding with heat while Logan stares at him, hurt. “I am so sorry, Logan. I didn’t even think, I’m-” He forces himself to stop talking. He’s not going to make any sense if he just keeps going without knowing what he’s trying to get across first.

“Maybe I should go,” Logan says stiffly, setting his control on the ground. It’s a ridiculous thing to say because Logan lives here, too, they’re roommates but it makes Roman’s heart stutter and stop for all the wrong reasons for just a second.

“No, no, please,” he says desperately. “That was on me, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, I just wasn’t expecting it. I was-I was surprised.” He holds Logan’s eyes, as uncomfortable and embarrassed as he feels because he knows it means a lot to Logan when someone will look him in the eyes.

“I do not believe that was the only problem,” Logan says slowly. He examines Roman intently. “If you wish to explain what the real problem is, I am more than willing to listen and talk. If not, I will be going on a walk. The choice is yours.” He waits for a moment.

“I…” Roman hesitates, flounders. He can feel the heat in his cheeks increasing. “My family was never...never the touchy-feely type,” he offers haltingly. “In fact, it was quite the opposite. And you’ve seen my brother. We were never very...nice to each other. I’m not quite used to...friendly contact.” Roman hopes that is sufficient enough for Logan to drop the topic, for Roman to change the subject before he gets so embarrassed that he melts into a puddle of unattractive goo or Logan makes some scathing remark as he is so wont to do and Roman has to deal with this moment of vulnerability being betrayed and crushed as has been the case so many times before.

Though he can’t help but feel that here and now it might be a deserved reaction.

“Oh,” Logan says, looking surprised then regretful. Roman doesn’t know how to explain why that reaction jolts him. “You act so much like my brothers that I just assumed-well. That is an oversight on my part. I apologize, Roman, for not considering that you may be comfortable with a different level of physical contact than I am. I will adjust my behavior to accommodate you, if you wish to touch less.”

“I don’t want to bother you,” Roman starts. He’s thoroughly surprised but that is not the priority and neither is the way his heart stutters with every word Logan says. It is not relevant to this conversation (but he can’t help but hope that it might be relevant to them eventually). “You shouldn’t have to-”

“Nonsense,” Logan says. He ignores Roman when he tries to speak again and says, “You are not bothering or inconveniencing me at all. I like to know how to make my friends comfortable, and for you, if that means you would like us to maintain a less tactile relationship, that is fine. You are under no obligation to me to be, as you put it, touchy-feely, for any reason. Or to anyone else, for that matter.” Logan smiles one of his rare, genuine smiles. Roman feels his breath catch in his throat at the look, but just as quickly as it’s there it’s gone. “Okay?” he asks quietly.

“Uh, yeah, Specs. I gotcha. Thanks.” Roman drops his hand back to the controller in his lap. He plucks nervously at the button for a moment before picking it up. “Again?” he asks softly.

“Of course,” Logan says. “But this time it will be you who eats my figurative dust.” Logan eases himself back into the bean bag chair and Roman gets so distracted by watching him relax so fully and replaying all the things he just said in his head that he misses the start of the race and is immediately off to a disadvantage. He laughs though, and Logan does too.

They banter for the rest of the night, and it does not matter to Roman that he does not win another race. Logan doesn’t mention that it is two a.m. and that they have classes the next day and Roman knows they will both probably sleep through their alarms.

“I will see you in the morning,” Logan says, nodding to Roman. He places the controllers carefully back where they go in the entertainment center and stretches, shirt lifting to reveal a thin strip of his stomach. Roman blushes and looks away hurriedly, but he clears his throat as Logan starts to walk away. They are only standing a couple feet apart, and Roman feels oddly present. Maybe it’s the exhaustion talking or maybe it is that Logan saw him and did not look away, but there is something Roman has to say that he can’t stop from coming out.

“Hey, Lo?” he says.

“Yes, Roman?”

“I think I’d like to be able to touch you,” he says. He can’t quite meet his eyes this time, so he focuses on Logan’s lips instead. “I like you and-and I really think I’d like to kiss you.”

“I like you, too,” Logan says, and those lips twist into a tiny, almost invisible smile. “And I’d like to kiss you, if it wouldn’t make you uncomfortable. You do not have to push yourself for me.”

“Oh,” Roman says faintly, but still he takes one step closer so that he is in Logan’s space. Logan is barely taller, but it’s just enough that Roman has to tilt his head a little to look into his eyes, this close. “I’m not, I promise. Just once…?”

Logan slowly closes the small distance between them, giving Roman every opportunity he could ever want to say no, to back out, to realize that he was not ready for a kiss yet. But it’s something he has wanted for so long, wanted and not quite believed he could get, and he does not pull away. He lifts to his toes and meets Logan’s lips with a chaste kiss that cannot last the eternity that it feels like. Roman smiles at him when they pull away.

“Maybe,” he says quietly, “we can do that again, eventually.”

“I would really like that,” Logan says. He pauses and Roman can see the gears turning in his head, the nerd. “Perhaps, if you wish, I could assist you in becoming more comfortable with touching. Only if you want.”

“I think I’d really like that.” Roman says the words, but he’s not expecting Logan to hook his pinkie around Roman’s in the sweetest expression of emotion he’s ever experienced. It sends a jolt of fireworks up his arm, and it’s scary but sort of pleasant. He definitely does like it.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Logan says. He moves slowly and rests his forehead against Roman’s for just a second. “Good night, Roman. I hope your dreams are deserving of you.”

“Night, Lo,” Roman echoes and they go to their separate rooms. Roman is sure that in the morning they will talk more and possibly even hold hands if he wants to, but for now he is still riding the high of being touched so tenderly, of being so seen, of getting so much from someone he has always wanted. It is with a smile that Roman falls asleep that night, and with a smile that he greets the next day, and with a smile that he and Logan brush hands through breakfast and talk about them instead of going to class. It is with a smile that Roman will eventually hold hands and kiss and hug Logan, and eventually, it will not be such a feat. But for the next day, Roman smiles and knows that eventually can wait.

[carrowe]

AMYCUS CARROW is A DEATH EATER in the war, even though HIS official job is as A CURSE BREAKER & HIT MAN. the TWENTY SIX year old PUREBLOOD is known to be PATIENT and RESERVED but also VIOLENT and TWO FACED. some might label them as THE DEVIL IN DISGUISE. fc: ryan gosling 

        hey it’s lizzie back at it with being a fucking idiot ( aka i can’t write good, wholesome characters that are not james to save my life so even though i love mae... she gotta go :/ i’m sorry!!! ). so bringing back my favorite sociopath but... revamped 2 be darker because was inspired ♥ !!

ANTHEMS:

rail road track - willy moon // blood on my name - the brothers bright // shakin - willy moon // dogs of war - blues saraceno // feel it still - portugal the man.

full playlist: (x) pinterest boards: v1. v2.

BACKGROUND / FAMILY ( bound to change probably ):

Amycus Abigor Carrow is the first born child of the Carrow dynasty. His father named him after the prince of hell, in the hopes that his son would prove himself worthy of the name. Amycus would, but not in the way his father had hoped.

As a child, Amycus was very quiet. Mostly kept to himself and his sister. Never harmed a fly. 

Amycus was the product of a loveless marriage, based on pureblood politics. His parents couldn’t stand each other, and were each other’s polar opposites. Amycus would later realize that they were doomed from the start.

child abuse tw:// Amycus’ father was a cold business man, and was not very interested in being a father to Amycus. He mostly made excuses to be as far away from the family life as possible. 

So Amycus was left to his grandfather, a man that put great emphasis on pain ( believing it was the only way that Amycus would learn and become stronger ). Lessons were drilled in with corporal punishment, and the emotional and physical abuse he suffered at the hands of his father would eventually break him down into something colder and darker. Feelings were deemed weak, and had to be firmly repressed - which would leave behind a shell of a boy. 

Gained a definite rebellious streak during his teenage years, and would do EVERYTHING and anything to fuck with his dad.

Eventually moved out, at the age of 15. Figured either he’d move out or kill his father, and settled on the former.

Remaining summers were spent living at the Hog’s Head Inn.

The Carrow family did not want to air their dirty laundry to the world, so they never formally denounced Amycus. Most other pureblood families know that they had a falling out though.

Alecto is his other half, and they come as a matching set. Without her, he feels incomplete, and she’s also the only person who truly knows him. 

MAIN CHANGES FROM THE PREVIOUS AMYCUS’ TIMELINE:

Main thing probably is that he is more refined. More dangerous. Still pretty fucking dumb, but less rough around the edges. Also has more self control which is good for him!!!

Still a brickwall in terms of sharing (always so private), but way more polite? More controlled, less crude. Instead of just grunting in reply, homeboy might try to actually act like a human being. So definitively less gruff.

Also can’t just typecast him as ‘ hm this is probably a pretty bad dude ‘ when first meeting him anymore so that's kinda problematic :/ May cause some issues :/

AESTHETIC / VIBES:

old gramophones, blood stained polaroids, broken glasses, bleeding fists, standing in silence for hours, chipped teeth, unwavering loyalty, unhealed scars, getting home at the crack of dawn, red wine, long showers, god complexes, the color of the sunset, messy hair, blood soaked suits, always cheating death, a rebel just for kicks, half smiles, just beating and beating until the world stops, no conscience, half empty wine bottles, impersonal offices, a face that doesn’t quite match his demeanor.

HOGWARTS YEARS:

Was a hat stall between Slytherin and surprisingly enough, Hufflepuff. But his sister was sorted into Slytherin, and Amycus won’t go anywhere without his twin.

With the Slytherins, he found a new home, far away from his grandfather.

I would say that he is not exactly book smart, and he got pretty shit grades while at the school. The one subject where he really excelled was charms, but he also did all right in transfigurations and herbology.

Is more muscle than brains, most of the time tbh.

At the age of fifteen, Amycus stopped going back to his family home. He was becoming strong enough (from years of fighting) to challenge his father, and decided to just drop all contact. Today, he only sees his dad at the occasional pureblood party / event, where he ignores him.

torture tw :// Violence breeds violence, and the pain and suffering he had endured at home soon translated into him torturing fellow students.

Did not spend a lot of time in detention, despite all the fighting? Was that prick who got away with a lot because of his angel face. Eventually, teachers caught on though and Amycus got into his fair share of trouble as well ( most definitively became viewed as a Disturbed Child™ ).

During his time at the school, he earned some extra cash from doing odd jobs ( which mostly entailed torturing specific students per request ).

His electives at the school were: alchemy, care of magical creatures and divination. He was in no clubs at the school.

AFTER HOGWARTS:

Became a curse breaker soon after graduating.

First few years were spent abroad, working in tombs for Gringotts, recovering lost artifacts and breaking ancient curses.

Eventually, he made his way back home, and found work for the ministry. He works at the office for the removal of curses, jinxes and hexes, which is a subdivision of the improper use of magic office.

Unfortunately for him, this means that he has to work with a lot of other divisions. He hates it.

His day job as a curse breaker is sort of a disguise for what he considers to be his real job? He’s sort of a gun ( wand ) for hire, and will kill anyone who needs to be killed, for a price. Though the money really doesn’t matter all that much to him? 

Most of his clients are members of the sacred 28, who always want SOMEONE dead.

Kind of just aligned himself with the Death Eaters because 1. they have a more violent agenda 2. his sister.

Amycus isn’t the most invested in the whole pureblood supremacy thing ( though he’d never admit that ), but overall likes Voldemort and what he stands for.

Definitively fears Voldemort, and is quite happy that he’s not directly reporting to him.

Amycus mainly works for the Death Eaters as an information gatherer, which basically is just a nicer way to say that he tortures people until they tell him whatever they know. He’s disturbingly good at it, and usually works together with his sister.

Currently living in a large townhouse in London, with Alecto.

AS A PERSON:

Doesn’t give a single fuck about anyone that isn’t himself or his sister.

NEUTRAL EVIL. 

Doesn’t even have a moral compass, just does whatever is best for him. Has no interest in your righteous bullshit.

Looks a lot nicer than he is, which works to his advantage most of the time? Like he just looks like a nerdy, good dude. Couldn’t be further from the truth but... that’s besides the point. His face really doesn’t match the way he behaves.

Probably the most private person you’ll ever meet? He seldom reveals anything about himself, and when he does, it’s usually not true.

100% petty enough to lie about the smallest, most meaningless details.

SO self disciplined. Always in complete control, and it’s very hard to get a genuine reaction / rise out of him. Also so so so patient, and is happy to wait for whatever his current end game is.

Drinks and smokes heavily, but doesn’t personally think that he has a problem.

Mostly just a dumb asshole.

SO COLD.

Thrives off violence and is a total brute tbh.

Pretty good at hiding his death eater ties since he's... paranoid as FUCK. And also very private. Always wears a mask. But some people probably suspect... stuff anyways, if they've like. Spent longer than two hours with him. Listen if Amycus wasn't such a fucking asshole he probably could get away with it (/scooby doo villain voice). But then again, others will probably think he's just cold as shit.

Is a total demon, but looks like an angel. Helps a lot !!!

STYLE / FASHION / APPEARANCE:

This version of Amycus wears glasses, but fucking breaks them ALL THE TIME. The only thing keeping them together is magic.

Wears mostly suits for work ( bc he has to :/ ) but will wear those long black robes on his free time. Think a vampire cape, flying in the wind. That’s right, he really is THAT guy.

Will also wear stupid band tshirts a lot when not working.

Keeps his hair short.

Like 70% of his money is probably spent on buying new suits / robes / t shirts because he keeps either getting blood on them, or having them ripped to shreds in a fight.

Looks like he’s wearing the exact same shoes everyday but actually has like... 100 different pairs.

Eyes appear either blue or grey depending on the lighting.

Has some tattoos, and a half sleeve on his right arm, going from his shoulder down to his elbow.

CHARACTER INFLUENCES:

caleb haas ( quantico )- the snark. the assholery. the background. the black sheep.

clay haas ( quantico ) - just the right amount of polished. the style. the general aesthetic. the hair.

angelus ( btvs )- the disregard for human life. the darkness. the occasional brooding. the quips.

holden ford ( mindhunter ) - the scheming. the hidden ambition. the slyness. the resolution.

lucifer morningstar ( lucifer ) - the smile, the general vibe, the quips, the mannerisms, the darkness.

eric northman ( southern vampire mysteries ) - the confidence. the general dumbness. the stubbornness.

demon dean winchester ( supernatural ) - the occasional charm. the being an actual demon-ness. the blood lust. the bad jokes. the weakness for a pretty face.

wolverine ( x men ) - the violence. the moodiness. the hatred. the occasional gruff demeanor.

dexter morgan ( dexter ) - the serial killer vibe. the lust for blood. the violence. the loyalty to his sister. the sociopathy.

takeshi kovac ( altered carbon ) - the violence. the fucked up moral compass. the buried anger. the instinct to fight.

[deathsteel]

This Ain’t a Scene Its a Goddamn Drag Race

A RuPaul Drag Race AU ft your favorite gay angel and bisexual himbo

~Part One~ 

“It’s starting!” he called, wiggling deeper into his usual spot on the couch as he pulled the afghan his brother had knitted for him tighter over his shoulders. “You’re gonna miss it!” 

The commercial on the screen ended and the familiar logo for the show flashed across the screen. 

“Previously on Drag Race…”

“Goddamnit, we have a DVR,” the other man said, skidding into the room with a gigantic bowl of popcorn in his hands. He flopped down and tugged on the corner of the afghan until the first man relinquished a corner of it to him. “You coulda paused it. Did you start the recording? I told your brother we’d record it.”

“Yes, I’m recording it,” the first man sighed, reaching over to snag some popcorn. “It’s not like we didn’t already see all this happen anyway.”

“It’s all in the editing, gummy bear.” the smaller man snarked right back as the intro segment went through its familiar rigamarole on the screen before them. “Now, shush up.”

The other man grumbled in reply, but smiled around his pilfered popcorn. 

Holly Cummunion didn’t bother to hide her smile when she waggled her fingertips at Maura Less as she was sashaying away. She knew the camera would catch her acting like a shady bitch, which wouldn’t win her the crown for Miss Congeniality, but she couldn’t help celebrating the fall of the two-faced monster  that was ‘Destraura’. The fact that the other contestant leaving would make Tasha happy too was just an unintended consequence. 

“Ladies,” Gabby Reale called, garnering the attention of the five remaining contestants after Maura had finally dragged her saggy ass off of the runway. “I hope you take the judges' critiques to heart going forward. You’re my final five, so if you’re still thinking that less is more, well...”

Gabby ended the subtle dig at the eliminated contestant with a coy twist of her shoulders that made the sequins on her deep red ball gown sparkle. 

Holly swallowed hard as she remembered that she had been critiqued heavily by the guest judge for not wearing enough makeup to cover her five o’clock shadow and nodded along solemnly with the other queens. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t been in the bottom two, at this point even the littlest things could mean you were lip syncing for your life. 

“And remember, if you can’t love yourself then how in the hell are you gonna love anybody else? Can I get an ay-men?!” Gabby recited, raising her hand up like Sister Mary Clarence feeling the holy spirit move her. 

“Ay-men!” Holly recited along with the other girls, waiting for Gabby’s call of “Now let the music play!” before rushing over to gather Kim Chi  close to her in a celebratory hug.

“Girl you slayed it!” Holly whispered in her ear, referring to the lip sync battle that the other queen had just won against Maura Less. They’d sung Britney Spears’ Toxic, which was poetic because Maura had been bragging about her Britney skills the whole damn competition, even done a passable impersonation in the Snatch Game. 

Kim just showed her teeth and pulled Holly out onto the runway to dance with her, filming the scene that would play with the end credits of the episode when it aired on T.V. She didn’t have to force a smile as she danced, despite how tired she was, after all she was one step closer to becoming America’s next drag superstar. 

The quintet made it back to the workroom to find ‘You betta werk, E! #Destraura4Lyfe’  scrawled on the mirror in bright pink lipstick. Holly just rolled her eyes at that because no surprise there, trust Maura to be a fucking troll to the bitter end. 

“Well it’s sweet she left us all personal messages,” Kim said sarcastically, snagging up the spray bottle of glass cleaner that had been left on the workspace for her and spraying it liberally over Maura’s parting words. “Bye, bye bye, bitch.”

The other four queens watched in relative silence as Kim finished her task; Dianne Tawank started fidgeting with the tape that was holding up her strapless dress and Holly couldn’t wait to kick off her heels even if wandering around the workroom in her hose would ruin them. 

“Sorry your incestuous little clique got broken up, Momma,” Tasha Salad drawled in Eva Destruction’s direction as the other queen watched Kim’s cleaning with a despondent look on her face. “Guess you’ll have to groom another kitten to play with.”

“I’m not your ‘Momma’, Potato,” Eva Destruction snapped, using the derivative nickname that she and Maura had been calling Tasha behind her back since the beginning of the competition. 

Holly was pretty sure it was the first time the other queen had heard it used to her face because Tasha’s mouth dropped open in pretty genuine looking shock before her expression morphed into fury. 

“Just being respectful to my elders,” Tasha retorted, glancing over at the now clean mirror before storming towards her area of the work room that held her wigs and gowns and many, many trunks of shoes. “But I guess the opera gloves are coming off, Evil.”

Dianne snorted into her hand and rolled her eyes at the other two queens before she dismissed them both and started gingerly tugging at the tape on her dress so that she could take it off. Though her chest was waxed, the other queen still winced as she rolled her skin tight purple dress down her body; revealing angry red marks from the tape, painted on cleavage, padding attached to the inner lining of her dress, and a toned body that Holly couldn’t help but spare a glance at as she moved towards her own makeup kit that held her cold cream near the mirror. 

She’d been single for almost five years, she was fucking allowed to look. Dianne just winked at her in the reflection of the mirror before she swanned over to her where her wig styling head was and started tugging at the edges of her ginger, lace-front wig. 

“Oh, can’t we all just get along, girls?” Holly asked Kim rhetorically, earning a girlish giggle from her as she bounced around in her platform heels causing the tutu she was wearing to flutter prettily. 

Holly presumed the other queen was running on leftover adrenaline from her near-miss with elimination, but her excess energy could also be due to the fact that Kim was about ten years younger than her. God, she made her feel old. 

“What-ever,” Eva scoffed, kicking her heels off without a care to the fact that one of the size 13s almost caught Kim in her shin. “You can’t even be bothered to scrape off that sandpaper on your chin so excuse me if I don’t think you’re the best person to be leading a kumbaya drum circle.”

“Just cause I live on the west coast,” Holly replied evenly, leaning in close to the mirror so she could start smearing cold cream over her jawline. “Doesn’t mean I’m a hippie, so fuck you. And my jaw may be rough, but at least it doesn’t rub as bad as watching my girlfriend get sent home by a teenager. Does it, Mother-dear?”

“Bitch, what’d I just say?” Eva started, rounding quickly on Holly until the older queen was looming menacingly behind her in the mirror.

“Now, now, ladies,” Dianne chided in her clipped British accent as she shimmied the rest of her way out of her dress; draping it carefully over a dress form before she started scratching her painted nails through her short blonde hair that had gotten flattened to her head with sweat while under her wig. “Can you please save your bickering for tomorrow? When I’m hungover enough from celebrating my win to tune you all out?”

There was a tense silence that Dianne must have taken as agreement because the queen just nodded to herself and started tugging the hip padding out of her tights. Holly focused her own attention on getting off as much of her makeup as she could for now and then started the arduous task of getting her own tight, structured dress off without ripping out the boning in the bodice; that shit was a bitch to fix and her fingers already hurt from helping Kim stitch herself into her own dress for the evening. 

Within half an hour the five glamourous women who had entered the workroom had been defrocked down to the five average, gay men that made up their cores. It wasn’t until one of the show’s production assistants was going around to remove their microphones for the evening and the cameras were shut off that one of them spoke up. 

“Anyone down for pizza tonight?” Kevin asked, scratching at a stray smear of his bright green eyeshadow that had somehow ended up on the back of his hand. “My treat?”

“I’m in,” Castiel replied, earning a quick smile from the short Asian man as the group began to head out of the studio; back to the hotel rooms that were their home away from home for the time that they were filming the show. “Balthazar?”

“As long as I can drink as well,” the British expat replied, twitching with the collar of the leather jacket he was wearing over a tight Henley as they emerged into the brisk evening that was San Francisco in early November. 

Balthazar always seemed to be dressed to impressed even though when off camera the contestants spent most of their time playing cards in their hotel, forbidden to go out for even a nightcap by their contracts and an ever watchful security team. They also couldn’t have cell phones, web access, watch the news, or have any contact whatsoever with their family and friends; which was a whole separate bitch in and of itself. 

One thing that all of the contestants had agreed on though was that their rooms had great mini bars, an even better porn selection, and more than enough take-out menus to suit every possible taste. 

“Well, jailbait can’t drink any of it,” Raphael answered in a bored tone as he picked at his chipping nail polish. The other man looked up when his remark was met with silence and it was then he saw the scathing look that Castiel and Balthazar were giving him as Kevin blushed down at his feet. “Whaaaat? You bitches know I’m joking.”

“It’s fine,” Kevin muttered, flinching when Luc shouldered impatiently past him to climb into the backseat of one of the black town cars that was waiting for them at the curb. “You want pizza, Luc?”

“Fuck your pizza,” Luc growled back, his eyes noticeably red-rimmed. “Can we go now?”

The four men looked meaningfully at each other, but it was Castiel that broke first; letting out a deep sigh before he pulled his old college hoodie tighter around himself and climbed into the empty seat beside Luc. Kevin, Raphael and Balthazar would take the other car, unwilling to ride with the sullen man since his friend had just been sent home. 

Castiel suspected (and apparently others did too) that the pair were more than ‘just friends’, but since romantic relationships between contestants were forbidden they had kept mum about Luc and Michael’s closeness while in front of the producers; allowing them to think it was a harmless clique that had formed as they tended to do on reality shows. But it was obvious by how upset the other man was, sniffling into the cuffs of his long sleeved red shirt, that something more had definitely been going on between the two queens. 

“I put him in drag for the first time,” Luc said, breaking the heavy silence that had settled between them on the short drive from the studio to the hotel. 

“Are you going to be okay?” Castiel questioned, unable to hide his concern for the other man, even though it smacked of an overreaction. Hell, it's not like Michael had died or anything; just gone back to New York for a while. 

“Bite me, cum-stain,” Luc replied and Castiel rolled his eyes at the unimaginative nickname. 

He was willing to bet money that that particular gem had been Michael’s idea of a parting shot; not $100,000 of course, but at least a tenner or something. Castiel was pretty certain either way that he’d win it back. 

[wordsonpages1-blog]

Hiya! there are two missing scenes from Riverdale that I'd love fics for, if you wanted! After FP is arrested, the gang in the cafeteria say that the sheriff is interrogating Jughead (again); it would be great to see that happen. And another missing scene is with the social worker talking to Fred about Jughead, before the boys get home. it would be lovely if you were interested ? X

The In-between: 

hey lovely, so I had a brain wave and managed to sit down and finish this for you tonight! I hope you like them and that this is kind of what you were looking for xx

“Jughead, thanks for coming in,” Sheriff Keller’s low voicecut through the stale air of the interrogation room.

The young Jones’ face twisted with cynicism as his liftedfrom where they rest glaring at the table.

“After the hospitality you showed me last time I was here Icouldn’t exactly stay away,” he returned dryly, his voice layered with sardonicdefences, his shoulders hunched and weary.

The Sheriff noted the red tired rims of his eyes. No sleep. Movingfurther into the room Keller paused to pull out the chair across from thebeanie wearing boy. The scrape of its legs scratched at the tense atmosphere. Hesighed as Jughead eyed him with venom. He knew coming in that he wouldn’t getmuch from the kid.

“Cut the crap son. I just want to ask you some questionsabout your dad.”

Jughead leaned back in his chair, arms moving to cross overhis chest. His smug attitude apparent in the quirked brow and dark smirk headorned. The Sheriff eyed him harshly, he didn’t care much for the kid’s snark,and though he suspected it was a defence mechanism it still ground down on hisnerves.

“I thought he already told you everything you needed toknow? Confessed right,” the boy shook his head the dark smirk still in place ashe let out a dangerous chuckle. “Case solved. Nice and neat just the way youwanted.”

Keller glared at him, hands coming out to rest on the tablepalms flat against the metal. Jughead noted the gesture, assertive, meant tointimidate. He rolled his eyes at it.

The juxtaposition to his last visit was stark. The boy whohad sat in this very chair weeks ago was scared, frightened of being convictedfor a crime he didn’t commit and ready for this faux Stepford town to hang himout to dry. Now though he was a far cry from that fear ridden boy. Now he wasscorned man, mocked by his own desire to be happy, robbed of hope and trustdiscarded like yesterday’s trash. He was vengeful and angry, darkness allconsuming. He was drowning.

“Look Jones I don’t have time for this,” the Sheriff triedto reason, sighing and opening a file in front of him.

“Are you sure? Murders been solved remember.”

“Your dad’s involved with the Serpent’s; can you tell meabout that?” Keller pressed on, the question coming out through ground teeth.

Jughead laughed again, sinister and low.

“Wow you really are good. What gave it away? The leatherjacket or the zip code?” He paused, taking a moment to bask in the authorityfigure’s stare- pure distain, any trace of sympathy long gone. Good Jughead thought. He loathed sympathy.“I don’t know anything about my dad’s business with the Serpent’s. Just that hewas one. I didn’t ask, he didn’t care to share,” he continued, his tone lazy,almost bored yet still poisoned with a harsh edge.

“And you’re sure about that? He never tried to share, shallwe say ‘tricks of the trade’ with his son?” The Sheriff implored him with hiseyes, clearly disbelieving his ability to avoid the gang trajectory. Jugheadscoffed.

“You mean did daddy dearest ever try and get me in on thefamily business?” Keller had the decency to flinch at the sarcastic remark,causing the dark boy’s smirk to widen. “I know it’s hard to believe that aSouthside pest like me is capable of avoiding that way of life, but I never gotinvolved. So unless you wanna take another trip down memory lane and rehash mytime in juvie can I go?”

The older man held a hand out in warning and Jughead let outan exasperated sigh, halting his movement to abscond. He settled back in thechair, raising his brows and waiting for the next question.

“Did you ever see the lockbox in the back of the closet?”

“No. I was long gone by then.”

That got Keller’s interest.

“Excuse me?”

Jughead let out another humourless chuckle, the sound eerieand unnerving in the small room. The air felt heavy, the tension palpable.

“Couch surfing.” He offered no more, it wasn’t even the truthbut he didn’t feel the need to uproot his childhood sap story with the man whowas responsible for putting his dad behind bars, and was developing a habit ofshaking him down.

“Okay,” the older man relented, nodding in affirmation. Jugheadalmost thought he was free; until… “And is there anything you wanted to sayabout your father’s character?”

His eyes bulged in disbelief, his upper lip curling back ina snarl.

“What? Murder not enough to convince you of his goldenpersonality?”

“I said cut the sass boy, now are you going to give me areal answer or not?” The Sheriff did his best to keep calm, reminding himselfthe kid was having a rough time and attempting to keep his biases about their kindat bay.

Jughead however, was not managing the same feat. The Sheriff’sreply had triggered something inside him, setting off his last nerve andunleashing the rage brewing beneath his skin.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO SAY? The man’s a stand-up guy!Father of the year for Christ’s sake!” He was standing now, his fists comingdown hard on the table, sending tremors through its structure to match theshaking of his resolve. His eyes were hard and pained, his lips quivering everso slightly.

“He’s everything you would think of someone from our side oftown right? A drunk, a deadbeat, a gangbanger. It’s all true. So why not addmurder to his CV. He doesn’t give a shit about his own kid so why would he careabout anyone else’s.” these words were not spoken in outrage, rather they werequiet, menacing and enshrined with a raw grief, sinister deprecation and loathingthat made the Sheriff recoil back.

Jughead’s eyes bore into his.

A moment passed and then he was out the door.

A knock resounded through the Andrews’ residence.

“Coming,” Fred called, throwing the tea towel down on the benchas he moved around the counted and toward the front door.

His eyebrows furrowed in surprise upon seeing a stranger onthe other side of the door.

“Uh Hi,” he greeted, a slight frown forming on his face andan unsettling feeling rising in his bones. The lady whom stood in the thresholdwas dressed in a pressed grey pant suit, her hair neat and a warm smile on herface; it was practiced, part of a routine.

“Mr Andres, hi. I’m Julie from social services,” the womenintroduced herself, her tone professional and polite. Fred felt his stomachsink at her words, he knew what this was about, he’d been expecting it.

“Fred, nice to meet you. Come on in,” he moved aside andgestured for the woman to enter and head toward the kitchen. She did so with agracious nod and he moved to shut the door behind her, taking a deep breath.

“Can I get you anything?”

“No thank you. Now I’m assuming you’ve concluded I’m here todiscuss Forsythe Jones?” The lady checked, the professional tone lingering andmaking Fred feel a little apprehensive toward her. He nodded anyways, affirminghis awareness.

“Jughead,” he corrected though.

“I’m sorry?” her face was contorted in evident confusion.

“ah Forsythe, he goes by Jughead.”

“Oh, well then let’s talk about Jughead,” she smiled, andFred felt a little more at ease; she hadn’t recoiled at the name, seemingly notjudging the kid by a quirk.

“Okay. His dad’s in jail, his mom’s absent so he needs aguardian correct?” Fred asked not one to dance around a topic. Julie nodded hersmile transforming into one of sympathy.

“Yes, an unfortunate situation for any kid. How’s he doing?”she asked, diverting the question but assumingly with necessary questions- and bynecessary Fred thought them to be protocol.

“Holding up,” Fred replied, leaning against the counter.

“Good. Now Jughead’s mother has been contacted but she isunable and unwilling to have him come stay with her at this stage in time,which means he will become a warden of the state,” the lady explained carefullyand Fred felt his blood boil at the thought of a parent abandoning their childin their darkest hour. Jughead didn’t deserve it. He was a good kid who hadbeen dealt a bad hand. It was unfair.

Fred sighed and shook his head, unsure of what to say next.

“My understanding is that he’s been living with you the pastfew months, is that correct?” Julie continued, looking down at a file in herhand.

“Yes, I went to high school with his dad, and my son is hisbest friend,” Fred explained. He hesitated before adding, “the kid’s prettymuch family.” He wasn’t really sure what they wanted from him, if he was beingtested. It made him feel uncomfortable.

“Well it’s nice to know he has people in his corner,” Julieappeased, smiling at him in what he supposed was meant to be reassuring,scribbling on a piece of paper.

“So he’ll continue to stay here then?” Fred prompted, unsurewhere this was going. Julie looked up, her eyes losing their professional sheenand her pep deflating a little. She hesitated before sighing and admitting, “UnfortunatelyMr Andrews, you are not eligible to be Jughead’s guardian, anyone with priorconvictions is excluded.” She looked genuinely sorry and Fred’s gut twistedwith guilt; he was just another person to be added to the long list of them whohad let Jughead down. As if his words the other night, in  a time of distress hadn’t been enough tofracture the trust the kid had in him.

Fred exhaled loudly, his body slumping against the counter.

“Dammit. So what’s the plan then?”

“A foster family on the Southside of town have offered totake him. They’re good people, we’ve worked with them a bit. I think it’s agood fit for him. The only down side is he will have to transfer schools,”Julie went on to explain, her training kicking in again as she orated thesituation with a delicacy that was only complimented and not contrasted by herassertiveness.

Fred nodded, feeling completely helpless and utterlyterrible.

His frustration at himself was only outweighed by the worryand concern he felt toward the reactions the kid’s would have when they gothome shortly. He knew Jughead wouldn’t necessarily be happy about it, but the kidwas used to displacement and disappointment and it was likely he would take iton the chin, pull his walls up and wallow in the darkness later. Archiehowever, was a different story. He would surely argue the injustice of it all,unable to accept the unfairness the world was dictating for them, yet incapableto stop it.