#a nightmare dressed in yellow ( personal )

[usethespoon]

Lee

Note: some things are my interpretations only.

FULL NAME: Lee (no known middle or surname) 

GENDER & SEXUALITY:  Male. Homosexual. 

ETHNICITY & SPECIES: White British. Human. 

BIRTHPLACE & BIRTHDATE: (?), England. No known age.

GUILTY PLEASURES: Having a sit down with tea and biscuits (whenever he drops by unexpected at whoever’s home that day). He also enjoys the TV show, Midsomer Murders, way too much.

PHOBIAS: Not a phobia, exactly, but more of a fear. He fears reaching an old age. He doesn’t want to have a cosy future, retired, and spending his remaining days comfortably. Rather, he would like to die early. His job as a hitman for The Network isn’t mandatory, but as a casual hobby; he does it for the exhilaration and something to do. That’s not to say that he wants to die, but he really wouldn’t fear being killed; he welcomes it, in fact. He only hopes that his death is interesting, at least.

WHAT THEY WOULD BE INFAMOUS FOR: The spoon in his hand. For such a small implement, it’s well-known by those who were on the receiving end of his torture. That, and his happy chappy attitude. Serving murder up with a too-kind smile and unnerving reassurance.

WHAT HAVE THEY/WOULD THEY HAVE GOTTEN ARRESTED FOR: If he was caught: everything. Mostly murder, though. But it would take some serious miracle to uncover Lee’s involvement with anything The Network has done. Any file they have on him would definitely disappear.

CHARACTER YOU SHIP THEM WITH: Anyone who could handle being with him, honestly. Example; ‘He incriminated my neighbour for murder, but he left me flowers in return.’

CHARACTER MOST LIKELY TO MURDER THEM: [Laughter track]

FAVORITE BOOK GENRE: He likes a good mystery novel, but he often settles for magazines. His favourite magazines are Chat and Take A Break for the gory stories and the ‘agony aunt’ sections.

LEAST FAVORITE BOOK CLICHÉ: Main character was a renowned expert. Bad experience forces them to retire to a cottage. Filler about their spouse being murdered years before. High ranking person/organisation comes along: “But we need your help!”. Main character: “But those days are over!”. Still does it. Saves the day. Big (’totally unexpected’) reveal/twist about their dead spouse thrown in somewhere. Lee finds this book cliché very repetitive and boring.

TALENTS OR POWERS: Leaving without a trace could be classed as a talent. The Network can cause an individual’s life to suddenly fall apart, or pile up criminal charges on that individual’s record that weren’t there before. This is what Lee does; he leaves behind incriminating evidence against an individual, whether they wronged The Network or not, and nothing is tied back to him or the organisation. He’s extremely good at his job, frighteningly so. Other talents, to him, would be torture; it comes second nature to him, and since his partial paralysis, this has only grown stronger. He adapted quickly, and for somebody to still be able to torture an individual with only one working arm, it’s definitely a talent.

WHY SOMEONE MIGHT LOVE THEM: If somebody was to love him, it would be for his ability to keep the conversation going – and it would never get boring. Maybe if another killer loved him, they would enjoy the numerous stories he has about his job as a hitman; he has plenty to tell over the years, that’s for sure. Additionally, his spontaneous attitude would definitely be a lovable attribute, because a day would never be boring with Lee. Even hitmen go home at the end of the day, and he often spends it watching Midsomer Murders (or other crime shows), so they would love his ‘tamer’ side; movie nights and staying up past midnight to binge watch some awful 80s shows.

WHY SOMEONE MIGHT HATE THEM: Oh boy. He’s very manipulative through kindness, so an individual wouldn’t realise his plan until it was too late. The false way in which he gives security to an individual is unsettling. Not to mention his bluntness, which is very unnerving and confusing at the same time. Usually ‘villains’ can be cryptic in their plans (building up until the big reveal), but Lee would straight-up tell the individual that he’s going to kill them, and how he’s going to do so in vivid detail – but he wouldn’t tell them when, so they’re constantly on edge. Lee also has the habit of dropping by unexpectedly and talking to the person as though they’d been friends for years, which can get extremely annoying for those involved (but Lee doesn’t care. Lee’s got things to do, people to see, and days to ruin).

He’s also very sarcastic and entertains himself by provoking an individual; Wilson Wilson was his favourite person to get a reaction out of. Similarly in provoking, his music taste is…questionable. For having such a dangerous reputation, his partners get a surprise when Lady Gaga or P!nk fills the car. Lee can be very judgemental, as well. He will question an individual’s life choices, or say just the right things to have them doubt their own decisions (Example: ’I wouldn’t do that, matey’, followed by silence and no explanation.)

HOW THEY CHANGE: Lee doesn’t let events shape him, but his partial paralysis was the only time where he fully changed his attitude. He retained his behaviour as before (sarcastic, happy chappy hitman), but he also lost his ability to follow; he may work for The Network, but he no longer worries about disappointing them. With every change, Lee becomes less flexible and more stiff, adding even more weight to his unpredictable behaviour. He’s gotten to the point where caring isn’t apart of his vocabulary, which is a very dangerous state to be in.

WHY YOU LOVE THEM: He’s a complete and utter nutter, and I was drawn in from the very opening scene of the series with him and Arby. As the series progresses, you see more of how unpredictable and completely mad Lee is – but in a totally lovable way. The fact that I like his cheeky attitude, despite the murders and torture scenes, is evidence of how terrifying Lee actually is. I didn’t know what he was going to do next, but at the same time, I was excited to see more. It was the first time that a series, as a whole, kept me engrossed and it was entirely down to how well-written the characters were.

[drvoos]

you remembered that exact day your life changed for the worst. the day the jedi order fell, the day order 66 was executed, the day you lost your family, the day you lost your master. you were a mere padawan, still clinging to anakins robes on those tough missions. the same padawan who would run to anakins room in the middle of the night after a nightmare. the same padawan who trailed behind padme as if she was your mother and you were her child. the same padawan who swore to keep your mouth shut when anakin told you he and padme were married and expecting. the same padawan who was innocent and whose only worry was what was for lunch.

now, you stood in front of the person responsible for your pain. the person who you had loved all those years ago, and the person who had took you as their padawan even when they needed not. only, he wasn’t the same. the man standing in front of you wasn’t your master, wasn’t anakin. he was a monster all dressed in black. his red saber that was once blue now hissed menacingly as it awaited by his side. you couldn’t see his eyes, but you imagined they were yellow and cruel. no, the man in front of you wasn’t your master. he was a sith lord.

“please,” you whimpered, salty tears staining your face mixing with the grime. you didn’t know what you were begging him for. whether it was begging for your life or begging him to come back to you. “master.”

“your master died a long time ago. he died by my hands, as will you.” his voice was no longer the voice you knew. anakins voice was soft yet serious, a comforting noise in a world of pain. now his voice was distorted. there was malice and hate. only a further reminder that the man in front of you was no longer a friendly voice. the friendly voice that would hum you to sleep.

behind you your broken com chirped back to life. you could make out a faint trace of obi-wan asking where you are, yet you made no effort to answer him. vaders head turned slightly as if he was waiting for you to do something.

it was all too much. your life held no meaning now. your master — the person whom you loved and looked up to more than anyone else — would be the person to end your life. it was at that point you made your decision. extinguishing your blade, you threw it at his feet.

“im glad it will be you, then.”

obi-wan would never find your body.

[batsylabs]

Hey, my sister wanted me to post this and I agree that the world should hear her massive-brained take. From here on out everything is written by her.

So, spoilers for The Book of Bill, but I need literally everyone to know about something that me and my sister have been talking about. On thisisnotawebsitedotcom.com, typing in DIONARAP leads you to THIS image:

Very specifically I need everyone to look at THIS part of it.

Very funny reference by itself, but my sister pointed something out to me that I cannot stop thinking about. The implication of this image is that it was either made by Bill himself or a member of his various cults. So, at some point, there was a Bill Cipher imposter that had to be called out by someone within his circle. This has two conclusions:

A delusional person dressed up as Bill and started to believe they ARE Bill, speaking fake bullshit that Bill would never believe. Bill finds this funny, but his cult is dumb enough that they can't tell the difference and he has to make it clear. He's never mentioned in the actual book because Bill just didn't care enough, he was some weird eccentric he probably killed or gave him infinite nightmares or something.

(what I think is the funnier option): There is another god that is visually mistakable for Bill Cipher but is NOT HIM. There is another yellow, top hat and bowtie- wearing god with triangular imagery probably named something cunty like Ash Caesar. This dude goes around doing the same shit that Bill does, but he doesn't want to build the portal and cause the apocalypse or anything, he just wants to lay back and be fed grapes like a king all day.

Bill absolutely HATES this man. With other characters, there's some ulterior emotion that he's trying to suppress, he's angry and embarrassed that Stanley outsmarted him, he's emotionally distraught over losing Ford, but Ash? This lanky, smooth-talking ladies' man that's probably been around as long as him and keeps stealing his thunder? There is no other deeper emotions, he just actually DESPISES him. His first thought with Weirdmageddon is probably "The second I find Ash I'm going to throw him against a wall repeatedly until he splatters into red paint." He is the only person not even mentioned in The Book of Bill because Bill is so unreasonably angry at him that he doesn't want to dignify him by including him in the book.

[knight-a3]

Heavenbound AU

Masterpost

Niffty

I didn't redesign Niffty all at once, it was more like I would adjust one thing then later decide another thing needed to be adjusted. Anyway, I wanted to lean into the bug theme, which is popular for her and I think it suits her.

Notes under the cut

Ladybug: She was designed with Ladybugs and Asian Lady Beetles in mind, which I think is fairly obvious. Her eye coloring resembles the spots of an eyed ladybug.

Hair: I was doing some studying up on 1950s hairstyles and noticed that there was often this S shaped curve to the bangs. It looks like it evolved from the victory curls and similar styles of the 40s, but softened. I think I managed to do it in a way that kept the overall silhouette similar to canon. And the little curls by her face resemble bug mandibles. And I added little antenna. I changed her hair color to a dark blue because it helped add more visual contrast in her design. That, and it helps allude to the fact that she's Asian-American. I would have gone with Chinese or Korean, but Japanese is the more popular headcanon. But that's only a minor detail. She doesn't have an accent, so I'm pretty sure she was raised in the US. (The picture in the top left on the below image might be AI, something about her face and left hand looks off. I didn't notice until after, sorry. But the hair and figure shape do look accurate to the time period.)

Dress: Circle skirts are an iconic 50s style. And polka dots was a popular pattern. Historically, the skirt would not be shorter than the knee, but we can ignore that in hell. Instead of her neck bandana, I decided on a peter pan style collar. And the bodice should be form fitting, and bullet bras were common. The red part of her skirt is an "overskirt" that doubles as a set of wings. The wings aren't truly functional. A flying Niffty would be a nightmare. But they can show her emotions. They sometimes flutter when she's excited, or droop when she's upset. Via magic logic, they can still behave like fabric too. Mostly so I don't have to think too hard about how they would get in the way.

I played with color variations of orange, pink, and yellow, and even black with red spots. This was the overall combination I liked best.

Human:

We don't really know a whole lot about canon Niffty, so I'm leaving it fairly open. She died at age 22 in the 1950s(mid to late 50s, by the looks of it). Personally, I think she murdered her husband via stabbing. Maybe he was abusive and she just snapped, or maybe something else made her go crazy, I'm not sure. Then she was killed mid-rampage via gunshots to the chest.

(edit notes will go here if needed)

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

can you do mike schmidt x reader with abby trick-or-treating?

NOTE: This takes place after the movie

........

"Come on, slowpokes! Keep up!"

"Abby, don't go too far!"

"Relax, Mikey. She's just going two houses over. There's other kids already there. See?" You calmly pointed out the decorated home that Abby was rushing towards, disappearing into the crowd of kids who complimented her costume.

She was dressed as her "friend": a yellow version of Freddy Fazbear complete with a mask she painted, a yellow undershirt, and a black vest that was a tad bit too big for her.

Curiously enough, she removed one ear from the mask and covered one eye with black paint. But it didn't bother either of you too much, thinking she wanted to do something unique and creative with her costume.

Considering everything that happened at Freddy's Pizzeria, you were surprised that she wanted to dress up as one of the characters at all.

Yet neither you nor Mike recall ever seeing a "Golden Freddy". Not even backstage.

But you did, however, meet a golden Bonnie...and the person wearing his suit was none other than the bastard who murdered those poor children, including Garrett.

You just hoped their souls were finally at peace now, and that William rotted away in that suit, never to be found again. It was a rather fitting punishment--the perfect karma someone as sadistic as him.

Sometime later, you started dating Mike after you both officially quit that job, found something new to save his home from eviction, and helped him regain custody over his sister (Doug was more than eager to write you both off as her legal guardians).

He still had his nightmares, of course, that now involved visions of a decayed Springbonnie suit chasing him through that same forest. But you were always there to wake him up, cuddling together and helping him fall back to sleep without needing to down a bunch of pills.

He's genuinely been trying to depend on them less and less. Abby notices it, too, and has incorporated you in her drawings now, standing beside her happy-looking brother.

It's her own way of saying "thank you", and you accept it wholeheartedly.

When Halloween rolled around, you and Mike got too work decorating the house, surprising his sister after you picked her up from school. She did mention how he used to do the "bare minimum" before you came along.

And by that, she meant that Mike only ever put a jack o'lantern outside, a bowl filled with cheap candy, and a sign that said "take one".

Well this year...you made sure to buy better candy bars for the kids this year and add the finishing touches to the outside of the house. After that, you both took her trick-or-treating.

While she was occupied at the current house, you and Mike stood back to admire all the decorations and other costumes people were wearing.

"I honestly thought that whole near-death experience with the robots would've scarred her for life, but...she's been doing better." He remarked. "A lot better. It's like nothing ever happened."

"Well..she did help those kids find justice. They never knew their killer was standing right in front of them..they just needed that little push to finally recognize him."

"I'm surprised she hasn't told the whole story to her teacher yet."

"...because she knows we'd probably get some phone calls about that." You chuckled lightly, squeezing his hand.

Then you noticed Abby leaving the house, running down the steps and about to cross the street to reunite with you-

"Hey, hey, hey." Mike let you go to put both hands out, and she stopped in her tracks, mere inches from the road. "What did we talk about before we left the house, Abs?"

"...look both ways before I cross the street?"

"Exactly."

Huffing, she quickly glanced to her left and right, deeming it safe to cross. And only then did she resume her sprint, removing her mask once she was in front of you. "[Y/n], look at all these chocolate bars I got so far!"

You looked into the pillowcase, nodding in agreement. "Wow, you did get a lot! I sure can't wait to gobble them all up when we get home." A coy smirk appeared on your lips, watching her eyes widen in shock.

"Nooooooo, they're mine!" Protectively holding the sweets to her chest, she pouted and looked to Mike for help, yet he simply shrugged.

"I dunno, Abby.." It was hard for him to hide his own smile. "[Y/n] and I gotta make sure they're safe to eat, so we're gonna take one bite of every single bar-"

"Now that's just cruel!" She stomped her foot.

"We're only joking, sweetie." With a chuckle, you ruffled her hair, watching as she put her mask back on. "I think the next street over has a little haunted house maze. Do you wanna go check it out?"

She perked up and nodded in response, heading down the sidewalk with a spring in her step. You linked arms with Mike and followed her, looking around at the rest of the decorations.

But your eyes soon lingered on your boyfriend's soft brown ones, and he gazed back at you for a few moments. "What?"

"Nothing." You shook your head, smiling lightly. "I'm just...glad to be with you."

"So am I." He kissed you on the cheek. "Thank you, truly..Abby deserves a good Halloween."

"I think we all deserve a good one."

Unbeknownst to the three of you, there was a peculiar figure standing across the way. He was hanging out near the trees, almost perfectly blending in with the surrounding darkness so that nobody else could notice him:

A large mechanical bear with dirty yellow fur, one ear, and one glowing blue eye, smiling fondly at Abby and her costume.

It's good to see that she had not forgotten.

[withahappyrefrain]

Gin & Tonics (and Parking Spots)

Summary: In which Venus finally meets the infamous Dagger Squad. The fourth installment of the Parking Spots universe

Warnings: Language, Venus being Venus, Jake being lovesick, suggestive language, Venus has an actual name but it's only used twice

A sea of khaki that reeked of testosterone everywhere one turned. 

It was Venus' worst nightmare. 

She made her way past the crowd of people, avoiding the stares. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know she stuck out like a sore thumb. A "civilian" is what Jake called it. 

Apparently "not a soldier" was too simple for the military. And "wasn't coerced by a recruiter to sell my soul to the US government" was too long. 

"If you get there before me or Javy, just sit by Penny. She's the owner. You'll like her a lot." 

Venus rolled her eyes at her fiancé, "I like anyone who can make a good drink, Jake." 

Jake smiled before pressing a gentle kiss to her temple, “Y’know what I mean. She’ll look out for you.”

“What can I get you my dear?” Venus looked up to find an older woman behind the bar. 

Her green eyes looked kind. She suddenly understood what Jake meant. 

“I’ll just take a gin and tonic,” She shrugged her shoulders, trying her best to appear indifferent, undeterred by the borderline lewd stares. When getting ready, she thought the yellow dress would be a great choice for meeting Jake’s friends. Not too formal, not too informal. It was flattering, but not too revealing. She even put thought into her hair, opting to style it in waves rather than the natural curls that Jake adored. 

“You wore that on our first date,” Jake said softly, a smile gracing his face. 

She lowered the hanger in surprise, “You remember that?”

“Of course,” he reached a hand out to cup one side of her sweet face, “How could I forget?”

She didn’t account for the fact she would be alone for a bit. No, she was far too busy freaking out about meeting her fiance’s friends for the first time. 

Fuck. 

“They’re gonna love you V.”

Perhaps if she had some experience of being in a serious relationship and meeting their friends, anxiety wouldn’t be coursing through her body. She had met a few friends of the person she was dating before, but it was usually at a party where after introductions, she was left alone to her own devices. 

The idea that someone would want to introduce her to other parts of their life, to become a part of them, was new. That they thought she was important enough to do so. Family? Sure. That was a given. But friends? The people you willingly chose to spend time with?

 A whole different ballpark. Though in this case, perhaps turmac was more fitting. 

“Since you’re new, I’m going to need to see your ID hun,” The woman, presumably Penny, said, pulling her out of her thoughts. 

"Of course," She held her head high as pulled her driver's license from her wallet, ignoring the stares, trying to play off her hands shaking. 

If they wanted her to move, they could fucking ask. 

The bartender, who had to be Penny, looked at the ID, a soft smile forming, “Well Danica, I can see why Jake calls you Venus.”

“You…. know who I am?” Great, there was already a preconceived idea of who she was. Before she even had a chance, her fate was sealed. 

What was she known as? The girl who yelled at Jake in a parking lot? The girl who threw bread rolls at him? 

Penny continued to smile, “Of course! Jake is always excited to show me the latest picture he’s taken of you. The flowers you two got from the farmer’s market are beautiful by the way.”

Heat rushed to her face while recalling last weekend’s adventures. Jake insisted on taking her picture by the flower stand. It was strange at first-still was-how his Instagram that had once been only thirst traps workout pictures were now full of her and their adventures together. 

As much fun as it was going through the older posts and giving him hell about it, she loved looking at the newer photos, the ones that showed their journey together. 

“He’s a good photographer, I’ll give him that,” A small smile began to form on Venus' face, her shoulders visibly relaxing. 

“Don’t give him too much. He needs to be kept on his toes,” Penny laughed in agreement, “I’m Penny by the way. So where is the man of the hour?"

Penny handed her a gin and tonic as she explained, "Had a last minute meeting with Simpson. He should be coming soon, as is the rest of the squad from my understanding." 

Penny raised an eyebrow, "So you finally get to meet them! They have been dying to meet you. Been asking Jake about it for months." 

The grip on her drink tightened. 

Jake had a reputation. And with that reputation, came preconceived notions of what kind of girl he would date. 

Venus was not what people thought of when it came to Jake's ideal type. While his family adored her, they all admitted they were surprised when Jake first called to tell them about the woman he met in a parking lot. Hell, even her family was surprised when she described him. They still adored him, loved him, and insisted on serving a traditionally prepared lechon at the engagement party.

But friends were a whole different breed. One willingly chose to spend time with them. Friends were honest, and more often than not, their opinion was highly valued. 

She had learned that the hard way. 

"I mean, she's nice but do you see it going anywhere? I don't." 

"She's really not your type, man." 

"She's kind of a bitch." 

A soft hand gently laid on top of hers, breaking Venus out of her thoughts. Was it motherly instinct or was her anxiety that plainly written across her face? 

She found Penny smiling, "They're so excited to meet you. They already adore you and ask about you constantly." 

They were looking forward to meeting you, she repeated in her head. That means they want to meet you. Adore is such a specific word, Penny wouldn't have said it if it wasn't true. 

She clung onto Penny's words. They were nuggets of truth, a shield against the negative thoughts that clouded her brain. The evidence that those shitty experiences were in the past, that the situation she was in now was entirely different, was better. 

Her therapist would be so proud. 

A more relaxed, genuine smile appeared on Venus’ face, the first one she could recall occurring since pulling into the parking lot of the Hard Deck. 

“I look forward to meeting everyone. I’ll take another gin and tonic when you get a chance!” 

“I got it covered Penny,” a smooth voice said. She turned around, half expecting (moreso hoping) to see Jake, despite the lack of Texan drawl. 

When she turned around, there was no tall blonde with sparkling emerald green eyes and a smile so white, she could see it from outer space. 

Instead, a Hawaiin shirt so ugly that no Dad at a BBQ would go near greeted her. 

Her lips formed a tight line, her eyes narrowing. It was the same look she wore when dealing with annoying patients or annoying men. 

“Welcome to the Hard Deck,” The man said with a wink. His eyes were nice, but the caterpillar that occupied the space between his nose and upper lip was what she noticed first. 

She recognized him immediately. Jake had given her plenty of information so she could recognize members of the dagger squad. 

Bold of him to assume she would just go up to them. But maybe she could have some fun with this. 

Penny gave her a look, one that silently asked Should I tell him? Venus just shook her head, turning back to face the infamous Bradley Bradshaw. 

“How do you know it’s my first time?” She asked coyly with a raised eyebrow before bringing the drink back to her lips. 

“With a face like that? I wouldn't be able to forget ya." Did he also get his pickup lines from the eighties, in addition to his shirts?

Bradlet leaned against the railing of the bar, bending slightly so they were at eye level, “So what brings you here? Besides fate.” 

Her eyes could not roll any harder. How many more lines would it take before he started singing Jerry Lewis? 

“Well, after hearing about it so much, I just had to see the mustache in person,” She responded, moving her drink to her left hand. 

If there had to be a sound that best represented Bradley’s face, it was a record scratch. The best he could respond with was a very confused “Excuse me?”

“I’ll give you credit, you pull off the look pretty well, despite it consisting of a pornstache and clothes from the part of the eighties that even Stranger Things won’t touch.”

“It’s not….it’s not a pornstache.”

A darked haired woman clad in a khaki uniform nearby snorted. 

Venus grinned, “It is absolutely a pornstache. But some people are into that. I don’t get it, but good for you Rooster.”

Bradley's eyes knitted together in confusion,“Do I…..do I know you?”

"I would hope you know of me. According to Javy, Jake talks about me a lot. Anyways, we should become best friends. Jake’s reaction will be hilarious.”

It was then Bradley finally looked down, seeing the huge emerald ring on her left hand.

And that's when it hit Bradley Bradshaw like a fucking train. 

"You're Venus?!" 

It was much louder than she would have liked, the statement causing several people to look at her with curious stares. 

Just play it cool, they all work for the military, you actually do important shit, she told herself over and over again. 

“In the flesh!" She flashed a smile before taking a huge sip of her drink, trying to ignore the fact that another pilot was now approaching her. 

She was going to need another drink to get through this. 

"You're Hangman's girl? The one who told him to fuck off when you first met him?"The dark haired woman asked, practically shoving Bradley out of the way. 

The infamous Venus shrugged, "I didn't exactly tell him to fuck off. I told him it made no sense why he could fly million-dollar jets but was a shit driver. Phoenix?" 

Natasha nodded, “Glad he’s no longer hiding you. I’ve been telling him to bring you around ever since he arrived late to a debriefing with hearts in his eyes as he talked about a woman who referred to him as Hangnail.” 

The comment brough relief. At least one person liked her, at least one person wanted to get to know her. 

Natasha grabbed her arm, “Come on. The rest of the gang is going to lose their minds when they learn you’re finally here.”

Through the throngs of pilots, Natasha led her to a table filled with other men who all looked vaguely familiar. The tight lipped smile remained on her face as she straightened her shoulders, ready to face the (multiple) men of the hour. 

“Hey guys, guess who I met?”

“V! You made it!” Before she could say anything, a pair of strong arms wrapped themselves around her waist, picking her up. 

“Javy, I swear to God if you don’t put me down-” She couldn’t help but laugh. Just like with Jake, Javy had become the older brother Venus never knew she wanted. 

Knowing Javy would be there was what made her feel comfortable enough to arrive without Jake. Winning over your fiancé's best friend was quite the confidence boost.

Maybe it was the fact he actually made an effort to get to know her. Maybe it was the fact he took all her digs about the Saints in stride. But with Jake, the three of them had become a trio and she didn't mind at all. 

"Hey guys! This is Danica! Aka Venus, aka the one who got Jake to settle down!"

"You really know how to build suspense Coyote," Nat deadpanned before taking a seat next to Bob. Javy lowered her down, her feet returning to the ground. 

"You're Venus? The one he proposed to after eight months of dating?" A man with shining brown eyes and energy that could best be described as a golden retriever asked. 

Her features softened as she looked down at her emerald ring,  "When you know, you know. I also take it you're Mickey?"

"Wow, I guess Hangman talks about us more than we thought," Mickey joked, earning the chuckles from others. 

She looked back up, that signature smirk having returned, "We're also having a long engagement, that was my compromise." 

"That's not what he said," Phoenix scoffed, recalling the different potential venues Jake had already shown her. 

She continued fidgeting with her engagement ring. It wasn’t a matter of Venus being unfamiliar to having all eyes on her. But with Jake's friends, it was different. Another layer of being official that she wasn’t used to. 

"Well, you deserve all the drinks for being able to put up with Bagman,” Mickey commented, as if he sensed her nerves.  

“Bagman?” she asked, a mischievous glint forming in her big eyes. 

"It's what we call him when we feel he hasn't earned being called his proper name, which I'm sure as you know, is most of the time," A man with glasses and a thin lopsided smile that was sweeter than sugar explained. 

Her eyes light up, "Oh, I am definitely using that. Also, are you Bob?" 

Without waiting for an answer, she walked over to the bespectacled WSO, “You’re so cute! I’m adopting you.” For added effect, she placed a hand on each of Bob’s cheeks. 

“Does that mean Bagman is my dad?" Bob asked with an almost grimace. 

"Yeah, but I'll make sure he chills out," She reassured him with a soft smile. 

“Wait, she’s actually nice?” Reuben whispered to Natasha and Bradley, “The way Jake describes her-”

“Look, if she can find redeemable qualities in Bagman of all people, she must have a lot going for her,” Natasha interjected. 

As time passed, Venus found herself more and more at ease with the group. Despite having heard so much, they still took the time to ask questions, to get to know her. They wouldn’t only talk about Jake (not that she wanted them to), and they actually tried to include her in the conversation, despite her lack of knowledge about their field. 

It was different. It was nice. 

Once drinks got low, Venus offered to go get the next round. Bradley followed her, still apologizing for the flirting earlier. 

She chuckled, “It’s totally fine. In fact, I think it’s hilarious that you and Bagman have a similar type,” Her eyes narrowed, “Which by the way, I know plenty of cute, spitfire nurses who are single.”

Bradley’s face turned bright red, “I’m uh-I don’t need any help with-”

“Look, I already plan to find Bob's future wife, might as well find yours while I’m at it. There are people out there who are into what you call a mustache,” She shrugged her shoulders, “I don’t get it, but I’m willing to find them for you.” 

It was the way she mixed sweetness with snark that confused Bradley, as well as everyone else. 

“Can I ask you something?” Bradley finally asked. 

“I’m not going to tell you his dick size,” A devious smirk adorned her face, causing her to resemble the image the squad had conjured in their minds when Jake first told them how the ‘future Mrs. Seresin’ referred to him as a knockoff Ken doll. 

“That’s not what-”

“But I will say-”

“Please don’t.”

“You could have named him Hungman and it still would have been accurate.”

“I really, really don’t need to hear this.” Bradley’s face was now bright red, whereas the woman next to him casually ordered the next round of beers and a lemon seltzer for Bob with a grin on her face. 

“You’re telling me the men in the navy don’t talk about their dick sizes? Least of all, the person whose call sign means cock?”

“It’s a bird-”

“That also means cock.”

Bradley stared at her, quite frankly afraid that if he said another word, he'd have to hear about Hangman’s dick. 

She stared right back, able to hold off the impromptu staring contest for a few moments before erupting into a fit of giggles.

When Jake first rambled on about the beautiful woman he had met at a coffee shop, who he insisted was his future wife, Bradley (and everyone else) thought the blonde pilot had lost his damn mind. 

But after seeing her truly smile, Bradley could understand why Jake became so smitten. 

“How….do you two work?” It was an honest question. Javy asked the same thing the first time he went out with you and Jake. She even wondered about it herself when they first got together. 

She shrugged, fingers fiddling with Jake’s class ring that was on a silver chain around her neck, “We just….do. He calms me down. I remind him sometimes it’s better to be quiet and just listen. We both make each other smile and laugh. It’s nice. More than nice. It’s wonderful.” 

Bradley noticed what she was fiddling with, "So that’s where it went.”

“He has a ring of mine that he wears with his dog tags. We traded before he went on deployment.” She shrugged again, as if to suggest it wasn’t a big deal. 

The soft smile on her face suggested the exact opposite. 

Bradley grinned, “Do you know he also wears one of your hair ties around his wrist?”

Her smile only continued to grow, "He says the more pieces he has of me on him, the luckier he is in the sky."  

Truthfully, Venus wasn't sure what to expect when she began dating Jake. Certainly not him being such a romantic. It was strange at first. Why would someone go through so much effort to bring flowers, to make dinner reservations, to plan dates when they already had you?

When Jake scoffed at the very idea of not needing to impress it was the first time she truly reflected on previous relationships and just how shitty they were. 

"Baby, they were awful," Jake pressed a chaste kiss to her shoulder, "You deserve so much more than what you've gotten." 

A hand on your shoulder broke you out of your thoughts. 

"I think I just saw that Jeep Wrangler you love so much just pulled up," Natasha teased. 

She rolled your eyes, despite a small smile remaining as you shook your head, "I hate that fucking car." 

"I'm glad someone else agr-"

"Bradshaw, don't get me started on your car choices." Her eyes narrowed as she shot him a look. 

Only she got to insult that hideous car. 

Bradley promptly closed his mouth, not wanting to face her infamous wrath. 

He was still reeling from the Pornstache comment. 

So instead, he simply helped her carry the round of drinks back to the rest of the squad. 

"So Venus, what does the woman who made Jake Seresin lovesick do?" Payback asked. 

"I'm a level three neonatal nurse at the local hospital," she explained, "Which is partly why it's been so hard to meet y'all. My schedule can be pretty irregular." 

The table was quiet as they processed this new piece of information. When they first heard about her, they couldn't help but imagine a cutthroat business woman, a manager, a consultant. 

Not a nurse. Particularly one who dealt with children. 

"So you um, you-" 

She set her glass down with force, "I do not play with babies and change diapers all day. My job is to keep premature babies alive and ensure they're able to go home with their family and live as healthy of a life as possible." 

Her voice was tense, no doubt due to past dismissive comments regarding her job. 

Bob shifted closer to her, "I think that's amazing. One of my sister's kids was born at 28 weeks and she still swears to this day that if it weren't for y'all, she would not have been able to keep it together." 

Her shoulders visibly relaxed as a smile formed on her face, "I like you Bob. I'm going to keep you." 

Mickey spoke up, "Hey, wait a second. My girlfriend Cielo and I have already put in a request to adopt Bob." 

She put an arm around Bob's shoulder, shaking her head, "Nah, I call dibs." 

"We knew him first!" If one didn’t see the gleam of playfulness that laced Mickey’s amber eyes, his tone would sound completely defensive. 

Bob finally spoke up, "Just a friendly reminder that I'm thirty one years old." 

She turned to the soft spoken WSO, "Which is why I am determined to find you your Missus." 

"Get in line, Cielo and I have been working on that." 

Natasha snorted, "We've all been working on that." 

Bob signed, putting a palm to his face. 

"Hey V, I think your man just walked in." Maybe it was fate, maybe the universe took pity on Bob. 

But when Venus looked up upon hearing Reuben's words, her heart skipped a beat. 

There he was. 

Jake was over at the bar, waiting for Penny to take notice of him. No doubt ordering gin and tonic, along with a basket of fries for Venus. He always made sure she had something to snack on. 

"Wanna see something?" She asked the gang. 

Without waiting, she put two fingers to her mouth, a loud whistle coming out. The noise caught the attention of several people, including a blonde man with eyes greener than the emerald that adorned her engagement ring. 

When Jake's eyes met hers, her heart skipped a beat. His eyes lit up, a smile overtaking his face. 

"Hi loverboy," she called out with a wave. Oh she tried to smirk, try to play it off as if she was indifferent to the sight of her fiancé. 

But Danica's eyes told a different story. 

"Venus!" Jake called out, getting even more attention. Not that he noticed. He was too busy practically shoving folks out of the way to get to the table. 

Maybe she picked up her pace to meet Jake. Maybe Jake knocked a drink over as his hands placed themselves underneath her thighs, allowing him to pick her up in one swoop. 

It’s not like either of them were paying attention. 

—-----------------------------------------

To say Jake Seresin was annoyed was an understatement.

His day had started out so well. He got to wake up not on base in a small, old twin bed, but instead in the arms of his fiancé. 

Then he had to go to work. 

Jake loved his job. He was damn good at it- one of the best, in fact. He enjoyed being at work, which was something many couldn't say. 

But not when his job caused him to be late, unable to be with the woman he loved, especially on a night where she needed him the most. 

Normally, she would have already met his friends before Jake proposed to her. But thanks to the nature of his job, which involved spur-of-the-moment missions, he had done things a bit backwards. 

If it weren't for the nature of his job, Venus could have met the squad back when she only had the title of girlfriend. 

Sure, she still would have put pressure on herself, as was in her nature. But decidedly less pressure. 

Jake wanted to be there for her, to reassure her that she was in fact, the most incredible person he had ever met and that his friends would see that immediately. To put a hand on her shoulder whenever he saw that smile begin to fade, self doubt creeping into her mind. 

Which was why he was all but running into the Hard Deck. His meeting with Cyclone lasted much longer than intended. Normally Jake wasn’t super concerned about showing up late to the Hard Deck, but today was the worst day it could happen. 

Deep in his heart, he knew she would be just fine. At worst, she wouldn’t approach the squad until Javy arrived and would stick by Penny. 

Jake just wanted her to feel comfortable, to feel at ease. He wanted to support her, like any decent husband would. 

So yeah, maybe he was taking advantage of his status, knowing that no one would say anything if he pushed past them without a single excuse me. Jake knew his great grandmother was rolling in her grave, but he hoped Mimi would understand all in due time. 

“Hey Penny, have you happened to see an absolute goddess with an affinity for gin and tonics?” Jake asked once he arrived at the front of the bar, ignoring the glares. 

Penny simply smiled, "I think your friends found her. She was also pretty low on her beverage last time I saw her." 

"Well, we can't have that. I'll take a Miller Light, along with a Gin and tonic with a basket of fries." Jake recalled that she had texted him around two that she was on her lunch break. He doubted she had much time, if any, to eat when she got home from work. 

Order fries first, then find the love of his life. 

If only the bar wasn't slammed. 

He was trying his best not to be impatient. It wasn't Penny's fault, the Hard Deck was always like this when a new class arrived to base. 

But damn was it frustrating. The minutes seemed to tick away. Jake looked around, unable to spot his fiancé amidst the sea of khaki. 

Until he heard that whistle. 

He looked around, Bradshaw finally moving his bigass head to reveal the person that made his heart soar. 

She was sitting with the rest of the gang, smiling. She looked at ease, as if she had always been a part of this crew. 

Jake knew this was possible, that she had it in herself to open up and connect, rather than sit at the bar and wait for him to come. 

But sometimes she forgets that she can. 

So when Jake doesn't need to remind her, he can't help but beam. 

"Hi loverboy!" His heart fluttered when she sent him a wink, along with her smirk that he fell in love with the first time he saw (it also made him hard but that's neither here nor there). 

So yes, he did gently push some people out of the way to get to the table. And he did knock a drink over when he went to pick her up. But in Jake's defense, he hadn't seen her since seven-thirty in the morning and it was only Bradley's drink. 

"Hi baby," He said as he pressed his lips to her cheek. 

She rolled her eyes, though the smile still remained on her face, "You act like you haven't seen me in forever."

"Because I haven't," Jake murmured against her skin, "It's been ten hours." 

"Ten hours?" She repeated, her tone teasing, "You're incorrigible." 

"I don't know what that means, but thanks V," He said before pressing his lips against hers.  

Before Jake, she wasn't used to PDA. It wasn't a matter of not desiring it, she did. But none of her past relationships were into it, so it wasn't something she pursued. 

And then she met Jake. Jake, who would just grab her hand without saying anything. Jake, whose natural inclination was to wrap his arms around her. Jake, who would make the effort to kiss her, even if he was just passing by to get a drink or to unload the dishwasher. 

She liked it. She couldn't stop the smile that spread across her face as his lips moved to her nose, then forehead. 

"Can you put me down? You're looking a little desperate GI Joe," She teased, quickly placing a chaste kiss on his jawline. 

"You like it," He whispered in her ear, gently setting her back down. 

"Debatable," She rolled her eyes, trying to fight back a smile as Jake pressed another kiss against her cheek. 

"Debatable?" He questioned, "The ring on your left hand says otherwise sweetheart." 

Venus looked down at the ring, "I guess." 

"You guess?" Jake hummed, his arms now wrapped around her waist, his chin resting on top of her head. 

The noise and chatter of the Hard Deck slipped away when she looked up, meeting his emerald eyes. She bit her lower lip, trying to hold back a lovesick smile. 

It was no use, as it came out anyway. 

"Oh my God they're adorable," Bradley whispered to Natasha, stunned. 

"What the hell is happening?" Natasha whispered back, equally as stunned. 

"I think they're…in love?" Mickey didn't sound too sure of himself, if at all. 

"Of course they are, is it not obvious?" Bob practically scoffed. 

"Careful," Natasha teased, elbowing Bob playfully, "Think she still wants to adopt you. Remember who your dad would be." 

—------

The rest of the night wasn't anything unusual, save for Natasha, Bradley, Mickey, and Bob asking Venus questions while Jake, Javy, and Reuben played a round of pool. 

"So he listens when you tell him to shut up? Like deadass?" Mickey asked. 

She raised an eyebrow, "He listens to me regardless of what I say." 

"I don't believe it," Bradley started, "We can barely get him to listen to us and-" 

"Hey Jake?" Venus called out, remaining in her seat. 

Jake looked up from the angling his pool cue, his eyes lightening up when they met hers, "What's up darling?" 

"Do you think Sammy and Jess deserved to win Love Island?" Bradley couldn't help but scoff at Venus' question, there was no way- 

"Jess did, because she had the best personality of that season and was actually likable. She would have won regardless of who she coupled up with," Jake explained as he briefly looked back to his aim, "Unfortunately she was stuck on Sammy, who did not deserve to win, dude's a fuckboy if I've ever seen one. Is your drink empty?" 

The squad wasn't sure what was more shocking, the fact Jake had been able to make a perfect shot without looking again, or how focused he was on another person's needs. 

Venus, oblivious to this confusion, raised her empty drink, "I am! Can you get me another gin and tonic please?" 

Jake immediately set his pool stick down, ignoring the confused cries of Javy and Reuben as he went to Venus to give her a kiss on the cheek and pick up her glass. 

"What did you just do?" Mickey asked as soon as Jake headed over to the bar. 

Venus shrugged, "I asked him for another drink. I got his last drink, it's only fair." 

"But he was in a middle of a game-" 

"The less you think about it, the less confused you'll be," Javy explained, cutting off Reuben. 

Javy had long since learned that Jake's focus was now all things Venus. He was pretty sure once Venus became pregnant, she would be able to pry Jake away from a Texas football game. 

"How do you get him to listen to you?" Bradley asked, stunned. 

"I love her," Jake scoffed because wasn't it obvious? The only people who didn't seem confused by all this were Javy and Bob. 

Jake now understood why Venus wanted to adopt the bespectacled WSO. 

"So what are we? Chopped liver?" Natasha remarked, a teasing glint in her eyes.

"He just loves y'all a little less," Venus teased, taking her drink from Jake's hands. 

Bradley scoffed, "Dude, I was your bunkmate." 

"Yeah but did you give him blowjobs frequently?" Venus asked, unaffected by the number of aviators who nearly choked on their drinks. Jake could feel the tops of cheek heat up. 

"Well, depended on-" Bradley started, much to the delightful shrieks of Natasha, Javy, and Reuben. 

"Alright, it's time for us to go pick a new song," Jake stated loudly, practically pushing his fiancé to the jukebox. 

"You're finishing that story later!" Venus called out, pointing to Bradley. 

"Only if you convince him not to play Free Rider!" Bradley called back.

Jake dragged away his fiancé, who was now laughing at the antics of his coworkers. 

He couldn't help but smile at the sight. She was beautiful like this; eyes squinting, cheeks round as she smiled, skin glowing,  not having a care in the world. 

Jake would do anything to keep that smile on her face. 

"I get to pick," She said, taking the quarter out of Jake's hand. 

"Why do you get to pick?" Jake teased before placing a kiss against her temple. 

"Because it's my first time here," she started, because wasn't it obvious? "Plus, I want Bradshaw to finish the story."

"You're really about to give Bradshaw what he wants?" Jake put his hand over his heart, "V, that's the most offensive thing you've said to me." 

Venus simply raised an eyebrow as she scoffed, "That's the most offensive thing I've said to you? Compared to all the other stuff? Compared to what I said when we first met?" 

"I thought it was charming," Jake was completely sincere, which Venus didn't know if she should find that cute or concerning. 

"I think you liked being called a Ken doll," she muttered, looking through the list of songs. 

Jake wrapped his arms around her waist, nestling his head on her shoulder, "I liked the woman who called me a Ken doll. So much so, I plan to marry her." 

Her teeth tugged her bottom lip, a tall-tale sign that she was flustered. She didn't blush, but Jake had learned the signs; she would bite her lip, her lashes would flutter. Her hand that wasn't pressing buttons on the jukebox drummed against the machine, looking for something to do. 

"I love you," he whispered. The declaration made her head turn, allowing Jake to steal a kiss. 

"Could have just asked."

"Where's the fun in that?" He pressed his lips against a heated cheek, leaving tiny kisses. 

Her eyes softened upon looking up at Jake, "How did the meeting go?" 

He squeezed the soft flesh of her hip, "Cyclone thinks I have a decent shot at the instructor position. And that I would be a good fit." 

The statement caused her eyes to light up. Jake could see that she was trying to hold herself back, trying not to get her hopes up. 

"So he'll write you a letter of recommendation?" 

He grinned, showing off his pristinely (and blindingly) white teeth, "Him and Mav." 

"We stan a short king." She said it half in jest, purely to see Jake's brows knit together in confusion, the five year age difference showing. 

"Is that a Tik Tok reference?" 

She stifled a giggle as she shook her head, "No. But you're getting there!" 

"You make me feel so old," Jake sighed. He thought he was doing so well, until Venus informed him that Instagram reels were just Tik Tok videos shown two weeks later. 

She pressed a kiss to his cheek, "So you think you have a shot at it? The position?" 

Before meeting her, Jake would have scoffed at the suggestion he wouldn't get something. He knows who he is, what he's capable of. 

But he doesn't want to let her down. To disappoint her. They both know what this position would entail; permanence. Not having to be deployed on missions. Not having to be away from her for months at a time. The ability to settle down with her. 

"I think so. Cyclone says I have the track record to prove I know the material and I now have the temperance to show I can teach it well." 

She grinned, "that's the most polite way to say you're no longer a cocky asshole." 

Jake wiggled his eyebrows, eliciting another soft giggle from her. 

"Are you sure you're okay with this? If you get the position?" She asked, biting her bottom lip in an attempt to hide her nerves. 

When Jake first brought up the idea of applying to the instructor position, she thought he was joking. Why would someone give up the chance to travel around the world, playing the role of a real life superhero? 

But then he kept bringing it up, announcing he was going to apply. When questioned, Jake said it was simple.

"Getting that job means I get to stay here, with you." 

That's what he said then and it's what he said now. 

"Besides," he added, "the chances of me becoming an ace are low. I'm more than happy to be the only one with two confirmed kills in my generation." 

Venus' eyes narrowed at him and without breaking eye contact, she pressed a button on the Jukebox. 

The notes of Queen's I Want to Break Free filled the Hard Deck, which was followed by the sounds of the squad clapping and thanking Venus. 

"Babe!" Jake nearly whined, putting his hand on his heart, "Really?!" 

"Oh please, you absolutely deserve that." Venus stated before walking towards the bar. 

Jake all but ran after her, grabbing her closest hand. 

"So is now a bad time to tell you that today I parked within the lines?" 

Venus stopped, her eyes slowly turning towards her fiancé, "Both lines?" 

Jake nodded, a proud, albeit cocky smirk adorning his face. 

She took a step forward, her face now inches apart from Jake's. 

"You know," her voice was low, "If you want me to fuck you, you can just ask." 

Jake visibly gulped, the smirk fading as heat rushed to his face, "I mean I, uh, I always want you to-" 

"Did you take a picture of it? Your parking job?" She rested her chin on Jake's head, wrapping her arms around his waist. To others, the gesture was very sweet. 

But Jake could see the desire in her eyes and it was making his knees weak. 

"It's um, how I parked outside of here-" 

"I want to see it. And then I want to go home and fuck you," with that, she was walking towards the door, her fingers hooking themselves around one of Jake's belt loops to ensure he followed. 

Not that he needed encouragement, he was already trailing right behind her. 

[jpnriikicore]

── jolene, jolene

paring colby brock x fem!musican!reader, word count 574, genre angst, ( masterlist )

your coming back from the dance studio after hours of choreographing a new choreography for the bands comeback. as you walks into the trap house sam and corey gave you a weird look. that’s odd. you knew prank wars was going on between the members of the house. so, you didn’t think too much into it. maybe one of them locked you out of colby’s room. hell, maybe they pranked colby.

once getting close enough to colby’s room you hears a female voice inside. you puts your ear on the door to listen better. the females voice is was very familiar, but you couldn’t understand what they was saying the voices were muffled. most likely he was just talking to one of his friends on speaker phone. you opened colby’s bedroom door to only see a fucking nightmare. the familiar redheaded was jolene meadows one of five members who is in the girl band your apart of. she is extremely too close to her boyfriend for your liking. his shirt and her yellow sundress tousled on the floor. both their hair is disheveled. flustered. both of them are flustered. your eyes dart back and forth between the two. your heart fucking drops in realization.

"i’ll be moved out by today." you spoke cold heartedly, shutting the door behind you.

you had to be in a nightmare. a very realistic nightmare. really, jolene? you should have saw it coming. they make a good couple really. you just wished he had the manners to tell you he doesn’t love you anymore and wanted to see other people. just spare you and not waste your time any longer. wasted years for absolutely nothing. jolene acted like a friend for years. who knows how long this has been on? was you mad? no. was you disappointed? yes, because you wasted so much on him. the person you believe you was going to end up with. you spent countless of nights talking about marriage and kids with him. apparently, words mean nothing.

you hope that it was worth it. you wished them the best of luck even if they wasn’t dating you hope that they continue to live their best lives.

you continued to walk out of the trap house. you heard them yelling, but you ignored them. your mind racing more than it ever has. tears slowly started to form, but you refused to let your feelings get the best of you. you unlock and start to open your car door, but he was quicker. he shut the door and blocked your way to get into the car.

"it’s a prank."

you roll your eyes and scoff in disbelief. how stupid did he think you was? "yeah, sure." you glance over at jolene, who was now fully dressed and holding a camera.

"y/n, it’s a prank." you look into his eyes. his eyes don’t lie. well, not to you anyways. you’ve spent way to many hours learning how to read him like a book. his blue eyes were sucking you back in.

"no bullshit?"

"no bullshit."

you bend down with a hand on your heart. "holy shit, i thought i was losing the love of my life and one of my bests friends all at once."

"I’m sorry, I’m sorry." he apologized, as he engulfed you in a hug. he pressed a kiss on the top of your head.

"you better be." you mumbled into his chest.

© JPNRIIKICORE, 2023

[mxstly-melancholy]

a TON of random SFW William hcs! ✮⋆˙

William is actually really good at playing guitar. I mean, Spring Bonnie plays a banjo so- it only makes sense he’s super good at both!!

Speaking of Spring Bonnie- he has an attachment to the suit because he feels better being hidden from everyone. He never has to worry about people looking at him when he’s Spring Bonnie.

On his days off I imagine he just likes to sit down and have a few beers, maybe a couple cigars… watch a movie, read a book, play guitar..

He doesn’t really like looking in the mirror :( not because he doesn’t like himself, but because he’ll get too fixated on “I’m getting older and time isn’t slowing down.”

He has adhd, and really bad fixation problems. He will not eat, drink or even think of himself for a whole day until he is done working on an animatronic, and suddenly - “oh fuck I’m starving, I’m really thirsty and I need to pee.”

Him & Henry have a lot of inside jokes- and employees look at them like they’re crazy when they say them- and laugh super hard together.

William loves dressing really nice. He loves suits, button ups, bows and ties. He loves super sleek black shoes as well. It makes him feel good about himself.

Other than purple, his favorite colors are yellow, pink, and baby blue.

His parents always kind of left him to do whatever he wanted. They were kind of weirded out by him- his behavior was “crazy,” but only because he was an undiagnosed neurodivergent child.

Because of that he has a hard time letting anyone in, he’s very shielded off from anyone but his partner and Henry.

He doesn’t think he’s husband material. At all. From his perspective, he’s awkward, weird & not the nicest person- so why would anyone want to be with him?

When he got his first animatronic up and running- he has never been happy like that day ever since. He was so proud of himself.

He got into making animatronics on accident when he was younger. I’d say about 23-25.

he was drawing one day, then suddenly it turned into a blueprint of Spring Bonnie. The ideas kept popping up-

He read so many books about machines, computers, everything and anything he could find about electronics, and the ideas kept coming.

He finally decided one day to go for it and he started tinkering with wires & plastic, molding and shaping clay and making casts of everything, and before he knew it- he had a whole animatronic.

He tore it down after some time and kept the information stored in his back pocket for later.

Growing up he didn’t have many friends. He spent most of his time just people watching.

When he was in elementary school- kids used to pick on him for his height. He was always so tall- standing out from everyone else. He hated it.

He got suspended from college once after some guy called him a loser, William didn’t like that. The guys head ended up being smashed into a table a few times.

As he gets older, his anger isn’t so strong anymore. Slightly thankful of that fact, he takes advantage of it to go do more things that usually would just piss him off.

He’s farsighted. It’s hard to see things up close. He really only uses his glasses when working on projects/reading.

He really loves music from the 70s/80s- and really only listens to that.

He faces towards the water in the shower.

He loves collecting vinyls & cassettes.

William only sleeps in his boxers. He can’t have anything else on or else he won’t be able to fall asleep.

It doesn’t matter how cold he is- he has to only be wearing his boxers.

Speaking of sleeping-

He can only fall asleep lying on his side.

He sleep talks here and there.

He tosses and turns a lot.

Unfortunately, he has a lot of nightmares too,

Often waking up in the middle of the night sweaty from them.

He has to have complete dark and silence in order to sleep, too.

His mind is constantly running and going- it’s the only way he’ll be able to shut it down.

He has a horrible, horrible sweet tooth.

I mean, constantly he just wants to eat sweets

He has had so many cavities.

He fucking hates the dentist but he goes anyways.

William exudes a LOT of confidence- but deep deep down he doesn’t feel confident.

He doesn’t - and has never really felt true empathy.

He KNOWS he should feel bad for certain people or things-

But there’s just a disconnect, and he doesn’t feel it.

Please let this man just info-dump on you about his little robot characters.

That’s all I got in me right now. :’) ik there’s more - I’ll probably make a pt2 at some point!

[spacelazarwolf]

"Note: If you're sensitive, or prone to nightmares, it might be best for you to skip the next section.

Ernest Armstead, emergency medical specialist:

I think of her as the living dead. I talked to the living dead. And I lied to the living dead. I told her to hang on, that help was coming. But I pronounced her dead in my mind. And she knew that. I put a black tag with a small white cross around her neck. And as best she could, she gave me hell for it. The psychiatrists and those from the post-trauma team say it is good for me to talk about her and the rest of that day. They say it is the only way I will come to terms with what happened and finally free my mind of her. So here I am talking to you.

This lady was among a half-dozen people I saw who probably fell a thousand feet or so when American Airlines Flight 11 crashed into the World Trade Center. I am not sure how she got on the plaza. Maybe she was on her way to Los Angeles and was ejected from the jet by the force of the collision. Or maybe she was an office worker in the tower sitting near one of the windows and she was swept away when the building caved around her. Or maybe she was trapped and jumped to escape the flames, though I don't think so. I happened upon her even before most of those people were seen jumping.

She was an elegant lady. About my age, early fifties. I could see that even with all that she had been through. I could tell that she had her hair done up very nicely. Brunette. She had on tasteful earrings. She was wearing pretty makeup. And in my profession you notice clothes because so often you have to cut them into pieces to save lives. That was the first thing that came to mind: This lady is well dressed....

Triage is the first thing that should be done at a disaster like this. It basically means dividing the injured into four categories so that backup medical teams can move quickly in and give treatment to those who need it most urgently. The categories are indicated by colored tags that are hung around the injured person's neck. Green is the least serious. Yellow more so. Red indicates critical injuries. And black means the person is dead or close to it. When you're engaged in triage, you have one thing in the back of your mind all of the time, My backup is coming. My backup is coming. That's the reason you can tag people who obviously need help and not stop and give it to them right then. You know you need to get everyone tagged, and you know that someone with a medical bag is coming right behind you.

That certainly is what I was thinking when I met the lady in the plaza, the big open space between the two towers that had a fountain ad a round sculpture in the middle. I had finished tagging everyone from the stairwells, when I turned to face the plaza. I had not noticed the people there on my way upstairs because I was in such a hurry and there was such a crowd of firefighters blocking my view out the window. But now I saw something that was so horrific that I am glad I missed it the first time around. When the plane hit, an incredible amount of debris from the collision rained down on the plaza. Most of it was chunks of airplane and building that had little meaning to me. But amid the destruction, there were a half dozen or so people, I ran toward them, my triage tags in hand. There was a man having a seizure and his eyes were rolling into the back of his head. He had struck the pavement so hard that there was virtually nothing else left of him. There were a couple others that I never got to, but I could see from a short distance that they were dead. And then there was the lady with the nice hairdo and earrings.

When I got to her, I ripped out a black tag. What impressed me -- and scared me -- was that she was alert and was watching what I was doing. I put the tag around her neck and she looked at me and said, "I am not dead. Call my daughter. I am not dead." I was so startled that for a split second I was speechless. "Ma'am," I said, "don't worry about it. We will be right back to you." That was a lie. She couldn't see what I could see. Somehow, I guess it was an air draft or something, her fall had been cushioned enough so that she didn't splatter like the others. Still her body was so twisted and torn apart that I could only ask myself, Why is this lady still alive and talking to me? How can this be? Her right lung, shoulder and head were intact, but from the diaphragm down she was unrecognizable. Yet she was lucid enough that she continued to argue with me. "I am not dead," she insisted again. I am convinced she had some medical training because she knew I had given her the black mark of death. And she resented it. "Don't worry about what I put around your neck," I told her. "My coworkers are coming right now. They're going to take care of you."

I knew I had to keep going, but she had so deeply shaken me that I lingered for a second or two. Then I stepped over her to get to the others. I put a black tag on the man having the seizure. But another wave of casualties arrived in the lobby from upstairs, so I needed to return. As I headed back, I stepped over the lady one more time. And as eerie and unsettling as our first encounter had been, the second was even worse. She started yelling at me.

"I am not dead! I am not dead!"

"They're coming, they're coming," I replied without stopping.

"I am not dead! I am not dead!"

I went back to the lobby, putting her out of my mind for now. There was so much that needed to be done. I began tagging the hundreds of people coming out of the building....

I can honestly say that I didn't fear death, though I walked for hours in a wretched place I can only describe with a biblical reference -- "the valley of the shadow of death." I felt death, I heard it, I saw it and I smelled it. And with that lady in the plaza, I even talked to it."

(x)

[yunoclips]

Sub!Jaehyun HC's

Jaehyun is a little complex. While he enjoys being a submissive person he likes to challenge you.

He has this image of masculinity in his mind so he tries to keep some parts of it in the bed room. He loves when he's talked down into his submission. Rather than just easily just complying.

He likes to be degraded. Call him filthy names. Call him a loser, a freak, a weirdo, a perv. He loves it.

Enjoys when you ignore him. Use your phone while he's fucking into you and he gets really frustrated. Now he's on a mission to get you to pay attention and of course it doesn't work but he ends up making himself cum super hard.

Likes to be choked hard to the point he's gasping for air.

When he tops he likes to be slapped around. Loves when you put him in his place.

When you ride him he likes feeling absolutely exposed. Strip him completely naked and leave most of your clothes on.

He doesn't like to be pegged that much. He tried once, you gave it to him fast and hard , so hard that clear liquid started squirting out of him. He felt embarrassed after , from that day on he just never enjoyed it that much.

Wants you to mark his body. When he tops he wants nail marks running down his back. He wants his soft cheeks to be turned red from all the slapping. Dark red hickeys with touches of yellow from bruising lining his neck. He truly does love it rough

When he's stressed he wants you to give him head till he passes out. It clears his mind.

Lights must be completely off. A couple of candles lit as well. He's pretty high maintenance.

He's dabbled into exhibition but he isn't a big fan. You two were in a dressing room and one thing led to another. You were riding him on one of the benches inside and a worker just so happened to knock on the door due to the noise. He got completely turned off and was on the verge of a mini panic attack. Walking out of the dressing room was a nightmare.

His relationship is really grounded by trust. He wants to be able to tell you everything he yearns for and in return you tell him the same.

He has a thing with feet.

Has a really good Neo soul / R&B playlist that he uses every time.

His moans start off really low. Almost like a deep husky growl. When he gets close though , it switches from silent choking to high pitched crying.

Enjoys having sex while being high. It makes him feel light weight.

Really likes when you smoke while on top and shotgun into his mouth.

When he's in headspace he needs a lot of reassurance.

He comes really hard when you sit him in front of a mirror and jerk him off while playing with his nipples. He thinks he has a great body and an even better face so watching it turns him on.

Likes to be held down with restraints.

His safe word is just a simple : red.

When everything is over you need to cuddle with him for a while. Just so he can be assured that nothing you said during the act was true.

One time after a really intense scene , he went non verbal and you didn't notice. So you got up and went to the bathroom to quickly grab a cloth but when you came back he had fell into subdrop. He was curled in a ball , shaking and crying. It took you 10 minutes to coax him out of it. You felt horrible.

Jerks off quiet often. Either using a fleshlight or his hand.

He doesn't like using a lot of lube. The friction feels really good for him.

Prefers to listen to NSFW audios rather than actually watching porn.

When he's feeling extra lazy he pulls out a small bullet vibrator and places it on his tip. He cums in seconds.

When he's in public he gets a thrill out of acting like he runs things between the two of you. Nobody knows that when its just you two between 4 walls, he's on his knees shaking and crying like a little bitch begging for you to fuck his brains out.

[fullofgutsndopamine]

climbing towards the sun (you fill my lungs)

or: the wedding singer au

TW/ drinking (to excess), cursing, corny, ambiguous ending (but happy ending), hasan is in a band, banter, talk of drinking (liquid confidence), hasan is an idiot

more hasan here

requests open

“and that was hips don’t lie, which is, oddly enough, the grooms favorite song.”

a single cheer is heard in the back. the groom, drunk, holds up a half empty beer bottle that sloshes over the side onto his stained tuxedo.

“that was a joke,” the singer continues, “for the other half of you.”

even far away, with the lights that are half off (and at this point, you doubt its ambience and more the shoddy electric bill wasn’t paid at this place) as the chandelier swings: left, right, left, right-a hail mary it doesn’t fall on anyone and this isn’t known as a wedding and a funeral- it’s easy to see him.

the singer looks nervous. holds onto the microphone stand with shaky hands stained yellow from nicotine you can see halfway across the floor. the stand is an obvious life boat for him; leaves sweaty handprints on it after his hand is moved (how his hands keep going to his eyes, as if he’s pushing an imaginary pair of glasses up his face, even though he wears none currently)

“anyways uh-“ his eyes dart around, like he’s waiting for something to take him out, “this will be our last song before the food-“

more cheers. more than he’s gotten the entire set erupts.

“Anyways, this is my favorite song so-enjoy.” he takes a step back from the microphone, strums, steps back: “or not.”

no one’s on the dance floor. people linger on the outskirts of it, like they’re waiting to be pushed in, a drunken bet, but no one takes the plunge.

“jesus.” you snort across the floor. Annie, your best friend is at your elbow, “at this point we should just pull the plug. this has to be abuse at this point.”

annie snorts over the rim of her cup: “i don’t know,” she shrugs, her finger traces over the rim of a lipstick stained cup, “i think it’s kind of cute, how nervous he is.”

you fake gag, an eye roll: “it was cute for maybe the first song. And then he fucked up the words to California Girls and frankly, i can’t forgive that.”

“Oh please,” Annie snorts, “this is like your fourth grade recital-“

“one, two-“

the drums hit immediately after and he begins, his lips pressed hard against the microphone, eyes shut in an attempt to forget this place:

“wouldn’t it be nice if we were older-“

“shut the fuck up,” you gasp, “did you tell him to play this?!”

“it’s a wedding,” she rolls her eyes, “he was like, contractually obligated to play this at some point-“

“hold my drink.”

“No!” annie protests, looks at the empty floor, “we can’t do-“

you don’t listen. instead, the cup is pushed into her chest and the dress is held up in your fist, a hand raised above your head as you ignore a vacant floor.

“Maybe if we think and wish and hope and pray-“

finally nearing the end of the song, the end of this nightmare, where he can leave, he pops open one eye. he’s grateful he went without his glasses; seeing the world fuzzy and blurry around the edges makes it harder to make people out, don’t really exist to him

except for a second. one person exists. middle of the dance floor, not caring how empty it is-

suddenly, he’s not rushing through the words. they have to be perfect, have to be right, just for-

the song ends too quick. the bride comes on stage. a hand on hasan’s shoulder as she thanks them, slurring, half heartedly-hasan doesn’t care, has to get off the stage-

“Will.”

he jumps. his bow tie is undone around his neck and his hair is sweaty as it stands up in the back:

“dude-“ will begins but hasan cuts him off, his hand still on his shoulder-

“the person on the floor. during the last song?” he drops his voice, licks his lips, “were they hot? do i have a chance?”

he rolls his eyes: “isn’t the first rule of being a wedding singer to not fall for wedding guests?”

“it’s a yes or no, dick.”

will fumbles with his blazer, pulls hasans pair of glasses out from the breast pocket:

“go get them.”

the only good part of being a wedding singer is the free alcohol. after two shots the world spins loosely but he feels semi confident, plays with the sides of his glasses in his hand as he, half blind, tries to find the only face he wants in the crowd.

you aren’t hard to spot, to your own credit. the bridesmaids dresses are a sin, some tacky orange color that couldn’t be saved no matter what, and your hair, frizzy from dancing and the humidity of bodies around you doesn’t help.

hasan takes the final gulp of liquid confidence and, hands still nervously on his glasses, too afraid to shove them on his face, makes his way to you before he does something dumb, like come to his senses

“No,” Annie argues with you, “because having a Pitbull song would be dumb-“

“excuse you,” you snort, “that’s mister worldwide, to you-“

“oh fuck off-“

“hey.”

hasan gets the word out before he can stop himself. wishes he came up with something smarter, something that would make him stand out to you as much as you did to him-

“hey,” he tries again, “figured i’d meet my number one fan.”

you laugh and hasan has to stop himself from thinking how he’d never get sick of hearing that for the rest of his life-

this close, it’s easier to see him. see past the nicotine stained skin and the nervous ticks-replaced by a constellation of freckles you want to memorize, a mop of unruly curly hair

you hope your voice doesn’t come out as nervous as it feels.

“it was sad to see you crashing and burning out there, is all.”

he snorts: “and you waited until the last song to save me?”

“i was going to sooner but you fucked up California Girls and i don’t think i can forgive you for that.”

“yeah?” he giggles, a step closer to you and you can practically feel his body heat on you: “well, i think i can make up for that.”

“is it a public apology?”

“i was thinking more like a dance,” he says, “and an encore of your song.”

his hands still play with his glasses and even though it feels more vulnerable than you’d like, seeing him like this, so nervous, you’re ready for his before you can stop yourself.

“here.”

you open the glasses up, watch as his shoulders slump in an effort to not tower over you, letting you push the oversized glasses up his face.

you give him a second to adjust. pushes his glasses further up his face, looks up-

“better?”

you’re more beautiful than he thought. far out of his league, more scary without the blur around the edges-

“much.” he says, “so that dance?”

his hand wraps around yours before you can even get the yes out.

[seneon]

月光 ݁ ˖ MOONLIGHT ── CHAPTER ONE. THE CRUEL AND LONELY AFTERMATH OF A GREAT WAR BETWEEN NATIONS.

CONTENTS. warnings of dead bodies, slight gore (slicing through the skin), suicide of an enemy party. wc of a thousand.

moonlight series masterlist ₊ 𓂃 chapter two

𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊, night-time, right after the evening where the golden hour turns into dusk. the sun has set completely, allowing the moon to rise and take up on its duty for the rest of the night. it was only a few hours ago that humanity officially ended a war between nations. chaos ceased right then with only one victor left standing.

Y/N, nobody but a mere girl who was turned and twisted to be in the war not by choice, but by the lack of freewill. nobody but a daughter of a swordsmith. nobody but a daughter of a lady who sells potatoes and sometimes mooncakes during mid-autumn festival by the streets to make a living. you are nobody... but a doll of the battlefield, simply selected by some soldiers to be made into a weapon on the rough battlefield.

woe to you who survived through the hellish nightmare of watching your comrades get their chest pierced by spears. woe to you who survived the cuts all across your limbs by the blades of the other innocent souls, also forced to be on the battlefield. woe to you who was the only living being standing amongst puddles and mountains of corpses. and woe to you, for you had to lay a finger on your last standing enemy who eventually unalived himself for the sake of surrendering.

you still remembered the scene of the man standing in front of you, crying his eyes out and begging you to kill him. as the last person standing, shouldn't there already be some sort of peace? you didn't know why but before you could even say anything but to touch his shoulders, he used his blade and run it across the skin of his throat, allowing the substance you despised so much to swiftly flow out.

now venturing on your own after leaving thousands of corpses behind, you walked and walked and walked through forests, meadows, riverbanks, and eventually your journey halted as you stepped forth into a huge mountain.

you unsheathed your sword, pointing it at the direction where you sensed a presence lurking around. "who are you?!" you exclaimed at the person, a man with half a yellow and black hair. he possessed such blank golden honey eyes, almost as if you could drown in the dew, consumed by the sweetest of emptiness.

something about him doesn't feel right though. he is man, but he feels something more than man. something closer to a divine being that harbours magical abilities. why would a man be in the middle of a huge mountain anyways? why is the man dressed in such fine clothing and is alone in a mountain? is he a nobleman to be clothed such a way? what intrigues you the most is the two line that runs from his eyes down to his cheeks.

the grip on your sword tightens, ready to offense and defense for anything that might happen.

"what may a mighty warrior such as you be doing here?" he finally spoke, furrowing his eyebrows. the man spoke with authority, as if you aren't supposed to even step foot in this mountain. his honey eyes scanned all over your body, taking notes that you obtained cuts, stabs, and hurts all around. "you are injured. physically and mentally. perhaps you seek solace in this mountain. that is why you are here."

this man had read you like a book. the grip on your hilt tightened even more, before it loosens and you drop your arm. your eyes slowly dropping to the ground too. "you're not human. what are you?"

"the god of this mountain. rayne ames. i know the very inner being of any living creature that sets foot in my mountain," the mountain god said as he lifted his hands up and a group of fallen petals arise and danced along the wind. rayne spun his hands in a circular motion, the wind following to dance around you. then, the flowers slowly and beautifully flow down all around you. "everything of this mountain belongs to me."

as he uttered those words, a petal fell right at the palm of your hands. you gently held your hand out. even though it has fallen from its origins, it remains as beautiful and fresh as it first blossomed, unscathed even. the petal then jumped right out of your palm and flew away along the wind.

"if everything in this mountain belongs to you, may i... stay here and be one of yours..?"

rayne ames' eyes widened just in the slightest way, before it shuts, locking away the sweet honey dew. "i refuse. descend the mountain and return to your people."

"but i have no people!" you shouted. "i thought you knew that, stupid god..." that came out as a whisper, merely decipherable to one.

as much as rayne feels so much sympathy for the hurt, he cannot allow a human to live in the mountains with him. it is simply impossible. but your words strike him in a way that he couldn't quite understand. the words ‘i have no people’ reminded him so much of himself. just like how he is a mountain god and always alone.

"what is your name?" rayne asks, letting out a sigh.

"y/n."

"y/n, you may stay," he turns around and walks away. "but if you spill poison in the soil and roots of this mountain, i will cast you out." relief embraced you as worry left you when his words filled your ears. "you are now mine, y/n."

you are his, rayne ames the god of this mountain. the moment you spoke to him, the moon has already sent the stars to form a fate between the two of you. moonlight belonged to a mountain god who accepted a human girl and a mighty warrior who seek solace in the haven of a divine being.

NOTES. omg what an exciting fic!!! jokes anyways happy valentine's day! this series will be updated every day 🖤

TAGS ݁ ˖ @kyoghurts @anqelically @caelivir @bbladie @ansbobcar @rjasmin2021 @lunareclipses-moments

© SENEON￤MOONLIGHT 2024. do not alter or repost.

[childish-dreams-utmv]

"Childish Dreams" [INTERACTIVE]

Fanfic summary:

"Night!" the child stumbled a little, running towards him with hands outstretched. "Are you okay?!" he exclaimed in worry. Oh, fate. It was about time you presented him with such a sweet opportunity. — Dream, somehow, got turned into a kid. Nightmare takes advantage of the opportunity.

Chapter 1, 1776 words

Credits, content warnings and further information on ao3.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61963975

—

"No no no, you're gonna hurt him!"

And just like that, all fighting froze in place.

It was the voice of a child. In the middle of their battle. Killer was frozen with his knife high and ready to stab at Blue, while Dust and Horror took Dream's absence to team against Ink. Nightmare had found no need to intervene, simply standing back and smugly watching the havoc and destruction always rightfully linked to his name.

Because Dream was missing. Because he'd been waiting for Dream to appear, so he could target him personally, as he so frequently did.

Well.

He got what he asked for, in a way.

"Night!" the child stumbled a little, running towards him with hands outstretched. "Are you okay?!" he exclaimed in worry. Not fear, not hatred, not anger, which was normal, those weren't Dream's modus operandi; but not in sadness, not in regret, not in morose conviction.

He could feel it. Worry. For Nightmare. The corrupted King of Negativity. His arch nemesis of decades past.

"DREAM!" Blue yelled, full of alarm. Nightmare watched– Dream wince and slow down, highly emotionally tensed though he hardly showed it. "We told you to STAY. HOME–"

"I'm sorry…" Dream fidgeted, looking down. Guilt. Anxiety. "But you needed help… I can help!" he looked back up, grinning back at Blue. And then he once again looked up to Nightmare, just a few paces away.

'Up' because he was a tiny child. No older than the day of Nightmare's… becoming. His ascension.

Likely not having travelled here from the past, however — his circlet remained as always, but his clothes were different. Nightmare had never seem him dressed like this. They were clearly borrowed. A yellow shirt, an orange zip-up hoodie that was too big on him, light blue trousers. Far from the borderline princely or knightly outfits he would don these days. (Nightmare always dressed far more regal than him, however, of course.)

Everyone on the battlefield was stupefied still.

"Dream," Blue hissed, eye lights frantically flicking around, still braced to parry Killer's stabbing.

"Night, are you okay?" Dream pretended not to hear, eye sockets wide and looking still at him. Was he… caring? No, that was preposterous. It had to be faked, it always had been. Nightmare could only imagine the expression he wore.

"What."

"You're, um," Dream tentatively stepped even closer, reaching out. "There's weird stuff on you…" he muttered.

"How did he even know that's his brother?" Ink wondered aloud, perhaps the only one naturally unperturbed.

"I don't know," Blue stressed, like he carried tension enough for both of them.

"OH because of the crown!" Dream looked back at them, pointing at Nightmare's head. Or, rather, his circlet.

Still reeling, Nightmare raised a hand halfway as if intenting to… take it off or something. He still wore it, because he was a King. And it pleasantly dirtied Dream's name — everyone should know whose brother was sowing suffering throughout the Multiverse.

"It's okay!" Dream turned back to him, smiling like sunshine. It occurred to Nightmare he'd hardly seen his grins that… radiant for a while now. Always marred by hidden tiredness, indicative of Nightmare's own building strength. Those shadows lingered now too, though. That was another difference to their youth. "We can, um… I'm sure it can wash off!" the child, what, reassured him?

What the hell was going on?

"What is this?!" Nightmare's expression turned to a glower, pinned on Blue (as Ink would hardly care).

Blue cringed, and sensing his emotions wasn't even needed to see the discomfort and panic he was experiencing. Killer still held a knife above him, though all of Nightmare's gang had also stopped to watch… whatever this was.

"Ink," Blue hissed.

"Huh?" Ink turned to him, one of his eye lights turning to a question mark.

Blue made a few frantic expressions, nodding at Dream with something implied to it. Even Nightmare halfway got the meaning, akin to 'Do something about this!', which was more than what could be said for Ink. Killer chortled.

Nightmare looked back down to the child. Contemplative.

Oh, fate. It was about time you presented him with such a sweet opportunity.

"Oh," a conniving grin slowly curled over his face, "how the mighty have fallen," one of his tentacles shot forward and grabbed Dream off the ground, who let out a small sound. Nightmare expected him to immediately start wailing at the burning touch like the crybaby he was, but to his surprise, Dream only looked strained, hands latching onto the tentacle desperately.

"NO!" Blue screamed, using Killer's pause to shove him away and shoot towards them. Killer recuperated, barking a laugh as he fired a blaster at his back within the next second and combat was re-engaged.

That didn't matter, because all Nightmare needed was a moment to disappear into the shadows and drag his catch alongside him.

Within the following moment, he was back in his castle, expansive and regal and dark as always. (No, it was not 'goth' or 'edgy' or 'emo' dammit–)

Dream still clutched in his tentacle. Nightmare was larger than a standard Sans, corruption looming and distorted; but even then, Dream currently barely reached above someone's lowest ribs in height.

"Um, Night," he whispered, strained, sweating, "does this black… goop stuff hurt you–?" he asked, eye lights flicking to Nightmare's face.

He barked an unkind laugh.

"Here, let me fix that for you," he said condescendingly, letting Dream drop straight down. It wasn't a long fall to the dark stone floor, but he yelped in surprise and then let out a pained noise with his landing.

The child pushed himself up with some difficulty, traces of harm where Nightmare's liquid negativity had connected with bone.

One by one, Nightmare's recruits began appearing in the common room as well, having dutifully followed him in their tactical retreat. He watched them look at the child in different ways.

Killer seemed to find it bafflingly hilarious. Dust carried a small, flat frown. Horror was outright glowering, minorly conflicted. All of them held notes of confusion.

In the middle of their gathering, Dream looked between everyone. Nightmare could sense… hm, hesitation perhaps. He was unsure of himself.

It was… odd, to sense his aura, because Dream had learned to block him out of it decades ago.

How fun.

"Hello!" Dream smiled past it, and waved at Nightmare's gang. Dust's brow ridges raised. Killer's grin widened. Horror frowned deeper. "I'm Dream! Are– are you my brother's friends?" he asked cheerfully.

Killer started laughing.

"No," Horror grunted, and promptly got elbowed by Dust with a certain look. Perhaps he considered pretending to be just that so as to not freak the kid out.

"Oh," Dream said, smiling in a way that betrayed absolutely none of the disappointment and anxiety Nightmare sensed in him. Curious. "Do you want to be friends?" he exclaimed.

Dust kept it hidden while Horror didn't bother, but both of them felt uncomfortable. Dust's hand raised to habitually hold the scarf around his neck, pulling it up. Killer was still cackling.

"Enough of that," Nightmare turned to him flatly.

"Sorry, sorry boss," Killer chortled, "but wow, am I right? So what's the plan?"

Ah, that was indeed the question.

Hm. Clearly, Dream had no idea he was corrupted. He also hadn't known who the gang were. Nightmare wondered what terrible mishap brought this on. He assumed Blue and Ink had been the one to take care of the child since its occurence, which had to be sometime in the past week or so, as that's how long it had been since Nightmare's latest battle with the other Guardian.

They had tried to keep this hidden from Nightmare. They had failed. Because apparently, Dream was still capable of Multiversal teleportation, a skill he definitely didn't have when they were young. So he'd retained his powers (or at least this one), but was simply returned to a childish state.

Ugh. Then Nightmare couldn't needle him for information.

But Dream was vulnerable like this. And Nightmare held so much old, bitter malice for his "brother".

Once again, he grinned.

"Dream," he began, the tips of his tendrils idly flicking, "would you like to play a game?"

"Yeah!"

—

The "game" went like this:

Order his gang to clean out a bedroom, dark and cold like every unoccupied room around here. Put Dream inside the room. Tell him nothing. Lock the door. Walk away.

How fun.

Said gang trailed after him at a distance. Killer was mostly curious, then slightly disappointed when that's all Nightmare did. Dust and Horror were both uncomfortable.

"Are you just– going to leave him there?" Horror pushed Killer aside to be the one following after Nightmare the closest.

"Yes," Nightmare said easily.

"But he's a kid!" Horror growled.

"And my arch nemesis, correct."

"The hell is a child going to do to you?!"

Nightmare stopped in his stride, and his gang wisely followed suit, stumbling to a halt a few paces behind him. He sighed, slowly turning to give Horror a flat look.

"You'd be wise leaving the decision-making to me." Nightmare spoke low.

Horror was puffed up in anger, hands clenched. He glared back at Nightmare.

Ah, always a more difficult one. He didn't keep quiet the way Dust did, though at least he didn't intentionally annoy to bring himself trouble the way Killer did.

Nigtmare exhaled through his nose.

"He'll be finee," he dismissed with a wave of his hand. "He's spoken to enough people for a lifetime, he won't crumble to dust if he doesn't get attention for five minutes,"

Horror bristled further. Behind him, Killer continued to watch in unaffected interest. Dust seemed to be disapproving of Nightmare's decisions at well.

Hm.

Nightmare rolled his eye.

"He will be fed come nightfall," he said in annoyance. Contrary to what many believed, he wasn't a despicable leader to those directly under him. After all, he'd offered them all something in return should they work for him, rather than simply forcing the issue. And he remained true to those deals.

(And, of course, he didn't actually want Dream to die.

This was just some… payback, if you will. A harmful little fantasy. It was about time Dream saw what it's like to be cast out and at somebody else's mercy.)

"Happy?" Nightmare raised an eyebrow.

Horror didn't reply, but he turned around, shoving Killer and Dust aside to storm off. Those two looked at his retreating back, then at Nightmare, then shared a glance.

"Dismissed." Nightmare told them flatly. They scurried off after Horror. He turned back to continue on his way. He had things to contemplate.

—

[sirwadewilsonfromimgur]

Deadpool and Wolverine: KCAU

Christmas Special

Part 5

The Christmas party

Authous note: This story is organized into scenes. It's a party with lots of interactions. I'm sorry for cutting the Father Kurt scene. This may be a bonus later, but it's February, and I'm still doing Christmas shit. Shout-out to @nuggetpool-hi for translation work and @icarusredwings for Workshoping these scenes with me.

Our scene actually opens up in the far flung future... Logan and Wade haven't aged a day since July 2024, though. A cabin in the deep woods nestled in a valley between gigantic mountains... Wade is holding a photo album and a baby girl.

Ok Gabby, Grampa is going to tell you a christmas story, but this one is about your Uncle James.... he was a good boy. Well behaved, and I loved him. Just like I love you... he was a doctor, he saved lives... he wasn't like me or your gump-pa.

but your uncle James did have one family tradition he just couldn't escape... Toxic old man yaoi. Yup, he was doomed by the narrative to be nothing like his parents and exactly like his parents... flipping open the album he turns to a page. James and Greg are standing with Ellie and Mary puppens in front of a large christmas tree decorated with ornaments and lights of various shades of Yellow, Black, Blue and Red. On top was a golden inverted star that had the words "Hail Santa" emblazoned on it. The little girl coos as Wade carefully shows her the picture and our story opens up on the Christmas eve of 2065.

Christmas eve was a buisy occasion and Wade and Logan were the consummate hosts. Dozens of bottles of Asti were chilling in buckets of ice and Wade had made enough lasagna to feed an army...

The immediate challenge for James was getting Greg through cocktail hour without him stirring up drama for fun.

Laura had decided to play bar tender that night and busied herself at the end of the kitchen counter setting up liquor and glasses.

Ellie was at the door greeting the guest as they came in. James and House were in the living room by the impressively sized christmas tree, martini's in hand.

Logan and wade walked over to Laura to get themselves a drink as well.

-Scene one- (telenovela navidad)

Logan, Wade, Laura, James, House

Papá.. no me gusta como Greg jode a James

OH mi amor, solo son gays, es su manera de coquetear con él

....Acaso soy la única hetero en esta familia?

Sí.

hasta el perro?

Pos si Mary le da a to, bi seguramente

*Laura mira a la perra*

Mary: *ladra en español*

Puta madre ahora soy yo la minoría

Greg hears Laura having her conversation with her dads... not knowing that he spoke Spanish...

I don't think your sister Luara likes me...

She grew up in a desert wasteland and had to fight to survive she doesn't like a lot of people.

Calling Mexico a desert wasteland sounds a little racist.

I wasn't referring to Mexico... Ass! there's a place called the Void. My dad's found her there... dad used to tell me stories. It's a nightmare world in-between all the worlds... it's where they fell in love.

Of course... they fell in love in a nightmare, hell scape.

It's also why they're not allowed within 50 yards of a Honda dealership... at least that's what Grandma told me years ago.

-Scene 2- (Father knows best)

Wade, James, Greg

Once the party had gotten into full swing, Wade had retired to the bedroom only to shortly return in a tight fitting party dress

A strapless red dress it was brocaded with little silver pine trees. A fox stole was draped around his shoulder... James had told Greg who was taken a little by surprise that the fox was cought by Logan. He'd skinned and treated it and presented it to Wade as an anniversary gift a few years back...

P. e.t.a. is on the long list of people whom have personal beef with Wade and Logan.

Wade walks over to them...

How are you and your boyfriend doing over here kitten?

I'm not gay dad! You were at my wedding's

Wow, all three.

Shut up House!

Fine! Your roommate *he says with exaggerated air quotes* anyways! Yes, I remember your weddings. They were very nice... I also remember writing a check for all three divorce attorneys fees.

For the record, you didn't have to do that.

Kitten, I love you, but your taste in women is equally matched by your taste in attorneys. It's just awful... Thank god we keep Jeff on retainer, and since we're on the record. Your dad and I technically aren't gay either. Ya salty, sally! Shame though, because Greg sure is handsome *winks at Greg* I've always liked a man with permanent 5 o'clock shadow and stubble. Forgive me for assuming that the apple hadn't fallen far from the queer tree.

-Scene 3- (House asks a shark a lot of questions)

Greg, Jeff, James, Sam

In the Howlett-Wilson household, parties were pretty informal affairs. Some people showed up early, and some a little late... Father Wagners "Bamf time" always varies from where he started. Cocktail hour (which is usually a couple hours) was how they made up for that, so everyone was at the dinner table at the same time. So it wasn't unexpected when Jeff and his personal assistant and paralegal Sam walked in half an hour after the party started.

<whispering in a gosspy tone>

James what the fuck just walked in!?

James, seeing the old family friend, nonchalantly answered. That's Jeff and Sam. Jeff is the family attorney. I told you he'd be here.

Yeah but he's a fucking shark! You didn't tell me he'd be a shark!

Lots of attorneys are sharks, James said with a chuckle.

Seeing that Greg was still processing things, he remembered that the little section of New Jersey they lived in didn't see a lot of non-humans nor a lot of mutants...

He specifically is a land shark. Jeff and my dad are old friends. Jeff went to Harvard and is an incredibly talented litigater. He once got both my dads off war crimes charges at The Hague. Though his critics would say he won that case entirely by being distractingly cute.

No, I believe you, Wilson... but how is he breathing? I see gills over his little suit jacket.

You could ask him. He's very friendly.

James grabbed House by the hand and introduced the two of them to House.

Hello James. It's good to see you. It's a pleasure to meet your friend Greg. I hope you've been staying out of trouble.... though if not, I've been brushing up on medical malpractice law *chuckles*

The shark spoke through electronic assistance. Below the collar of his suit on his neck was a transponder developed by Parker Industries that translated Jeffs grunts chirps and vocalizations into English. A voice came out of his phone via Bluetooth connection that sounded a little A.I. generated but not as stilted and monotone as the late Steven hawking, not perfectly, but emotion and tone could be expressed.

Sam returned with an extra dirty low tide Martini for Jeff who liked the brine of canned tuna... and some of the tuna as a garnish added to his...

James tells me you're quite the talented attorney.

Well, i like to think so... but being a cute littel shark has been a benefit... i disarm people with my cuteness... then I tear them to shreds on the stands.

Where do you get your suits?

As you can imagine, until they make off the rack clothes in shark sizes, i have to have them custom-made... with the company I keep *he looks over at Wade Luara and Logan* i have connections to several custom Taylor's whom are discreet and talented

Cool, cool.... how do you breathe

Honestly... I don't know...

(and neither does the author... couldn't find any lore, and he didn't feel like making any up in case there is some out there... lazy writing if you ask me.)

Was Harvard law hard for you?

The academic part? No... everything else... Kinda. I'm grateful that I have Sam around. It's hard for me to type things and hold a pen.... or drive a car or other activities that bipedal humans can do regularly...

*looking at sam* do you do everything for him?

That'd be a gross exaggeration... Jeff is completely capable of a lot of things. I merely provide reasonable accommodation for the things he can't do... i'm also a paralegal, so i perform the necessary tasks for his firm, such as legal research, fact-finding and checking, interviewing clients, and helping him in court... as well as less glamorous things like paperwork.

So, do you have a girlfriend? Are you a mutant? You always been a shark? How would it work biologically if you had a girlfriend?

*blushing* I... that's a little personal, don't you think?

It is! <whispering> damn it Greg, you can't just ask people how they fuck...

That's not what i said!

That's not the point... I'm sorry jeff please excuse Greg. He's... he's just very curious... excuse us.

Grabbing Greg by the hand, James walks away from the tiny shark attorney and his friend.

That was weird...

Not really, Sam... not in this house. Honestly, that was mild..... i might find him and answer his questions... I just didn't want to talk about it in front of you and James... don't really want to discuss my intimate stuff in front of my godson, ya know.

That's fair... so I got the vibe they're dating...

Oh, absolutely. Not to gossip about a client, but his dad tells me they're roommates... apparently, everyone knows they're together but them. Poor fools.

<chuckles> Scandalous

-Scen 4- Perfect end to a perfect evening.

Logan, Wade, Greg, James, Morph/Kevin

The party went very well and dinner went smoothly, the gayety of the holiday season and the warm conversation was as close to a perfect Norman Rockwell portrait of holiday biss as you were going tobget in this house. No fighting, no shots fired or hands stabbed... James was nervously waiting for the shoe to drop because even Greg had behaved himself engaging in polite dinner conversation...

They made it the whole night through like this... Logan, Wade, Greg and James were getting ready to call it a night... Greg came with 4 champagne glasses.

One last drink for the night, and a toast to our excellent hosts

James absolutely knew something was going on... but didn't put it together until both of his father's had downed their drinks...

Wait dad don't.... shit...

Merely seconds later Logan spoke.

I feel... Drunk, I'm not supposed to feel drunk... not like this *Logan slurred the last sentence*

Well. Logan, I took your advice. I'm being honest with myself... and I'm doing something nice for James...

I've taken the liberty of making a special cocktail for you... your champagne has a heroic dose of Nembutal and Halcion.

You two are exhausting, and if anything James deserves one christmas without the sound of you two perverts going at it like dogs in heat the night before... and the fighting and the constant rambling, seriously Wade do you ever shut up?

Oh Peeeenut... I like him. He's a keeper Kitten. Wade said sleepily before collapsing on the floor.

Bub I....

Logan didn't get the last words out. He fell face forward on to the ground with a loud almost metallic thud cracking one of the granite tiles below him.

Greg! What the fuck!

Merry Christmas!

By the way how heavy is your dad...

About 600 pounds why?

I may have miscalculated his Dose.

He has a metal skeleton...

That's an interesting mutation... I may have killed him.

Wouldn't be the first time someone has killed him, and the metal skeleton is something the Canadian government did to him...

Jesus I thought those people were supposed to be nice.

For fuck sake after a week with my Canadian parents I'd hoped you'd realize thats a myth by now... you should go they're going to wake up shortly. And it's gonna take me and dad both to keep Papa from stabbing you... he really really doesn't react well to being drugged against his will.

No, they won't... when your dad was drinking with me, I observed that half a bottle of everclear had a mild seditve affect after about a minute from ingestion.

He was drunk?

Yes barely...

And it lasted for about 5 minutes before he expressed having a mild hangover for about 12 minutes, then he was sober. I know we don't work with a lot of patients with hyper metabolism or healing factors, but I have observed it. I was able to calculate that his and your other father's metabolism has an increased factor of about 97... 9 grams of Nembutal is enough to kill a normal human... I gave them 100 grams each between that and the Halcion... they will be asleep until morning...

Well, we better move my dad next to Papa, since you sure as shit can't help me lift him in to bed we're just gonna leave them here on the floor...

why do they have to be next to each other?

They're going to be unhappy as it is when they wake up... they freak out when they don't wake up next to each other... it's a thing...

That thing is called being toxicly codependent and you've spent your life catering to that...

Greg my parents love me.

I'm not saying they don't. Trust me, they clearly love you... but they're also a mess, and you've always gotta fix everything and help people... it's what makes you a great doctor... but it also makes you crazy around those two... because they need sooooo much help. so as soon as we put the hit man husbands in their designated dog pile You and I are going to raid that wine fridge for something expensive and watch Rankin and Bass christmas specials and enjoy a quiet christmas evening.

Later that night, the boys had indeed watched cheesy stop motion christmas specials. They had just finished Rudolf, the red noise reindeer when Morph walked out of the Master bedroom in a red dress.

I have been in there dressed as Jessica Rabbit for two hours. What is taking you two.... OH MY GOD! James what the fuck did you do to your dads!

*Pointing at the piled up mercenaries on the floor*

Damn it... yeah. I'm sorry, Uncle Kevin, but they're out cold for the night... sorry for ruining your christmas...

Well shit... It's ok. We still got the weekend, just won't be as special... I guess I got the big bed to myself tonight.... good night boys...

Uncle Kev... before you go. Is that one of my dad's dresses, or did you bring your own?

Kid... red isn't really my color... Now yellow... he says this as he transforms into a picture-perfect copy of Logan. Yellow is more my style... I'm gonna go occupy myself...

Again, sorry. but before you exact your revenge... I want you to know it's 100% Gregorys fault, he drugged them...

Traitor!

Secen 6 On the Jet

The following morning, cooler heads prevailed... they did not, in fact, cut Gregory into thin ribbons. Logan had actually had the best sleep hed had in probably 20 years... they forgave and chalked it up to normal Howlett-Wilson household shenanigans. Wade actually appreciated how clever the sly doctor was. But as they say. All good things come to an end, and Jame and Greg were soon wisked away to the airport to return home to New Jersey.

Wilson... despite drugging him, your dad Wade handed me this before we left... told me not to open it until we were on the plane...

Well, I'm here, so I doubt it's a bomb.

Greg opens the box and understands why it was so suspiciously heavy. He pulled out a gold brick and a note and showed it to Wilson...

Dad has always been weird with gifts... what's the note say...

It says, "Merry Christmas and welcome to the family, I stole this from Saddam hussein in the 90s. It's yours now.... Wilson... I'm pretty sure this is your dowry

Sure...

James... I actually need to talk to you about something.

The end

[ribbonsweetcreme]

Reviewing and slighty redesigning pjsk movie unit outfits go!!!

Love them! Matching yet unique while keeping up with their school uniform theme, A++.

BEAUTIFUL, FABULOUS!! I’m just glad they have their colors back, probably the best mmj unit outfits ever with their in story idol outfits as the only competition.

Like the clothes, but for Miku’s sake inject some color other than red into it! Did we not learn from 3rd anniversary mmj?!

I just adjusted the colors a bit, again the outfits are nice, it was just the lack of colors. So I did 2 different versions; one that replaces all the red and one that only replaces some of the red

U know the more I look at their designs, the more Rui feels out of place like bro they were going for simplicity and Rui walked in with an outfit that can only be described an animator’s worst nightmare. Tsukasa is fine; Emu and Nene are too with just maybe a thing or two I would personally change.

For Emu, I just didn’t really like how her original top looked, specifically how awkward the sleeves looked with that sorta v-line sorta box-line collar so I said heck it and improvised, I also made part of the pink detail on her top yellow just bc it looked more interesting.

For Nene I made the gems on her headpiece pink to match the ones in her hair and added more lines to her dress for detail, I could have made the pearls on her shoes pink also but I think it’s fine as is.

And finally I took Rui’s pattern privileges away, he had it coming!

A vibe! I’m glad, they made each member’s unique color actually visible and not just airbrushed onto a little accessory, I’m looking at u 3rd anniversary nightcord.

[dawnwriterimagines]

Missing Pieces : Fontaine x f!Reader

Summary: After supposedly returning from a shooting he can't remember, Fontaine's memory seems to be a little jacked as something doesn't feel right. He sits down with Slick Charles, trying to connect the missing pieces in his daily routine, while everyone tries to explain to him that someone's missing...

Warning(s): Violence, Angst, Amnesia, etc.

It was loud, it was close, almost like it was right in front of him.

BANG!

A gun shot rang out.

Fontaine's eyes burst open, he sits up with a startled breath, almost choking on the first gasp he lets out.

Putting a hand against his chest, feeling for the indent of a bullet hole he was sure had gone through him at some point. But there was none, only the raised scars from a few mishaps or scuffles with any dumb motherfucker that used to try him. The ghost of pain was strange, as he shook himself out of his slumber it quickly settled and numbed to nothing. But it wasn't really even a memory, a nightmare?

He'd gotten shot before, never flat out in the chest like he'd felt when he got up. Somehow, he imagined it would've felt differently. But, then again, it was only a nightmare.

Fontaine ran a hand down his face, sighing heavily. The nightmare faded from his mind, he couldn't even remember what it was about, but it had left him shaken.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he seemed to wait for something, looking beside himself to see if anyone were sleeping at his bedside. It was empty, the other side's cover tucked tight.

Brows furrowing at the weird feeling that the morning had already brought for him, Fontaine huffed out a breath and stood, preparing for his day.

He got dressed, throwing on the white sweatshirt and a pair of worn down jeans, as he pulled them on, he caught sight of a silver chain on his dresser, a threaded cross at the end.

Walking over to it, he took it and looked it over, it was unfamiliar to the eye but he could've sworn at some moment he had probably worn it, or he had seen it on somebody else. He pockets it, leaving the room.

Outside, he meets up with his boys, the gang crowding at the corner, waiting on him. On the front yard, Fontaine lays on the lifting bench, putting an ungodly number of rusted plates on the bar before pressing the weight with no assistance.

The two other swole muhfuckas huddle around him hyping him up, throwing insults to goad him to a few more lifts as he nears his next rep, "One more! Weak ass nigga!" Fontaine huffs a puff of air, muscles flexing as he lifts another. "One more!"

"Hey Fontaine!" Junebug yells as he runs over, a Caprisun in his grasp.

Fontaine racks the weight with no problem, sitting up, he looks to the kid as he stops in front of him with a toothy smile, looking around. "Where she at, man?" Junebug asks, suddenly looking disappointed.

Fontaine raised a brow, before standing taking his jacket off the ground, "What you doin' here, Junebug?"

"(Y/n)," the kid says, "Where she at, huh?"

"I ain't got yo' babysitter, lil man." The name sounds familiar for a split second, until it doesn't.

Junebug frowns. "Did you get in a fight again?"

"What the fuck you talkin' bout, Junebug? I dunno no bitch named..." he pauses a minute, catching sight of a car, a 1975 AMC Pacer, a dark yellow color. It was parked up down the block, just behind his Pontiac.

Ignoring Junebug's nonsensical questions, Fontaine turns to Big Moss, who holds a handheld fan to his face, "Yo' nigga, who car is that?" he points to the Pacer.

Big Moss looks over, squinting a bit, "Ain't that yo' honey's, mane?"

"Ma' honey?" Fontaine made a face, clearly the only person lost here. "The fuck you on?"

The rest of the gang around made sour faces, some clearing their throats and turning at the suddenly uncomfortable conversation, attempting to nosily mind their businesses. "Not no mo', I guess," Big Moss says, awkwardly. Clearing his throat, "It's cool mane."

"The fuck--" Fontaine's interrupted.

"You and (y/n) ain't together no mo'?" Junebug looks disheartened. "What you do?"

"Ya'll niggas crazy, I ain't know no bitch named (y/n)--"

"Fonnie..." a gentle whisper in his ear startles him. A woman leans in close to him, he feels her hands drag up the side of his torso and up his chest from behind, hugging him close for just a second...

He turns quick.

His eyes instinctually cut to the yellow Pacer at the corner of the street as he finds no one to blame behind him. "Crazy..." he repeats, maybe about himself.

Fontaine decides to get in his car, driving to the liquor store. He buys a lotto and a routine bottle of Anaconda Malt Liquor. As he unscrews the cap, taking a swig, he hopes for a buzz or a sense clarity that never hits him, maybe it was time for something a little stronger.

He scratches the lotto, and the same outcome taunts him back with a 'You Lose' in bold. Tossing it to the ground, he walks back towards his car, coming up towards Frog, the homeless old man that always had some riddle to say. And he didn't disappoint. "Lovin' n' holdin an' they just takin' n' stealin', ey youngblood?" Frog says, holding up the styrofoam cup as Fontaine pours a good bit of the liquor to his cup.

"Yeah, Frog," Fontaine sighs, used to the nonsensical jabber. "Yeah."

Leaning up against the side of his car, he takes a drink, before reaching into his pocket, pulling out the chain he'd found in his bedroom earlier. He brings it up to look closely, in some way he recognized it, but not enough to recognize it as something he'd worn in the past few days or even months.

As he holds the chain, he notices a smear of red along his finger, rubbing his thumb at the stain on the silver, rubbing off the red. He stares at it on his fingers, he recognizes it to be lipstick, a soft red shade.

Even more confused, he huffs out a breath, but he holds the chain tight in his grip, trying to think of any moment in time that he could've possibly been given it, or anyone that could've left it. He hadn't let anyone in his house in a while, let alone his bedroom, the last woman he had slept with had been...fuck when was the last time he'd gotten laid?

For some reason, he was convinced it wasn't as long ago as he thought.

He gets in his car, driving back towards home.

That's when he catches sight of someone. At the end of the street, a black man in a white sweatshirt limps down the road, his chest stained with red. He's on his knees, curling his arms around someone, dragging the person onto their feet, but they're limp in his grip, dead. A woman, jeans wet with blood and knit sweater falling off her shoulders torn and smeared with red. She's pretty, gorgeous even, from what he can see from here.

The man struggles to stand to his feet with her again, his shoulders shake from the effort or from the angry sobs that wracked through him. Fontaine can see that every movement is agony, he watches as the man hacks up a mouthful of blood. He'd been shot too.

As he hacks up a lungful, the man's eyes flicker up to see Fontaine driving past. They look at one another.

And for a moment, Fontaine sees himself. Literally. His hair, his eyes, his clothes even which he was wearing at this current moment. He forgets he's still pressing on the gas when he loses sight of him.

Fontaine stomps on the brake, stopping the car, he looks to the rearview mirror, quick. When did he start breathing so heavy? It had to just be a coincidence, just a trick of light or of his mind. That can't be him.

Interrupting his thoughts, a black van drives into the area, nearly clipping the Pontiac as it swerves around the corner and towards the couple.

"NO, NO, Nooo! NO!" the man even sounds like him..."Get the fuck away from us! Get the fuck off--! No!" he's cut off by the slamming of the car doors, muffling his screams and driving off quick.

All that's left of them is the red stain against the cement.

As he makes it home, trying his best to forget about the strange event, Fontaine pockets the chain he forgot he was still clutching.

He makes a sandwich, cutting it in half, he walks to his mother's door and knocks, "Mama, you hungry?"

She answers. "Nah, I'm good, baby. Josephine had a fish fry last night, I'm still full."

He walks away from the door, covering the plate for later and making another sandwich. He must've blanked out because next thing he knows he's making two new peanut butter sandwiches, cutting the crusts off one of them absently. Slowly stopping, he places the knife down, confused with himself.

He takes one of the sandwiches, sits down on the couch and turns on the TV. As a poorly filmed commercial starts, he swipes his malt liquor off the table and takes a swig. "--Gon getcha summa dis here limited-time-only Hotbox Spicy Chicken! Cause remember, who needs all these vices when you've got all these herbs and spices--" the narrator continues as folks dance after every bite.

A commercial he's seem about a hundred times, before another came on about perm cream.

Fontaine zoned out, chewing silently on his sandwich, wondering why everything seemed so off today. Who was (y/n)? Did he just imagine seeing himself today? Who's fucking chain was this?!

He tosses the chain across the table, it hits a box of pizza that halts its slide to the floor.

That's when he noticed the pizza box at the table, eyes narrowing as he quickly thought of someone. Slick Charles. "Motherfucka'..." he stands and takes his keys off the hook.

---

"You saw me, what?"

"Die, muhfucka!" Slick Charles repeats with an agitated yell. "I saw you and yo honey!"

This is the second time someone mentioned his 'honey'.

"I'm clearly not dead, nigga, where's my money?"

"There are more pressing issues to discuss here, nigga!" Slick Charles backs away from Fontaine, looking around his chest for bullet holes, anything to declare the man, undead. "Look if you don't believe me, we'll get, Yo-yo! She'll know, she done lef' around the time you came in, alrigh'?!"

Fontaine glared at the pimp, before rolling his eyes and exiting the hotel to make his way to his car, Slick Charles following. For some reason, his mind drifted to earlier that morning, seeing the couple, covered in blood and dying on the street.

Finding Yo-Yo about to sell some ass for a $50, they interrupt the transaction, getting the sassy prostitute in the car, clad in a fur coat and yellow boots, she sneers at them both. "Ya'll owe me, 50!"

Fontaine gets to the point, hushing the woman. "I need to ask you somethin'," he begins. "You seen me?" he asks, tentatively, almost in a whisper. Asking meant admitting to some degree that he thought he was actually dead and had come back. In some way, that would explain his very realistic nightmare.

"Not like that, nigga..."

"Nah, I mean...you seen me?" he questioned again, quieter this time, serious.

"Yes, nigga, I saw you," Yo-Yo admits, truthfully. "And wasn't (y/n) witchu? I ain't seen her, she ight?"

Slick Charles leaned back in his seat, remembering seeing the young woman in the car before the shoot out started. "Aw no," he whispered.

Fontaine glanced back at the pimp, confused and angry. "Who the fuck ya'll talkin' bout, man? Who's (y/n)?!" he hits the steering wheel, tired of the day, and the dumb shit that's been getting to him lately. "What bitch ya'll think I'm fuckin' with, huh!"

"Well ain't she give you that?" Yo-Yo pointed to the chain on his neck. The cross he had tossed and decided to take with him, he had just absently put it on, almost out of instinct.

"You know who's this is?" Fontaine held the cross up to her face.

"Uh, yeah, nigga, what's wrong wit you?" she gives him a distasteful look.

"Who?!"

"(y/n)!"

"You--"

Slick Charles slaps down a polaroid photo on the console divider, "So you tryna tell me, you don't remember her?"

Fontaine looks down, choosing to ignore the change in tone, Slick Charles has his pointer finger in the middle of an unfamiliar photo, he picks it up. The car is dead silent now as he holds it up to his face, luckily he had parked under a street lamp, providing him a little light to see.

Fontaine's eyes widen as he sees her fully for the first time. (Y/N).

They're frozen in time in the photo, in a paused state of a love he couldn't remember. She presses a smooth kiss to the side of his face, he wraps an around around her waist, pulling her into his lap, his expression was softer than normal despite a lack of a smile. But he wasn't looking at his lips, but the way he'd leaned into her, held her close, he'd never done that before, always keeping his distance from any actual relationship that he recalled in his life.

So this was (y/n)?

He felt he would've remembered someone like her. Why didn't he?

"Remember 'er now?" Slick Charles asked.

"I'm gon' need you to tell me what exactly you saw last night," Fontaine's eyes flickered to Yo-Yo, he's gratefully for how dark it is, he had a feeling now that he had seen her today, drove past her, let someone take her away. What the hell was going on?

---

There was an elevator that led down under the Glen, this tiny town was somehow apart of an entire experiment, for what? He didn't know.

But, it seemed to involve him. Involve you. And involve all the people of The Glen. And if he wanted to know why he seemed to have died late last night, he needed to find out what exactly was going on.

Luckily, he had some help, although he would've preferred a smarter duo, he was stuck with them.

As Slick Charles held his gold gun up to the pale-skinned scientist with a clean shaven afro, giggling and spasming seemingly uncontrollably, Fontaine made his way around the lab.

Yo-Yo began to mess with a few of the strange sets of chemicals within the lab, taking notice of the lack of experimental subjects: like mice or even rabbits, nothing. She tipped a beaker, blew on the white dust, she supposed was cocaine and swirled a bit of a blue liquid in a test tube.

Fontaine found two surgical tables, blue sheets over each figure that seemed to lay atop the metal slabs. Not a single breath moved through the sheets, nothing to signify either one was alive.

He moved one sheet first, it was you. (Y/N)...

And everything suddenly started flooding back in waves.

"Wake up..." she breathes, tapping his cheek as she yawns against his chest.

"I'm awake..." he responds, tiredly.

"No, you're not," she grumbles, before sitting up a little. The movement coaxes him awake, his arm pulling around her shoulders tighter to get her to lay back down.

"Be quiet," he pulls her down on him, she chuckles, conceding.

He scoffs out a humored hum, turning over her, they drift off for another hour or so, awakening to kiss the other. He's leaning over her, the chain she had given him, swinging in front of her face, hanging off his neck.

Fontaine notices it, taking it off in that moment and placing it on the dresser, "No, hey, that keeps you safe," you protest as he moves to shift between your legs. "Don't take it off, Fonnie."

"Yeah, well right now, it's distractin'," he squeezes your thigh, bringing one of your legs over his right shoulder. "I'll put it on later, if you're so worked up bout it."

"Ok, ohh--k, yeah..." he presses a kiss to your inner thigh, letting you take hold of a handful of his locs, your nails running through his scalp in a way that just told him to keep going. "Fon'..." you gasp as he cups the skin of your ass to move down lower, greedily.

After another hour of consuming the presence of one another for the morning, you both move through the day as you usually would. Fontaine would bench press a few reps with guys, you would start making campaign flyers for the protests during the week. He'd leave with Junebug later unbeknownst to you and deal with an amateur dealer that made the dumb decision to sell on his side of the streets. When he comes back, Fontaine and you would head to the store together, he'd get his usual Anaconda Malt Liquor and you'd usually go for a Moscato if not a pack of swedish fish. Pass by Frog for another daily lesson in senile obscurity and pour him a cup.

Heading back home, they'd have breakfast together, sometimes you'd make eggs and bacon, other times Fontaine would make the only thing he really knew how to which were peanut butter sandwiches. You hated the crusts, so he'd always cut them for you. You'd call him soft and he'd sit pause mid-way to let you finish yourself in bitter defiance, to which you'd quickly take back your statement. "Wait, wait, I'm kidding," you laughed. "Come on, finish, you cut them the best! Fonnie!"

"That's all you, baby," he took a bite of his. "All you."

"No, I'm sorry, please, please," you begged, wrapping your arms around him to pull him back to the kitchen. "Come on, Fonnie--"

"How many times I gotta tell you to stop wit' that, Fonnie shi', huh?"

"But I thought you liked it when I called you, Fonnie?" you teased with a smile.

"Fonnie sounds like a bitch, I ain't no bitch."

"You're my bitch though," you cackled.

"Whatchu say?" he turned, surprised at the answer. And you took off running. "Naw, bitch, get your ass back here, whatchu say!"

"Nothing!" You laughed as you ran through the house away from him. "I'm sorry!" you put your hands up as he grabbed at you, the two of you soon enough laughing together.

"Getch your ass back here!"

Later in the day, Fontaine recalls the customer dealings of his business, remembering that Slick Charles still owed him a pay day since last week. Fontaine got to his feet, took his keys, and you accompanied him into the pontiac, tapping the insignia on the hood of your Pacer car parked behind.

Driving off, the two of you enjoyed a moment with each other, you leaned over the console between you both, singing to the song on the radio. "I need a hug...I need a hug..." you nuzzled your face against his shoulder.

"You need to be quiet," he snickered, emphasizing 'Need', glancing over to you as he drove, one hand on the wheel, the other on your thigh, and you just kept at it.

He finally parked up by The Royal, a hotel across The Glen, where he knew Slick Charles would be. "Stay here," Fontaine said before leaving the car.

You roll down the window, sticking your head out to wave towards the pimp as your boyfriend forces his way into the hotel room. "Hi, Slick!"

"(Y/n)! Why you ain't tell yo' violent ass nigga to show some goddamn muhfuckin' respect!" he yells mostly towards Fontaine, who glowers at him in return, threatening to punch him right in the grills if he don't keep his mouth shut.

You duck back into the car, choosing to let the two men figure their shit out, instead opening the windscreen, watching as a photo fell out to your lap. A little picture of the two of you, you recalled the day, you'd only been officially together for a few months at the time, but you were happier than ever.

Looking up you take notice of another photo, of Ronnie, you had never met the boy, but you had always wished to, knowing what had happened to the sweet kid, always made your heart clench with tears. You pressed two fingers to your lips and to the still frame of Ronnie, breathing sadly, in some way you felt you knew him, maybe had met him, caught glimpses of him in the street when you were younger.

A beep is heard, startling you to drop the polaroid of you and Fontaine, it slips between the seats and you curse, "Shit, ugh," you glare back at the car that had stopped behind the Pontiac, before driving driving again. "Motherfucker!" You sneered at the driver, who just kept his windows up, music blasting, glass shrouded in smoke.

Fontaine soon returned to the car, pocketing the fraction that Slick Charles had made, not enough to fully pay him back though. "You ready?"

"Yeah, I--" then you saw the same car rolling backwards, coming to a slow park just behind the trunk. But, it was the man walking up to Fontaine's side of the window that really terrified you. "Fon--!"

He turns a little too late, "GET DOWN!" just pulling out his gun when the window shatters, the car being layered with bullets, the young man on the other side frantically emptying the clip. The click of an empty magazine is the only thing left to hear besides the bass drum of the radio of the assaulting vehicle.

The young man stumbles backwards, stuffing the weapon into his shirt and racing into the car for a getaway, as the car speeds off from the scene, Fontaine takes a shuttered breath. Blood spilling from between his lips, his hand achingly coming up to feel the holes that had ripped straight through him.

"(Y/n)..." he heaved out, he turns his head as much as he can, every movement a strain on his failing organs. "(y/n)..." he said again, hoping you'd say anything. "Say somethin'," he huffs out, panicked. Say you're ok. "Say it..." he breathes. "Say it..." he repeats as he struggles to breathe, hoping he'd live a little longer to get some fucking help.

He reaches for you, his fingers inching towards yours, but you were already gone.

And then that's when the van comes around. A few men, white guys in black suits wrapped in plastic, gloved hands and unbothered looks as they swing open the car door. "Woah, he's still alive," Fontaine hears one of them say. "Do we still take him?"

Who the fuck were they?

Obviously they weren't police, or ER, or even some random passerby's.

"Won't last long, so yeah," another says, opening up the opposite door. "Not sure about this one though." He was talking about you, Fontaine was sure.

Fontaine blinked, blacking out a moment before breathing harshly once, as if his heart had stopped in that split second, he was somewhere else now. Suddenly, he had been hauled into the van.

"Guess we'll just have to wipe the next one till we can get a copy going, right?"

"Dunno, we've never had to do that before. Damn, this is going to be a lot of paperwork," the white guy sighs out before turning you in your seat, Fontaine finally gets a good look at you as he lays there trying to keep his eyes open. Your sweater was drenched in your blood, and probably a bit of his, the side of your face wet and broken up from the bullet through your temple. You had died as soon as it happened.

Fontaine felt his heart drop, blood filled his throat and he choked on the feeling, but he wasn't sure if it was from the heartache or the puncture. "...'er go..." he gurgled out, eliciting the attention of the disturbed men around him.

There was a pause. "Was that you or him?"

"Well, it wasn't me..." one of the collectors said.

"Let 'er go, muhfucker," Fontaine managed.

They had begun to drive, going around the corner and away from The Royal motel.

"Shit, he really is still alive," the white man gapped, but he still began to haul you out of the car. "We're not really supposed to talk to y--" then there was a gunshot.

Startling all of them as the man that had begun to unceremoniously strap you down to the metal, fell back and too his knees, silently. A bullet between the eyes. The van swerved in the mens sudden panic.

Fontaine had still had a hand on the handle of his gun all this time, the only issue had been getting the energy to pull the trigger. And he let his hand go around to pull again on the white man that moved to pry the gun from his grip, "No, stop!" the collector had shouted, but the gun went off again, this time right through his hip. "Ahh!"

"Oh, shit! Hey, get up!" picking his co-workers up off the floor, "Get the hell out of here, we'll send another unit!" the only uninjured stranger hauled the others into the van as Fontaine stumbles out of the car taking you with him, trying to get a locked eye on the last of them as they drive off and away from the scene as if they hadn't even been there.

And so, Fontaine sat on the curb for a moment, holding you tight, wondering if anyone else would try to just snatch them off the street again. He watched as the van drove off fast, he wondered why they had bothered to do all of that. To kidnap him off the street, as if they had known exactly who he was, where he would be and that he'd be shot. What did they mean by make a copy later?

Fontaine swayed, wondering how he had even lasted this long. He let his head settle against yours, he wished for the little snore of yours that would usually coax him to sleep. He recalled the first time you had fallen asleep against him, the first time he caught himself falling asleep next to you. Pretty much the first of any time he had let anyone catch him slipping.

And he waited for a single breath to slip from you, to bring him even a sliver of comfort.

But it never came.

Even in the early morning, when he found himself staring into the eyes of...himself? Driving by in the very same car that had been totaled to shit in the parking lot of The Royal motel.

Even when the same black van swept by, turning to haul the two of them up off the street and into the van. They don't let their guard down like the others, and he breathes for the last time in that van, holding tight to your hand, just before they pull you both apart.

- - -

It's not a memory that he can grasp onto, because it's not his to have. Just a copy of moments he's never lived.

And they flood his mind.

Fontaine leans over your dead body that laid on that cold slab of metal, the familiarity becoming knowing, absence of memory becomes an overflow of moments he knew he hadn't lived but he could still hold onto.

As the labs alarms go off, he takes you into his arms, ready to take you out of this horrible place, get you some place warm.

Something the previous version of him, hadn't been able to do. But, he was pulled to do the same as his previous self had tried for you.

"Come on, I got you," he spoke, miserably.

It was like speaking to a lover he had never had. But it was also like losing one he had never said goodbye to.

"Come on, please," Fontaine undid the straps, pulling the plastic sheet laid across your naked flesh. He shivered, you were cold, "I've got you," he stares down at the floor as he holds you in his arms. Memories still flooding his mind, sensations, sounds and feelings only a single version of him had experienced, and it wasn't him.

But he still knew he had loved you.

Slick Charles and Yo-Yo pull him from the lab, the alarm sounding loudly, meaning whoever owned this place would be on their way, forced to leave you on that metal slab, next to the original version of himself.

Fontaine was on that elevator. But, a piece of himself stayed down there, and he'd be back to find it again.

"Believe us now?" Slick Charles spoke the question almost sympathetically.