#and I had a god awful morning so she was a nice treat from my mom 💕💕💕

[mydollsaregay]

a new friend!

[sunlightmurdock]

My Future in You | 2.5 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

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synopsis: Bradley’s twenty-two years old and not where he’s supposed to be. He’s supposed to be out of the academy by now. Instead, he’s retaking his senior year of college and praying to god that he gets into flight school. Mav’s gone, his mom’s gone. He’s mad at the world. Then, a hook up at a Halloween party changes his future even more than he could have imagined.

warnings: accidental pregnancy, references to abortion in a few chapters, angst, will be fluff eventually, will be smut so 18+, enemies to lovers kinda thing, extreme inaccuracies on hospitals and the entire birthing process but this is fiction so we move. WC: 4.7k

…

Bradley spins the padlock, humming as he does, twisting the lock and pulling open his locker. That run was awful, his instructor has been breathing down his back and Bradley had fucked up two consecutive manoeuvres. He’s sweaty, and tired.

It’s nice out, though, and you’ve been so couped up recently that it’s driving you crazy. If he’s done early enough he could take you out. It’s the middle of summer, there are tons of properties not far that host drive-ins.

You’d probably like that.

He reaches for his bag first. Towel, clothes, soap — the necessities. Under that, is his phone, which he picks up absentmindedly, without checking. Immediately, it starts to buzz in his hand. He turns it over as he walks towards the showers, seeing an unknown number flash up on the screen.

Instinct tells him to answer. He taps the button and cautiously brings the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“There you are, you son of a bitch!”

Bradley blinks, frowning slightly. His stomach drops.

“Jake?”

“No, no! Don’t you dare fucking speak, where the hell are you?” Jake rants on the other end of the line. Bradley’s brows furrow as he plugs a finger into his ear to try to hear. He knows for a fact that Jake gets one call a week, and he hasn’t ever wasted that call on speaking to Bradley.

“What? — I’m at work, what’s going on?” About fifteen other pilots just piled into this room behind him, it’s hard to hear, even with the way your brother is screaming.

“My baby sister’s about to have your kid in your dumbass uncle’s car is what’s going on! — I’m so serious about this, Bradley, if you fucking let her down today, I will kill you — I promise you that I will actually—“

“Uncle? Jake, slow down, I’m grabbing my keys. Where the fuck is she?” Bradley turns on his heel and shoves his way back through the steam-filled locker room, pressing the phone closer to try to hear. It has been hours since he was able to check his phone and the thought makes his throat tight. He can’t think of how many times you would have tried to reach him, how scared you must be.

It’s the entire reason you’re here, away from everything you have ever known; so that he could be there for you. And he isn’t. He might have missed it. He could have let you down all over again.

“She’s on her way to Sacred Heart Hospital! Do you know how many fucking times she tried to call you?” Before Jake even gets to finish his second sentence, Bradley has started running, hoping that he doesn’t turn a corner and knock hot coffee into someone important.

Jake continues to rant on the other end of the line but Bradley’s far from even listening. All he can think of now is when he woke up the night after halloween and saw you laying in his bed, wrapped in his jersey. You had looked so comfortable that he hadn’t wanted to wake you.

On his run that morning, he had thought about it. If he had woken you. Asked you for your number, asked you on a date. He had thought about the way you had joked the night before and the instant connection. But then he came home and realized who you were. It was all downhill from there with the way he had treated you.

He should have just woken you that morning, asked you if you would go to dinner with him. There are so many things he would do differently now. He swallows as he climbs into the driver’s side of his truck and wraps a hand around the wheel just to notice how much he’s trembling now.

“Are you fucking listening to me?”

Bradley swallows, fumbling to get the key into the ignition and balance his phone between his ear and his cheek. “Look, Jake… I’ve gotta go. I’ll call you when I can.”

Jake starts to protest, but Bradley hangs up anyway. His heartbeat thuds in his ears as he backs out of the parking spot. August third. It hasn’t ever been important before, it will be every day for the rest of his life. It’s his son’s birthday.

Maverick winces at your bedside. He has been told by nurses six times now to just sit, that it could be a while before a doctor can see you. But, he won’t. He has been standing to the right side of your bed for over an hour now. He has been acting on autopilot, he barely even knows how he got you here. It’s the one thing that has kept him alive in his career so far, probably. Instinct.

He watches as you double forwards, gritting your teeth, whimpering in pain.

Bradley doesn’t have anybody, Maverick never had anybody. You’ve got two parents out there somewhere who are willing to let you go through this alone. He swallows softly at the thought and lifts his hand, brushing it tenderly over your head as he leans closer.

“It’s alright, you’re going to be just fine.” He says quietly. Your hand darts out and your fingers link between his, squeezing hard at his shaking hand. As much as he’s certain that your grip is going to bruise, he just exhales slowly and smooths his thumb over the back of your hand.

He didn’t even know your name this morning.

“Alright, Miss Seresin,” The snap of a surgical glove alerts the both of you, looking up quickly to see the smiling woman in the colourful scrubs entering the room. “My name is Lucy, I’m just here to do a quick check on how things are progressing. How does that sound?”

Still gritting your teeth, you’re too busy holding your breath and waiting for the pain to subside to answer her. Maverick makes a pained sound at your side, exhaling deeply as you finally let go of his hand.

“Mhm.” You manage out.

Lucy offers you a sympathetic smile as she pulls up a stool at the end of the bed. Maverick turns his attention towards the ceiling as she settles between your legs. You make a soft sound, closing your eyes. You wish that your mom was here holding your hand, rather than Bradley’s last standing family member.

“Okay, you’re still at six centimeters,” Lucy hums. You drop your head back against the pillow and groan in frustration. You’ve been at six centimeters for an hour and a half. Maverick squeezes your hand softly as Lucy grabs your chart from the end of the bed. “How would you rate your pain at the moment?”

“I don’t know. Does it get worse than this?” Your voice trembles as you speak. After sobbing hysterically into both Bradley’s voicemail and to Jake’s commander, begging him to put Jake on the phone, you’ve been doing your best not to cry again. It seems to make Maverick uncomfortable.

“Can you give her anything? — An epidural, or whatever?” Maverick presses.

Lucy presses her lips into a line as she pushes herself to her feet and sets the chart back into its place. She gives a small shake of her head. If she knew anything about Pete Mitchell, she would know that ‘no’ isn’t a word he often agrees with.

“Why not?” He urges, brows knitting together as he drops your hand and straightens up. You glance between him and her.

She sighs softly. “With pregnancies that have complications, we tend to advise against epidural. It could put more strain on his heart, we would have to monitor very closely.”

“So monitor it closely. If you’re so worried, why has she been sitting here for an hour on her own?” Maverick challenges her. Lucy looks towards you and wrings her hands together.

“Pete, stop.” You breathe out.

“I can get the doctor to discuss it with you. It’s still an option at this point, but—“

“I don’t want it.” Your answer is instant. It’s the most confident you’ve sounded all day. Maverick’s head whips around and for the first time, you catch sight of Bradley in his eyes. It’s not a genetic thing, just more of a temperament. All of those hours spent together, Bradley’s quizzical, developing mind. He’s been copying those mannerisms subconsciously since he was in the first grade.

“But—“

“I don’t want it. We’ll be just fine without it.” You decide calmly, smoothing your palms over your swollen stomach for one of the last times. Pete opens his mouth at your side, he almost argues with you, but he stops himself. This isn’t his kid, or even his family — Bradley has made that clear. So, pressing his lips together, he just nods.

Bradley can feel all of the eyes on him. Maybe it’s because he’s in uniform, maybe it’s because he is walking so fast that when he collided with a doctor two minutes ago, he knocked the poor guy straight on his ass and just kept walking. His eyes widen as he spots the reception desk finally.

“Seresin. My, uh — my girlfriend is having a baby. Her last name is Seresin, she should be here.” Bradley breathes out. The nurse looks up at him and smiles. She sees a lot of stressed out, first time dads. This isn’t unusual.

“Alright. What’s your name, honey?” She smiles.

“Bradley Bradshaw.”

“I’ll tell her you’re here, I’ll come get you as soon as she says it’s okay. Why don’t you get some water, just take a breath?” She reaches out and pats the hand that he has resting on top of the counter. Bradley swallows, managing to give her a stiff nod.

She’s gone for less than two minutes, but Bradley’s pounding heart just makes it feel like it’s an eternity. She can see it on his face when she walks back towards him that he’s terrified. So, she just offers him a smile and nods for him to follow her.

At first, Bradley doesn’t even notice that there’s anyone else in the room. All he sees is you, sitting up in the bed, your hair pulled back and tears in your eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He rushes towards you. You whimper as he wraps you in his arms, grabbing onto him tightly. He leans down and kisses the top of your head. “Jake got through to me, I got here as soon as I could.”

“I was scared you wouldn’t make it in time.” You whisper into his chest. Bradley turns his head and kisses your temple, nodding. He opens his mouth to agree, and then takes notice of who is standing at the other side of your bed. His uncle. He hadn’t taken much notice of what Jake had said on the phone.

He stands up straight and stares, silent for a second. Maverick has learned by now to just keep his mouth shut.

“I thought I told you to stay the fuck away from my family.”

“Bradley, don’t. He got me here, he stayed with me.” You frown up at him. Bradley just stares over you, looking at the man who has let him down again and again for as long as they have known each other.

Maverick takes a slow step back, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I’ll go. I’m sorry. I’ll leave.”

“No, Mav—“

“I don’t want him here. He doesn’t need to be anywhere near—“

“I want him here.” You answer back, scowling up at your boyfriend. Of all the stupid arguments that the two of you have had, Bradley knows better than to pick a fight with someone who is in active labour.

Even so, Maverick has spent more than two decades going against Bradley’s wishes. Making him eat his vegetables, refusing to let him drop out of little league, almost ruining his career. He needs to give his nephew some leeway here, if this is going to work.

“I could go to your place. Get you some things, give you two a minute. I’ll come back, sit in the waiting room. If you want me, I’ll be right outside.”

“No.” Bradley deadpans. You shoot him a look, then turn to offer Pete a small smile.

“Can I text you a list? I have it all written on my phone.”

Maverick nods. He still has your keys from earlier, and honestly, he’s grateful to be out from Bradley’s glare once he leaves the room. You’re grateful that you aren’t going to have the two of them fighting while you’re trying to do this.

Bradley’s scowl fades once he’s certain that Maverick is far enough away. He turns around and perches on the side of your bed, draping his arm around your shoulders and kissing the top of your head.

“How are you feeling? — Did they give you anything for the pain, yet?” He asks softly, smoothing his free hand tenderly over your stomach. You scrunch your nose slightly and turn to frown at him.

“No — Bradley, you smell disgusting.”

He stares back at you, blinking slowly. “Honey, I ran a red light to get here. Showering wasn’t my top priority.”

“No, I know, but — could you maybe put your arm down?”

His mouth twitches, giving an amused shake of his head as he unwraps his arm from around you. He entwines his fingers with yours instead, giving your hand a soft squeeze. “What do you mean they haven’t given you anything? — Do you want me to talk to someone?”

“No, no. I can’t have an epidural, it would put him at risk. I’m going to do it without.” You’re quiet as you explain it, just waiting for Bradley to freak out like Maverick had wanted to. He’s quiet for a minute. You brace yourself.

He strokes his thumb softly along the fabric of the hospital gown. It takes him a minute to finally lift his head and look you in the eye. He exhales slowly.

“You’re sure?”

“You couldn’t change my mind if you tr— ah.” You wince, sitting bolt upright and holding your breath. Bradley barely even notices you squeezing his hand. He feels sick, watching the way your entire body goes rigid with the pain. He has read that this can take like eight hours the first time, and he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to sit through eight hours of watching you suffer like this.

That being said, there’s nothing he can do but be here. An hour later, he’s already on the verge of tearing his hair out as silent tears roll down your cheeks while you sip on water. He has suggested the epidural twice more since your first conversation, you’ve refused it twice.

The contractions are more regular now. You’re trying to keep him calm, knowing that he’s freaking out even more than you are, but they’re close enough together now that you haven’t spoken in a while. You knew this was going to hurt, but the last ten minutes have been agony.

“Okay, Miss Seresin, just here for another quick check.” Lucy strolls back into the room smiling again, shooting a quick look to the new man standing at your bedside. Bradley glances between you and her, fighting to ask her where the hell she has been. She sits between your legs once more. You sigh in discomfort. The thing about not having an epidural — you can feel everything. “Oh.”

Bradley looks at her. “Oh?”

“She, uh — We’re just about there. That was fast, you’re sure this is your first?” Her smile has faded for the first time. You stare at her face. She looks scared. You feel like you’re going to throw up.

“She’d notice if it wasn’t, wouldn’t she?” Bradley bites. You swing your arm out and smack him in the stomach. Lucy stands up quickly.

“I’m going to grab the doctor.”

You’re quiet as she hurries off, turning your head and looking up at Bradley. He watches your lip tremble and reaches out instinctively, stroking gently at your cheek. He wipes a salty tear from your skin.

“She looked worried.” You whisper to him.

He leans down, pressing a slow, soft kiss to your mouth as he squeezes your hand. “You’ve got this. You’re going to be just fine. This whole time, you’ve been so strong. Just a little longer.”

Squeezing his hand, you lean closer and rest your face against his arm.

“I’m so fucking scared.”

“Nothing’s going to happen, to either one of you.” Bradley kisses the top of your head, his eyes sting. He closes them and inhales the familiar scent of your hair. There’s no way in hell he’s going to cry in front of you. “Just a little longer and he’s going to be here, this is all going to be worth it.”

He doesn’t know that for sure, there’s no way that he can, but it’s enough for you to believe it. Besides, there isn’t a lot of time to be caught up in the fear. Once pushing starts, there’s only one thing on your mind and that’s getting this over and done with.

Bradley isn’t sure what he was expecting labour to be like, but he wasn’t expecting so many people. There are six people in this room and Bradley isn’t sure exactly what any of them are here for specifically. His main focus is you.

Each time you push, your body goes tense, you grit your teeth and you hold your breath. He’s sure that you’re going to pass out any minute now.

“Okay, another big one. You’re doing great.” The doctor instructs. Bradley shoots him a furious look. A nurse at your side is quick to rub your shoulder and tell you to breathe. He leans in close and kisses the top of your head. Once again, you grit your teeth and push hard. Bradley feels like he can’t breathe himself.

This time, you don’t hold your breath. Instead, it’s all forced out of your lungs at once as you scream out, digging your nails into Bradley’s palm, hot tears spilling onto your cheeks. The second that you’re done screaming, there’s no getting your breath back. You inhale too fast and sob back out an exhale. Again and again as the nurse at your side tells you to slow down.

“Alright, and again.” The doctor sighs.

Your eyes flicker to him, and Bradley snaps. He can’t stand the pain in your expression, and he can’t stand that doctor’s fucking tone. “Again? — She needs a break. She can’t go again.”

The abundantly calm older lady between your legs simply lifts her head and looks up at him through her glasses. She has been delivering babies longer than either one of you has been alive. “Son, there’s no time for a break right now. This baby’s coming. Rather than yelling at me, focus on her.”

Bradley’s jaw ticks as he settles in closer and brings your knuckles up to rest against his lips. He winces, blinking back tears as you have to go through another tough push. Your head falls back against the pillows in a moment of brief respite.

He studies your face for a second. Up until this exact moment in time, as he’s wiping tears from your cheeks with his free hand, Bradley had seen the two of you maybe having another kid. Right now, he’s certain that he’ll never put you through any of this again.

“You must hate me right now.” He whispers, giving a soft shake of his head. Honestly, he doesn’t really expect you to answer. He barely expects you to hear him. He definitely doesn’t expect you to laugh.

Your face is hot, and blotchy with tears. Your entire body is exhausted and trembling, and you’re laughing at him. Sniffling, you blink through the tears, “I’ve hated you more than I do right now, it’s okay.”

He can’t help but smile, brushing a few strands of hair back off of your face, then leaning in to kiss your forehead. “I’ve been thinking a lot, about the future, and about our family—“

“Don’t you dare fucking propose to me right now, Bradley. Don’t.” You growl. The nurse at your side just can’t hold it in. Bradley frowns at her as she giggles and rubs soothingly at your back. He kisses your knuckles and closes his mouth.

You’re right. He’ll finish that speech another time.

“Here’s his head.”

Bradley looks swiftly away and stares at the ceiling. The death-grip that you’ve got on his hand is the least of his worries. The thought alone is enough to make him dizzy. Jake’s going to kill him if he passes out. He inhales slowly through his nose and leans in again, resting his forehead against your temple as you cry out.

“There we go, that’s perfect. Keep going, he’s almost here.” The doctor’s tone never lifts above a breezy cadence. She’s beyond cool, finally glancing up to offer you a small smile.

He sticks to your side, kissing your temple. Your chest heaves. There’s not long to go, you’re almost done. But, the end is the worst. It really does feel like you’re going to black out. You don’t know how people have been doing this for so long, or why some of them choose to have so many kids after this pain.

You half expect to give up, to break down crying and begging for your mother before it’s all done. You’re right on the verge, whimpering into the sleeve of Bradley’s flight suit. And then, it’s over. The doctor exhales deeply and hums.

He takes his first big inhale and promptly wails into the air.

The doctor has him in her hands when she looks up and catches sight of the two of you before her. You’re clinging onto his hand and he’s pressing as close to you as he can without crawling into the bed. There’s a fearful, awestruck look plastered across both of your faces as you stare in the direction of the scream.

She smiles at the two of you. You’re going to be just fine.

“Would you like to cut the cord?” The doctor asks Bradley calmly. He regrets yelling at her now, but she doesn’t seem to be holding a grudge.

Bradley blinks, then shakes his head. “No, I don’t want to hurt him.

She chuckles, then shakes her head. “You won’t.”

He does as instructed, rolling his sleeves up, and quickly cleaning his hands and arms. He’s the first one that gets a look. As he sets the scissors back down, he turns his head towards you with a look on his face that you haven’t seen before.

Blinking back tears, Bradley smiles softly at you. And then he’s all yours. They set the baby down on your chest, starting to clean and dry him off right away. Bradley moves to your side once again, brushing your hair back off of your forehead.

Still wailing, you whimper quietly as you stare down at the infant. Ten fingers, ten toes, a good set of lungs on him. Bradley’s lips press softly to your forehead as you reach out, hands trembling, and trail your fingers featherlight along the length of his spine.

His plush, pink lips tremble as the wailing starts to subside. Bradley strokes tenderly at the nape of your neck with his thumb, rendered silent as he watches you with him.

“Hi,” You breathe out, hugging the towel closer to him. You inhale deeply, then exhale through your nose. A nurse smiles as she reaches around you to place the soft knit hat on top of his head. He’s warm enough now, you want to keep it that way. “Hi, baby boy.”

Bradley swallows the lump in his throat. Four and a half hours of labour without any tears. Twelve seconds of watching you with your baby and hot tears are stinging his eyes.

You get five minutes with him before they have to check his vitals, his weight, his height. As much as your arms feel empty without him there, you want those results. You want him to be fine. You want to see him in that bassinet beside your bed tomorrow night.

Blinking, you look up at Bradley. He scoffs as your mouth falls open.

“Allergies.” He mumbles, crouching down to kiss your mouth as tears dampen his cheeks. You reach up and wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, turning your face into his neck. You feel him relax into your touch. He kisses your shoulder, sniffling.

Both of you let it be quiet for a moment. You won’t be getting a lot of that once you’re at home, not with that boy’s vocal chords.

“Thank you,” Bradley mumbles into the crook of your neck. He pulls back from the hug just slightly, brushing the backs of his fingers along your cheek. He sighs, then nods seriously. “Thank you.”

“Just don’t ask me to do it again.” You joke, watching his tearful face shift into a grin. He sits forwards and kisses you. You close your eyes as he trails his fingertips along your arms.

“I’m serious,” He tells you softly, watching you blink tiredly. “I’d have nothing if it wasn’t for you. I was bitter and mean, and you were way too nice to me. It’s because of you that we have him. I’m so, so grateful.”

Your lips quirk up into a soft smile. If Jake could hear some of this, he would probably start to like Bradley again.

Exhaustion starts to set in, but there’s no time to sleep when there are doctors and nurses fussing over you, and then he’s being bundled back into you again.

Your eyelids are heavy as you turn your head and look over at Bradley, sitting in the chair beside your bed. His flight suit is tied around his waist and his t-shirt is draped over the back of the chair. Your baby looks tiny nestled into his arms.

You fight to keep awake as your always calm doctor walks into the room once again and sits down between the two of you.

“Seventeen inches, four pounds and ten ounces. Congratulations.” She tells the two of you with a small smile. Bradley doesn’t look up at her, smoothing his fingertips through the soft, dark hair on your son’s head. She looks at you, then at Bradley. “He’s strong. He’s doing well. We’re going to move you to the neonatal intensive care unit so that we can keep an eye on his feedings. We need to get that weight up, keep him warm. But, I’m not concerned.”

You swallow softly. “The tests and everything… he looked okay?”

She stands up and takes two small steps towards you. She rests her hand softly on your forearm, giving you a sincere nod. “Aside from his weight, he’s perfect. Does he have a name?”

Bradley finally lifts his head and looks, offering you a small smile. You wipe the tears from your cheeks and nod at her. “His name’s Thomas.”

It breaks your heart when it’s time for him to go. The thought of him being without you on that ward. Bradley holds you while you cry, and truthfully, he feels like crying too. It’s been a long day. You’re all emotional.

He stays with you until you fall asleep. Then, half-awake himself, he heads off to see your son. It’s the first night that he gets to say goodnight to the both of you.

Bradley stops as he closes the door to your room behind him. He stares at the man asleep in the waiting area, drooling on his hand as it props his chin up. He knew Mav had gotten here a while ago, someone had brought the bag in. Bradley just figured he would have gone home by now. Exhaling slowly, he clenches and unclenches his fists at his sides.

“Mav?”

The older pilot startles awake, blue eyes wide and blinking quickly as he tries to figure out where he is. It takes him a moment to figure out who is in front of him. Tall, flight-suit, mustache. Maverick feels the lump in his throat grow as he realises that it isn’t his best friend.

He looks Bradley up and down. He looks older now than he did a few hours ago, not just because he’s tired. Because Maverick isn’t looking at a little boy anymore.

“There’s someone you probably want to meet, huh?”

…

tags: @chaoticweirdogeek @alanadetigy @itsmytimetoodream @oldnatgwenaccount @khaylin27 @bioodforbiood @luckyladycreator2 @mizzzpink @cherrycola27 @unordinare @shanimallina87 @heli991113 @ghxst-heart @momc95 @asteria33 @lilyevanswhore @diamond-3 @galaxy-moon @jostyriggslover96 @forgiveliv @shawnsblue @little-wiseone @lovemesomevesey @alm33 @averyhotchner @diorrfairy @thedroneranger @batdanceq @wkndwlff @cassiemitchell @himbos-on-ice @damrlova @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @slutford

[toournextadventure]

Could I request a story thats Wednesday with a reader who drinks a lot of coffee and barely ever sleeps, and so she tries to convince them to sleep but they dont so reader ends up fainting in front of her and enid and Wednesday is really worried and at the end reader finally sleeps and theres fluff

Hell yeah, bestie, I feel this on a spiritual level. Coffee is the devil's drink, yet I indulge shamelessly ✌🏻😙

too much coffee

Midterms were going to kill you. There was no possible way you were going to survive. You had done the one thing you had sworn you wouldn’t do (pretend you didn’t need to study) and Wednesday had offered to help (you said no) and now you were on day three of no sleep. Times were tough enough, but Wednesday couldn’t introduce her parents to her highschool failure girlfriend! The Addams family was beyond accepting, but this? It would be unacceptable.

On the other side of the library, Wednesday watched you sit back down with another cup of coffee. It had to have been your fifth one of the night, if her counting was correct. Which it was. If you had just accepted her rare offer of help, you wouldn’t be stuck with more coffee than your body could handle.

She watched you as you finished your cup. Watched the way your hands were unusually shaky, causing your handwriting to come out looking worse than Pugsly’s. The way you should shake your head after staring at a page for too long; were you trying to clear the haze of caffeine from your mind?

She waited until you had emptied your cup before walking over to you.

“You need sleep,” Wednesday said. You jumped; it was a good thing your mug was empty.

“Jesus christ, Wednesday,” you huffed. “A warning would’ve been nice.”

“Go home,” she said, leaving absolutely no room for argument.

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” you said with a shake of your head.

“Please.”

You looked up at her with furrowed brows, and Wednesday had to bite her tongue to stop herself from taking it back. She knew how you worked; you were a snarky asshole until she asked nicely. If she took it back now, you would go back to being snarky. It was humiliating to have to resort to such niceties, but when you looked like you were on death’s doorstep, she would swallow her pride.

“I’ll sleep after my exam tomorrow morning,” you said with a soft smile. “I promise.”

“Not a moment later.” Wednesday didn’t tell you goodbye as she left the library. She didn’t want you to know that she was concerned for you.

Now she just needed to make sure Enid wasn’t losing her mind about her own midterms.

—---

The exam had been a cakewalk. Not only had you known nearly all of the answers, but you knew the bonus questions too. You were so going to ace it. Okay, maybe you would get a B, but it was still passing! There was a new swagger in your step as you walked out of class and started heading to the cafeteria.

You were going to treat yourself to a nice hot cup of coffee.

“Your dorm is in the other direction.”

Aw man.

You turned around slowly, praying to whatever gods existed that you were just hearing things. But then you saw Wednesday standing behind you, arms crossed over her chest and a look that you had definitely seen far too many times.

“Hello, dearest,” you said with a small smile.

She did not smile back, even though her face was a little twisty. Was she moving around?

“Go get some sleep,” Wednesday demanded. How can someone so short be so bossy?

“I’m just getting myself a little treat,” you said as you gestured your thumb behind you. At least you thought you did. Were things spinning?

“Hey guys!” Enid called, running up to where you were both standing. “How did your exam go?”

“Don’t encourage her.” Wednesday turned her body to face Enid.

They started talking, saying things that you really couldn’t understand. Surely they were still speaking English, right? That was your common language, was it not? So why did they sound so funny? And why was everything spinning? And why was everything going dark? And why-

-you were out cold before you hit the ground.

—---

Whatever you were laying on was extremely comfortable. It was soft and fluffy and warm. Was it heaven? Were you in heaven? Oh god, your mother was right, too much coffee would kill you. You had wasted your last few days on earth studying for a stupid exam that didn’t even matter!

“Don’t even think of moving.”

Oh no. No, you weren’t in heaven, you were in hell and Wednesday Addams was your grim reaper.

The struggle to open your eyes was more intense than Prometheus stealing the fire from Zeus. It was like your eyes were sealed shut and would rather kill you than open. But when they opened and the migraine hit you like a ton of bricks, you understood; they weren’t trying to fight you, they were trying to protect you.

“What happened?” You asked; god, you sounded like you smoked two packs of cigarettes a day.

“You fainted,” Wednesday said. Everything was hazy, but her voice came from your right. “Enid helped me carry you to your room.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the look you could finally see on Wednesday’s face was enough to shut you up. In the privacy of your room, with no one to see, she looked concerned. It was in the furrow of her brows, the tightly pressed lips, the slightest twitch of her fingers.

Wednesday Addams was concerned.

Without hesitation, you moved over on the bed to make room. She stared at you for a moment until you patted the now-empty spot. There was a hesitancy in her movements, but she finally came and laid down beside you. Her back was to you, but that was okay; you pulled her closer and wrapped an arm around her waist.

“Please sleep,” Wednesday said softly. She would only ever talk this softly to you when she wasn’t looking at your face.

“Only if you sleep with me,” you answered even though you could already feel yourself falling back asleep. “My roommate won’t be back for a few more hours.”

“If she sees us, I’ll kill her,” Wednesday threatened even as she backed up closer to you.

“I would expect nothing less,” you said. You leaned forward and left a small kiss on the back of her neck, and you felt her interlock your fingers before you both fell asleep. You should faint more often if it meant Wednesday would cuddle and sleep with you.

[emeraldelysian]

Jung Wheein ✧ Girls Just Wanna Have Fun

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Pairing: Jung Wheein x Reader Genre: Smut Synopsis: After an awful anniversary date with your boyfriend, you come home to your roommate Wheein to rant about the entire evening. What you don't realize is that Wheein has a plan to make you forget all about your bad date. Wordcount: 1.1K+ Warnings: Reader has F. Anatomy, Roommate AU, Oral (F. Receiving), Lesbian, Praise Kink, Cheating on an Awful Boyfriend (all my homies hate Brian) Note: On my knees for women right now so I decided to write about it

♡︎ follow, provide feedback, or reblog if you enjoyed but please don't repost or translate!♡︎

MDNI, 18+ CONTENT

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"-And then Brian had the audacity to call me a hot piece of ass in front of his friends! Can you believe it? What a prick."

Wheein watched you pace back and forth in her bedroom as you rambled on and on about the bad date you had with your boyfriend, the TV still on at a lower volume from when she was watching. What was meant to be a nice anniversary dinner at his house had quickly turned into a bro fest with your boyfriend treating you like trash in front of his friends, because he had supposedly "forgotten that you two were going to hang out."

You and Wheein had been roommates for some time, going from dorming together at your university to getting an apartment until you both figured out your lives.

"I mean I love him- or at least, I thought I did. But then I remember that every time we've had sex, he for some reason just doesn't think I need him to do anything?? Like sometimes I want attention too. And when he does give me attention, he makes it feel like a chore. Like he'd rather be doing literally anything else. And like I know sex education is terrible in some schools but he's a grown man. How does he not know what the clit is-"

"Well, what if I eat you out?" She didn't know what urged her to blurt out the words she did, and she avoided looking into your eyes the moment she said it. She could feel your gaze on her though as you took in what she asked.

“You- You want to- really?”

Your voice sounds far away and you have to snap yourself back to reality when Wheein stands up and looks at you.

Wheein nods slowly, brown eyes wide and curious. Pleading.

“You…you always told me girls are better at it than boys are,” she murmurs, hand gently grasping at your hand, “and — and you told me your boyfriend is bad at it. So let me try? Maybe I'll be better…”

She trails off, gnawing at her bottom lip while she looks at you. Her wide eyes and pouty lips make her look so innocent you think you’re going to combust.

'This is wrong', you think to yourself. You have a boyfriend, even if you hated him. The two of you could never be together. She’d probably regret it in the morning, you-

"You can teach me, can’t you? Please?”

Fuck it.

You swallow down the lump in your throat and nod, “Y-yeah, fuck, come here, pretty girl-“

You shuffle on the bed so you can lay against the pillows with your legs spread, your date clothes suddenly suffocating.

Wheein's so eager to please; she nods obediently and immediately scampers to slot herself in between your legs. Pretty manicured hands bring your shorts and panties to the side, and then she freezes. She’s shaking, brown eyes flicking up to meet yours. She has no clue what she’s doing and your pussy is so pretty- she’s nervous.

“S-stick your tongue out, baby. Y-yeah, just like that, oh my god-“ your hand shoots up to fist in those blond strands, the girl’s tongue timid and soft against your folds.

“Go a little…a little harde- fuck, baby, yes, swipe that sweet little tongue across my clit, j-just like that—“ you whimper, gasping. You involuntarily pull her forward, at the same time bucking your hips up to meet her mouth. it’s fucking heavenly.

You don’t even have to tell her what to do next, her plush lips wrapping around the bud and sucking hard. You cry out, eyes squeezing shut.

She pulls off for a second, blowing cool air over your clit and giggling when your legs jerk. Her eyes blink up at you slowly, half-lidded and hazy, “U-use me, please? Want you to- want you to cum in my mouth. Want to- want to be a good girl.”

Wheein needs praise. You don’t know how you didn’t clock that before. It sends you into some animalistic overdrive and you nod. How could you say no to something so precious?

“Yeah, pretty girl, fuck, get in here-“ you push her back down and she lets you, humming into your cunt obediently and swirling her tongue around your clit before wrapping her lips around the bud and sucking again.

This time she flicks her tongue against you as she sucks, soft hands running up and down your thighs as she does. Your hips are bucking wildly now, grinding up into that hot little mouth and whining as you do.

“Such a good girl for me, so pretty. Gonna make me c-cum, oh my god-“ You should be embarrassed by how high-pitched your voice is, how quickly you’re going to cum. You probably would be later, but your orgasm is barreling towards you and you can’t bring yourself to care.

All it takes is those pretty eyes blinking up at you through long lashes and that knot in your tummy snaps, your back arching as tears fall down your cheeks. It feels so good you’re shaking. You realize it’s been far too long since you’ve had a real orgasm.

“S-so good, shit, my good girl, god- take it, take it-“ You hump her face through your orgasm, cunt fluttering and spasming. It’s too good. Wheein keeps sucking your cunt like the perfect girl she is.

Your legs shake, chest heaving as you come down from your high. You pet at her hair absentmindedly, eyes half lidded.

She pulls off with a wet pop, resting a soft cheek on the fat of your thigh and looking up at you with a giggle, “Was that good?”

She’s got stars in her eyes. you only nod, running your fingers through pretty strawberry locks, “S-so good. Where the hell did you learn all that? Use me? Be a good girl? Are you insane, Wheein?”

She’s embarrassed, pale cheeks flushing bright red when she replies, “I- I remember how you used to talk about the guys you’d be with and what they'd do wrong so I wanted to try out the things you've said you wanted."

You groan. She’s perfect.

“Fuck, you’re unreal. Get up here and let me return the favor or I'm gonna die.” You grin as she nods eagerly.

Your phone dings with a message from Brian, the phone screen flashing with a "Send a pic" text. You roll your eyes, hands already gripping her hips and lowering her down onto your tongue as you mentally make the decision to break up with him the next morning.

[queenalexandraofdenmark]

Dowager Empress Maria Feodorovna to Tsar Nicholas II

November 21st, 1917.

The last letter Nicky ever got from his mother.

" My dear Nicky,

I have just received your letter of October 27th which has filled me with joy. I cannot find words to  express my feelings and thank you with all my heart, my dear.

You know that my thoughts and prayers never leave you, I think of you day and night and sometimes feel so sick at heart that I believe I cannot bear it any longer. But God is merciful, He will give us strength for this terrible ordeal. Thank goodness you are allwell and that at least you live together and in comfort. A year has gone by already since you and darling Alexei came to see me at Kieff. Who could have thought then of all that was in store for us, and what

we should have to go through. It is unbelievable. I live only in my memories of the happy past and try as much as possible to forget the present nightmare. Misha has also written to me about your last meeting in the presence of witnesses and [illegible] and of your ghastly and revolting departure.

I received your first dear letter of September 19th and apologise for not having been able to answer it before, but Xenia will have explained the reason to you.

I am sorry you are not allowed to go for walks, I know how necessary it is for you and the dear children; it is an incomprehensible cruelty!

I have quite recovered from a long and tedious illness and am able to go out again after two months.

The weather is beautiful, especially during the last few days. We live very modestly and quietly and see nobody, as we are not allowed to leave the estate, which is a great nuisance.

It is a blessing I am with Xenia, Olga and the grandchildren, who dine with me by turns every day. My new grandson Tikhon is a source of joy to us all. He grows bigger and fatter every day and is such a darling, so charming and quiet. It is a pleasure to see how happy Olga is, and how delighted she is with her baby which she had hoped for for such a long time.

They live very snugly above the cellar. She and Xenia come to see me every morning, and we have our cocoa together, as we are always hungry. It is so difficult to get provisions, white bread and butter are the things I miss most, but sometimes I get some sent by kind people: Papa Felix [Yusupov, senior] sends crabs and butter for which I am very grateful.

Prince Shervashidze arrived a little while ago. It is very pleasant to have him as he is a great asset,

always in good spirits and amusing and so glad to be here and to have a rest after Petersburg where it was so awful.

I am very glad to get those dear letters from Alix and my granddaughters who all write so nicely. I thank and kiss them all.

We always think and talk about you. It is so sad to be separated, not to see one another, not to be able to talk.

I get letters from Aunt Alix and Waldemar [her sister and brother] from time to time, but they are so slow in coming and I just sit and wait. I long for news.

[Last phrase is in English]

I well understand how you must enjoy re reading your old letters and diaries, although those memories of a happy past rouse deep sorrow in the heart. I have not even got that consolation, for mine were all taken away from me in the spring when they searched the house   all your letters, all those I received at Kieff, the children's letters, three diaries, etc., etc., and nothing has been returned yet, which is revolting, and for what reason, if I may ask?

Today is November 2nd, dear Misha's birthday. I believe he is still in town, God grant him health and happiness.

There has been a sudden break in the weather, a sharp wind is blowing and it is cold, only 3 degrees, and although the rooms are heated they are not warm enough, and my hands are cold.

Nikita saw K., the dentist [Kastritsky]. It was through him that I got some news about you. I am glad poor Alix does not suffer from toothache and that he has finished treating you.

I hope Isa B. [Buxhoeveden] has arrived safely and has recovered from her operation.

Please give my love to them all, also to Il. Tatishcheff.

Which servants have you got with you? I hope dear Teteridtnikoff went with you. I have only kept Yashchik and Poliakoff and have not enough words of praise for them, such splendid, trustworthy people. They serve at table and manage very well. Kukushkin and Yashchik are great friends and chatter a lot together.

On December 6th all my thoughts will be with you, my dear darling Nicky, and I send you my warmest wishes. God bless you, send you strength and peace of mind, and may He not allow Russia to perish.

I kiss you tenderly. May Christ be with you. Your fondly loving old

Mama. "

[ymaohoh]

Chrissy Ran Away - 3/3 - Fic

Chapter 3: On the wharf, I was caught in a tailspin

Eddie wasn’t being so friendly to her now. He’d barely spoken to her since she turned up covered in mud and leaves with a fucked up knee. He seemed to be doing his best to avoid her completely. What if Chrissy ran from Eddie after her vision? What if it pushed them apart? They share a joint and it gets much much worse. My take on 'Chrissy lives'.

Word Count: 10,188 (Oh god, I'm sorry)

Chapter: 3/3

Warning: some non-con touching about halfway through.

Also on Archive of Our Own.

Previous Chapter 1/3 here.

Previous Chapter 2/3 here.

(see end for notes)

------

Chrissy knew she was pretty. Knew she had a nice symmetrical face (according to a magazine quiz it was a ’heart-shape’) and people always remarked on her smile. Ever since middle school people had taken it upon themselves to comment on her looks as if she should be eternally grateful for their compliments and praise. She always pictured her mom’s screwed up face when she heard the word ugly - always saw the sewing machine she would bring out when she thought Chrissy looked heavy. The way she uttered the word ugly made it sound like the most awful thing that could ever happen. Forget about disease or poverty or mental illness. No no, being considered ugly was a sin in the Cunningham homestead. 

So Chrissy knew her appearance meant a lot. It held weight. It was the only real source of currency she owned and could trade off (you know - apart from actual currency). She had learned by the tender age of twelve (when her body started changing in funny new embarrassing ways) the impact her looks had on others and that other people felt good and treated her nice when she smiled and giggled and tried. 

Her mom would repeat over and over that appearance was everything. It didn’t matter how shitty you felt inside as long as you kept it to yourself. Chrissy’s mom was not a brilliant example of a good mom. Chrissy knew this. Her counsellor Ms Kelley knew this. Her father probably knew this though he would never lift a finger to help. Chrissy worried about turning into her mom one day but maybe the real worry was taking after her dad instead. Turning the cheek and ignoring what was right in front of you to keep up the facade of normal. Her parent’s greatest fear was to be abnormal and (God forbid) it tarnish their carefully curated reputation of a perfect upper-middle class wholesome family. Reagan’s wet dream, honestly. 

So even though Chrissy woke up the next morning feeling embarrassed and broken and totally called out, she could at least try not to look it. 

It was like when Jason asked about her headaches (which was weird in itself as he rarely noticed little things like that) and her automatic response had been to give him a pretty smile and lie and say they were probably due to her ‘monthly troubles’ instead. Jason had chuckled at that and rolled his eyes, appropriately (because society said it was okay) abashed. “Well take it easy, babe,” he’d said, pressing a distracted kiss to her cheek, his thoughts already turning to the big championship game coming up. “Have some candy or something.”

Because that’s what boyfriends did when you were unwell right? They’d buy flowers or chocolates or teddy bears with creepy stitched up mouths. 

Chrissy hadn’t really thought about Jason much over the last few days but instead of feeling guilty or worried she felt sort of…fine? In the films and TV shows she liked to watch, girls in trouble always went to their boyfriends first for comfort, but the idea of calling Jason now was just something she didn’t want to do. Was that unfair? Nancy’s boyfriend Jonathon (who she vaguely remembered from photography class) knew everything that was going on with Vecna and the upside-down world. She even caught the cute little looks Lucas and Max exchanged when they thought no one was watching, and Nancy’s brother Mike Wheeler was linked to this superhero El. They all seemed fine and even bolstered by sharing this madness with one another. 

She tried picturing Jason’s face if she told him about Vecna and nearly dying. Would he offer to come here and help Steve build up the defences? Show the freshmen how to shoot straight? Buy her candy? No, he’d probably get more angry at Eddie and the fact she was in his trailer, than her coming so close to having all her bones snapped and her eyes gouged out. He seemed so far removed from all this that she couldn’t fathom him beside her in this world of magic and hellfire. 

Eddie’s reproachful words from last night kept ringing in her ears… ‘did you hear what he did to that kid two weeks ago? Their parents had to pick them up’.

She was so ashamed. That poor kid. She was ashamed too that Eddie knew she had no idea about it. Like he assumed Jason would hide it from her and she would just go on with her little (sparkly pink bubble) life. ‘You just don’t know’.

Well she knew now, and she would not be like her father and ignore it. She was resolved to try and make things right at school even if it brought on Jason’s ire. The idea of him picking on Dustin or Mike Wheeler or any of them made her chest feel tight. 

Beep beep beep. 

Chrissy managed to get maybe two hours of sleep when the alarm on Steve’s watch went off and she groaned at the sudden rude awakening. She pushed her face deeper into the pillow, away from the sunshine beaming in through a blind. She tried to ignore that the pillow smelled like the eucalyptus shampoo Eddie used. There was also the unmistakable smell of cigarettes and weed but instead of being turned off she found it unexpectedly comforting. 

She felt Steve roll over and then there was a delicate pause. 

“Uh…Hi… Chrissy?”

“Hi Steve,” she mumbled. 

“Uh…there a reason you’re here and not Eddie? Not that I’m complaining, just a bit of a surprise first thing in the morning, is all.” 

Steve was peering over his pillow at her, bleary eyed and yawning. His hair was sticking up in all different directions and the sleepy hand he ran through it only made it worse. He still seemed half asleep. Chrissy might have giggled if she didn’t feel like total crap. 

“Couldn’t sleep so I took over the watch from Robin. Then Eddie came down and…well… he took over. Told me to come up here.” 

“Alright.”

“Steve?”

“Mhmm?”

“I heard the ticking noise again last night. Nothing floaty happened, but I thought you should know just in case. I think Nancy’s right. I think…I think it happens when I’m feeling really sad about something.”

“Damn.” She heard him swallow. “So I guess we’ve got to keep you and Max happy then. Happy thoughts an’ all. What got you so down?”

“I…I had a chat with Eddie and we kind of argued. We both said some really shitty things.” 

That was putting it mildly. 

She sighed and it seemed to reverberate down to her toes. She felt like the mattress might swallow her up whole. She eyed Eddie’s bag in the corner of the bedroom and the Hellfire Club T-shirt he so treasured screwed up beside it. His heavy belt was there too and the chains he clipped to the side of his jeans when he was trying to lean into the scary freaky look. 

“I think he hates me now.”

She wasn’t sure how to feel about someone hating her. It was a new. Everyone at school seemed to like her a lot and she never got into arguments or drama. Maybe some of the other cheerleaders were a bit put off when she beat them for the captain spot but they didn’t say anything mean. Her parents didn’t exactly treat her nice but that wasn’t out of hate. They said it was out of love. 

Steve’s voice noticeably softened. “Nah. He doesn’t hate you, Chrissy.  Far from it. The guy’s just…I don’t know…”

“Hanging on by a thread?”

“Exactly, yeah. He’s got a lot going on in that fucked up head of his…and he was a nutcase before all of this too, you know? We’re all trying our best but…it’s hard. He likes you though. Trust me.” 

Steve wouldn’t say that if he’d heard the way Eddie spoke to her last night…or this morning? Ugh. Or the way she spoke back to him. She tried not to linger on the awful expression on his face when she threw the words ‘hypocrite’ and ‘jealous’ at him like sharp darts. She’d meant every word - but she still felt bad. She wasn’t the kind of person to enjoy inflicting pain on others just because she was losing her mind, or punching down on someone who was already sinking. 

“We bought coffee, right?” Steve yawned again as he sat up and stretched, wisely changing the subject. “I can’t function without at least two cups in the morning. And Henderson has really been dialling up his attitude recently. The little shit.”

Chrissy sat up too and only then fully appreciated what an awkward situation they were both in. She’d deliberately not slipped under the sheets when she came to bed so they weren’t exactly side by side but it was still weird. She got out from under her borrowed blanket and wobbled to her feet. Christ, her head was reeling from the lack of sleep and food. And weed, probably, even though she barely had half. 

“I’m going to shower and I’ll make some. I think I spotted a coffee maker stashed in one of the cupboards.”

Steve hummed happily as Chrissy padded out the room barefoot. They had all agreed to keep the bedroom doors ajar last night so the person on guard duty could do their checks. Chrissy spotted a note tacked on their wood with what looked like gum. 

Gone to get milk - E.

The idea of Eddie coming up here while she was asleep and seeing her side by side with Steve made her feel odd, even if he’d been the one to suggest it. Another thought to push way down and ignore. 

She jumped in the shower before anyone else was up and washed and scrubbed her body thoroughly (who cared if her skin was pink and sore as a result?). She then scrubbed at her face and brushed her teeth. She applied her make up so well that you would never suspect she’d been awake all night crying over ticking and spiders and Eddie Munson telling her she was a sheep. She tossed her head side to side and smiled when the reflection met her approval. Once finished she towelled herself off and got dressed. 

She hadn’t been able to stuff much into her cheer bag but dug out an (admittedly wrinkled) flowery summer dress that would still look okay if she smoothed it down with her fingers. The thin straps showed off her slim shoulders but the skirts hid her knees. She decided to leave her hair down to dry as she hadn’t brought a hairdryer (though Steve probably had an emergency one stashed beside his hairspray). She very rarely wore her hair down because Jason said he preferred in a ponytail or in plaits. It felt different. New. She used her fingers to fluff out her bangs. 

Downstairs Dustin and Lucas were already awake and poking around the kitchen cupboards hopefully. Chrissy asked them to start up the coffee machine and found some breakfast stuff. By the time Robin and Steve came downstairs she was whisking pancake batter in one of Rick’s bowls. Robin said Max was still in the shower and Nancy was keeping an ear out. 

“You’re an angel, Chrissy,” Robin added gratefully, plonking herself down at the table. Her wet hair was still wrapped up in a towel. “Do we have syrup?”

“No way. Chocolate chips are the way to go,” Dustin corrected, still in his pyjamas. He reminded Chrissy of her little brother when he was still nice and occasionally an ally against their parents. 

Chrissy served up the pancakes as they debated the perfect pancake toppings. She never actually ate pancakes herself (far too many calories) but her grandma showed her how to do it when she was little and she could even do the perfect flip (naturally). While the others tucked into their food with thanks, she buttered some toast and nibbled it while leaning against the counter. 

She suddenly thought about those creepy lifeless women on the covers of Good Housekeeping. All made up with stiff fake smiles and with hair that looked totally pristine. She probably looked like one of them now. 

But no matter how pretty and composed she looked or how attentively she listened to Robin debate the virtues of pancakes versus crepes, Chrissy felt herself tense all over again when she heard the front door open. She turned at once to make herself a cup of coffee even though she hated it black. It would give her an excuse to do something with her hands besides wringing them together like a one dimensional damsel-in-distress character in their Dungeons and Dragons game (though Dustin, Lucas, and Eddie all seemed keen to them). 

“Daddy’s back safe and sound, kids, despite the looming threat of annihilation and bogus wizards that make even Saruman the White look like a pansy. Miss me?”

“You get milk?” Steve asked bluntly. 

“Yes dear. Got some more snacks too seeing as Lucas’ gone through like three bags of chips already.”

“Thanks man,” Lucas said, relieved. 

“I grabbed some gas too if you guys still want to hit up the War Zone?” Eddie added. “There’s plenty of room in the back of the van for guns, grenades, nunchucks…Could probably smuggle in some rocket launchers too.” 

“Flame throwers,” Nancy corrected him, walking into the kitchen. 

Chrissy didn’t need to look over her shoulder to know everyone was glancing at Nancy with a fair amount of respect (maybe a smidge of fear too). 

Hands wearing heavy silver rings placed shopping bags down onto the countertop beside her. A carton of milk appeared by the coffee pot but she ignored it stubbornly as she filled her mug to the brim. It took all her resolve not to shudder when the bitter liquid touched her tongue. Ew. 

“Can I grab a cup, ‘Rissy?” Nancy asked. 

‘Rissy? She liked that. “Sure, Nance.” 

Chrissy turned to see Nancy (followed by a clean and dressed Max) joining the others at the table. Eddie remained standing though as he slowly unpacked food into the cupboards.

Like her, he looked completely composed. He was wearing his usual ripped jeans but instead of a rock shirt he’d pulled on the black and red flannel that usually adorned his waist. Other than that though, the same Eddie; creepy rings that no store in Hawkins would surely sell, guitar pick around the neck, the now-familiar bat tattoo on his elbow (his sweet ol’ tatties, she remembered him saying). The only subtle tells that something may be amiss were the faint purple circles beneath his otherwise warm brown eyes and the fact he needed a shave (but saying that so did Steve). 

Eddie was putting away chips and soda and laughing at something Robin said. He even responded with a joke of his own in that flirty tone he seemed so comfortable using. Totally at ease. Totally in control. But it can’t be real, Chrissy thought, not after what he said this morning. He must be running on fumes. 

Which meant he had an excellent poker face. It almost rivalled her own. The others would observe them going out for milk, making breakfast, helping. Both of them seemingly fine. Christ, they could be her parents. 

Chrissy forced her shoulders to relax and flashed a blinding smile. When she spoke she made sure her voice was peppy and cheerful like she was getting ready for a cheer rally. Looking at her now you’d think she was running for the 1986 Miss America title and not miserable and sad and so fucking tired. Aren’t you proud of me, mom? 

“Want some pancakes too, Nance? Max?” she asked. “And you? How do you take your coffee, Munson?”

He almost - almost - cracked at that but caught himself just in time. She was nearly impressed.

“I can make it myself thanks,” he was all he said. 

–

They were indeed still going to the War Zone today. It was Nancy’s idea originally after spotting an advert in the paper but Eddie seemed to know about it too. It was about a two hour drive away and sounded like a Republican paradise. It would definitely have all the weapons and tools they needed until El and the others got there and they could regroup. Steve offered to drive but Eddie shut him down real quick. Only he drove his van, he explained. It wouldn’t run for anyone else. 

“Some of us should stay to guard this place,” Robin pointed out. “I don’t mind. I’m still sleepy from last night.”

Max and Lucas were quick to bow out too. Nancy was going to stay as well as she wanted to phone Jonathon again and check on his progress. Chrissy noticed her fingers twitching when she said this but didn’t make a deal of it. Nancy rarely spoke about Jonathon so maybe there was something not quite right there (though who was she to talk? Jason who?). She felt herself getting closer to Nancy every day but she still wasn’t sure they were in the boy-chat territory. Guns? End of the world? Sure. Heartbreak though? She felt herself growing closer to Robin too but there was something…different…about Robin she couldn’t quite place. It was like she belonged in a different era - one in the future maybe where they used flying cars and everyone was cool like her. She’d assumed at first she was Steve’s girlfriend but after only a millisecond it became abundantly clear they were just best of friends. 

Maybe one day after saving the world (they could do it) she and Nancy and Robin could crack out some wine coolers and discuss all the wonderful highs and tragic lows of being a teenage girl. Maybe even Max could join in. She’d like that a lot. 

So it was Eddie, Dustin, and Steve who got ready for the War Zone and then to everyone’s surprise Chrissy said she wanted to go too. She hurriedly retrieved her purse and opened it wide so they could see the large amount of cash wedged inside. 

“Woah!”

“Did you rob a bank?” Max said, eyeing her curiously, and Chrissy laughed.  

“It’s just my savings and what I could find in my dad’s office. Don’t worry, he’ll never notice it missing. He’s always leaving cash around the house. I brought some of my gold jewellery too in case we need to pawn it…though someone will have to help me. I’m not exactly sure how to pawn things,” she admitted. The words sounded unbelievably odd on her tongue. “I never wear any of it so I don’t mind. I only wear this one…” She gently flicked a nail against the ‘86’ at her neck. 

“We can’t accept your savings, Chrissy! You’ll need it for college, right?” Nancy pointed out. 

“Don’t worry, I have a separate college fund which is under lock and key. My dad won’t let me touch it until after I graduate. It’s his guarantee that…well, that I don’t drop out and do something to embarrass the family,” she said. “Please. I know you guys have all chipped in here and there and I wanna help too. Use this money to buy the…weapons…and food and things.”

“That’s really generous honestly but really we can manage if we stretch our money together. I think we’ll be okay if we’re careful.”

“But I don’t want you guys to be just okay. You’re so brave by doing all this - the least I can do is make sure money isn’t an issue, you know? This is something I can actually contribute to the group. Please just use it.”

She looked imploringly at Steve then. Steve came from a similar background to her own and must surely get it. Chrissy didn’t need this money and likely never would whereas she knew some of the others came from humble backgrounds and it just wasn’t fair. She found speaking about all of this uncomfortable - Jason and her other friends were just as privileged as her and her mom would rather die than discuss something as tacky as money - but Chrissy held fast because this gesture would alleviate some of the pressure from the others. It was her way of pulling her weight. 

“And…” she added brightly, smiling. “It would really annoy my mom if she ever knew and that thought makes me seriously happy. That’s got to be worth it, right?”

Steve laughed and she knew she’d won. “Alright, thanks Chriss. We’ll use the money today. Keep your jewellery though…we’ll only pawn that as a last resort, kay?”

Chrissy thought she saw a flash of relief cross both Steve and Nancy’s faces (they must have been worrying about this too) before they turned away and that made up for any embarrassment. 

Thankfully Dustin called shotgun in the van and the conversation shifted to a debate about what radio station to listen to. Chrissy collected her things - she borrowed a pair of Rick’s aviator sunglasses too as it was sunny (she hoped he wouldn’t mind) - and made to follow the others outside. 

But a touch to her elbow made her hesitate and Max was there looking awkward. “…I know we haven’t really spoken much before but I just wanted to say… that you do contribute to the group. Maybe you don’t feel that way, but it’s…nice…having you here.” Every nice word seemed to pain her but she held herself steady. She had a kind of intensity in her eyes which would surely make grown men tremble.  

She could be a governor or a DA, Chrissy thought, speechless. She finally choked out, “Thanks for saying that Max.”  

“Yeah whatever. Bring me back some peanut butter, ok? Smooth. I like that best on my pancakes.” 

Evidently dismissed, Chrissy jumped up onto the passenger seat beside Steve and Eddie started the engine. Eddie was the one to pick the music (“my van - my rules, Henderson”) and fiddled with the radio until some loud rock blasted out from the speakers. A few minutes later they were driving along the lake towards town. 

End of passion play, crumbling away

I'm your source of self-destruction

Veins that pump with fear, sucking darkest clear

Leading on your death's construction

Chrissy folded down the skirt of her summer dress so it lay neat against her thigh and settled back on the leather seat, doing her very best not to look ahead at the driver. She tried to ignore Dustin babbling about making  improvised weapons, or Steve complaining about the volume, or the thought of a certain pair of eyes watching her in the mirror. Instead she slipped on the too-big sunglasses, pulled out a shitty Capitalist magazine from her bag, and unfurled it resolutely. She would read it word to word like it was a textbook for class. No matter what anyone else thought. 

“Woah, what happened to your hand?” Dustin was saying. That did draw her attention. 

“Girls dig bruised knuckles, man, what can I say? They love that dangerous vigilante look. I caught it in the van door earlier, Henderson, I’m alright. It’s no biggie.” 

Did she imagine it or did Steve glance her way? She looked back at her magazine pointedly. 

Taste me, you will see

More is all you need

Dedicated to

How I'm killing you

“This music is killing me,” Steve grumbled. 

“It’s not so bad.” It wasn’t Chrissy’s style of music either but she liked the lyrics. “I think the band’s called metal something.” 

“Metallica,” Eddie corrected without looking round. 

She thought about the other time she’d taken a ride in Eddie’s van before her vision of Vecna. She’d met him in the car park after the championship game (ears still ringing from the cheers) so he could drive her back to his trailer for something stronger. He’d surprised her by holding the passenger door open like a gentleman from those old black and white movies. He’d even offered to let her pick the music though now it was his van, his rules. She’d been too nervous to suggest anything though. She remembered that whole journey being very very aware of just how bare her legs looked in her short cheerleading skirt. 

It was getting hot so she tried unrolling the window but the handle seemed to be busted. Eddie must have noticed because his window was suddenly down and a burst of cool air snaked around her shoulders and made her sigh. 

The War Zone was exactly as Nancy and Eddie described. Everything was made from lumber and it smelled strongly of polish and pine and oil. Testosterone in a bottle. There were rows and rows of clothing displays - hunting jackets, cargo pants, heavy work boots - as well as all the hunting and fishing equipment you could ever need. Behind the (again wooden) counters the guns and knives were locked away side by side in glass cabinets, and she thought they looked intimidating and scary. 

They let Steve take the lead inside. He seemed in his element and casually reeled off all the things they would need. He asked her and Dustin to go pick out some of the heavy duty coats and boots so Chrissy found herself ambling down the aisles with a heavily laden basket. She picked out a few things she thought might be helpful. She almost kissed Dustin on the cheek when he spotted a padded jacket he thought she might like (“There’s no pink, but it’s got little dots like your dress?”). It was so unbelievably cute that she thanked him and put it straight into the basket. They actually started having some fun picking bits out together (Dustin was going full Rambo with his own choices) - and inevitably their laughter started to draw stares. 

Not at Dustin though. At her. 

There were a few men openly staring at her now and she tried to ignore it like she always did when she drew unwanted attention. “Thank the heavens for that summer dress,” a man nearby drawled. He looked about the same age as her father. Maybe even older. “What’s a sweet girl like you doing here?”

She could hear Robin’s voice in her mind saying ‘buying a deadly weapon, dipshit, what’s it look like?’

Chrissy remained silent though. She knew that if she responded it would encourage them. It was a lesson that had been drummed into her ever since middle school. Don’t respond. Don’t be a tease. Don’t lead them on. Another voice behind her piped up. “Want a date, honey? Ditch the kid and come back to my van, eh? We can have ourselves a little party.” 

Dustin looked angry but was clearly out of his element and unsure how to best handle this sort of thing. “Let’s go back to Steve and Eddie, Chrissy. We’ve got enough stuff,” he said instead. His trust in the older guys seemed unshakeable. 

“Sure thing, Dustin. Everything’s cool, okay? Just ignore them.” 

They walked back over to the counter and waited. Steve was signing some paperwork and had four guns lined up on the counter in front of them. Chrissy stood as close to Steve’s side as she could and hoped that maybe those men would assume he was her boyfriend and leave her alone. They certainly looked like they could be a couple with their preppy clothes and looks. 

She saw Dustin whispering something into Eddie’s ear just as someone said loudly, “Want to come hold my gun, babe? I’ll let you polish it. Might even go off.” His friends seemed to think this was real funny because they began cracking up. 

Steve and Eddie heard that. She felt herself blush. “Sorry about this. Don’t worry, they’ll wind down in a little bit. Let’s just finish up and go…” 

“You can polish both our guns at the same time!”

“Shit,” Steve muttered. He was flushed too and she felt awful. “Sorry, Chriss. Just paying now. Won’t be long…Hey, can we speed this up please?”

She pressed closer to his side. Chrissy had this trick during times like this where she would try and physically make herself very small as a way of trying to hide. Her shoulders were already turning inwards and she crossed her arms over her chest. She tried to focus on what Steve was saying to the cashier but it was drowned out by a roaring noise in her ears. She wished Dustin would stop whispering to Eddie. She wished they would stop looking at her. 

But then someone brushed up close against her back. She felt a lingering hand on her hip. Her ass. She couldn’t stop herself from squeezing her eyes shut and grimacing. 

Here would be the part where someone should step in or where Chrissy finally told this jerk to get the fuck away from her (maybe even a tall body shielding her with his own, a gentle hand guiding her away) but this was 80’s Indiana and that shit didn’t happen just yet. The ideas of what to do when your customer or friend was being fucking manhandled in public just weren’t invented yet - and she could see her friends were pissed off but they hung back because they didn’t have the fucking right to get involved, you know? They weren’t her boyfriends or father or brother, they weren’t her. If she asked them to punch this guy's lights out they would in a heartbeat (and Eddie and Steve looked like they were gunning for it) but she didn’t. Chrissy just clenched her jaw and took it. 

They paid and left, and as soon as she slid onto the backseat she pushed on Rick’s sunglasses and stared out the window. She could feel the guys glancing at her (worried, angry, guilty) but they were following her lead and giving her some space. They made it a few miles before Steve reached out and turned the heavy rock music back on. 

“Did that asshole hurt you, Chrissy?” Dustin said at last and because it was Dustin she answered honestly. 

“No. He just touched my leg and my…” She shuddered at the memory and seemed to shrink even further back into the seat. “I’m sorry you had to see it. I swear I didn’t say a word to any of them or smile or even look at them. I didn’t…”

“You don’t have to be sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

She could have told him about the lecture she got at church when one of the pastors touched her leg because she wore a dress that was one inch too short, but Dustin didn’t need to know about any of that crap. He was just a kid. “I should have just stayed in the car,” she sighed. 

“It’s just not…fair. You can’t just not exist, you know? I don’t know…it’s messed up.”

“Yeah, it is.”

He paused for such a long time that Chrissy thought he was done, but then he turned around properly and peered through the seats at her. “Chrissy? I’m sorry I didn’t…you know, defend you when that first creep said something. I didn’t know what to do and kind of freaked. Next time I’ll be better, though, I promise. I’ll look after you.” 

So this time Chrissy did lean forwards and press a kiss to his cheek. Dustin turned an alarming shade of red but he smiled. “You were perfect, Dustin. I promise. Never change, little guy, okay?”

She felt tears spring to her eyes so once again turned her head to the window. 

She didn’t notice Eddie pat Dustin on the shoulder. Or Steve messing up his hair. 

**

When they got back to Rick’s it was way past lunchtime but Nancy had left them some cheese sandwiches in the fridge. Chrissy took hers outside to eat in the back garden, along with a book she borrowed from Dustin. “Keep the door open though, yeah?” Steve had called. She promised she would. 

She dragged one of the wooden chairs from the circle towards the dock in what she considered was a perfect spot by the lake edge. Here she would be able to enjoy the last of the day’s sunshine and hear the gentle flow of the river in peace. She’d even borrowed one of Rick’s floppy fishing hats so the sun wouldn’t burn her nose again (poor Rick - she might as well try on his boots next). She’d thought about sitting in this spot last night - this morning - when she was out here sharing that joint with Eddie and thought it would be such a sweet place to relax and unwind. It was so quiet here. 

It was quiet back in the house too. Nancy and Robin were spending the afternoon researching the Creel family in the library archives and had taken Steve’s car. The others seemed happy enough to admire their new cache of weapons and gear and Steve was trying to get the TV to work so he could watch a sports game. 

There wasn’t much for Chrissy to do this afternoon except to stay quiet and not draw any more trouble. 

She could still feel those prickling eyes on her face and body and hear those vile comments at the War Zone. The laughter. They’d found it funny to make her uncomfortable and humiliate her. Like it was a game. And why hadn’t she spoken up? Why not answer like Robin or Max or Nancy might have? No, she’d just tried to ignore it and wait it out like a storm. Hadn’t she already made the decision not to end up like her parents? To challenge Jason? To stand up, to say something, to shout and make some fucking noise. She was off to a crap start. 

Christ, she was so weak. She couldn’t even go to a store with her friends without stirring up some kind of mess. She thought about Dustin’s helplessness when it first started to happen and Steve’s sympathetic (pitying, her dad’s voice corrected) smiles in the car after. She’d upset Eddie again. She should have just stayed in the damn car. 

She couldn’t focus on the book in her hands or even the sunshine. Everything suddenly felt so cold and dark. She hurled her sandwich into the lake. 

She made a noise that sounded like a whimper. Fuck fuck fuck. 

And just as she fell to her lowest - it happened. 

It started with a dark shape emerging beneath the surface of the lake. It was big - maybe the same size as a person - and way too big to be an eel or a fish. Maybe it was a body? Chrissy was suddenly standing and she peered over the edge and saw it was starting to move towards her. She stepped back (not noticing that the chair was no longer behind her). She began rubbing her eyes. She’d heard about people cracking up from stress and exhaustion. Maybe it was finally her time?

But then the ticking started and it filled her belly with an icy cold horror. Tick. Tick. Tick. 

She suddenly knew that whatever that thing in the water was, it was not something good and it was going to hurt her. She did not want that thing to come any closer! 

But it did. The top of its head broke the surface and she saw grey slimy flesh…

“No…” she moaned. “You’re not real. This isn’t real.”

Like a nightmare, Vecna’s face emerged inch by inch as he drew closer. His black lifeless eyes were staring at her and when she flinched back, he smiled. His teeth (black and sharp like fangs) twisted into a terrifying grin. “Chrissy…” he seemed to sing her name like it was a verse or a melody. “It’s time Chrissy.”

Chrissy shook her head as she took another step away from the water’s edge. She turned to run back to the house (to her friends and safety) but it was no longer daytime. Dark smoke caged her senses and the grass beneath her bare feet turned now to ash and soot. The smoke flooded her nose and mouth and she gagged on it. The sickening taste of death clawed at her throat making her eyes water. 

“You’ve been so clever trying to run away from me, Chrissy, but you knew I’d come back to claim you. You always knew, didn’t you? In the back of your mind. You knew that we needed each other. Poor Chrissy. You’re so tired, aren’t you? So exhausted. Let me help you…”

She couldn’t see the house or the dock or anything. Everything was so dark. 

“You don’t want to help me,” she cried. “You want to murder me.”

“No. I want to help you become something bigger than yourself. Something incredible and exciting. Chrissy…come to me. You’re so good at doing exactly what you’re told. Come to me now.”

He was rising out of the water and then - as sudden as a blink - he was standing before her, tall and threatening. She stumbled back against something hard and knew she could not run away. She felt her legs buckle beneath her and she fell to her knees. 

She was crying. She was terrified. “I don’t want to die. Please. I don’t want to die.” 

“Can you really call your miserable little existence living?” he asked cruelly. He bowed and curled one of his long fingers beneath her chin and forced her to look up at him. “You who are utterly without love. Not even for yourself. It is kinder to put you out of this misery, Chrissy. Believe me, you know that there’s nothing in this world for you. It won’t make the slightest bit of difference if you are alive or dead.”

His words seemed to pierce her heart like ice. Was he right? 

“You have a weapon - a gun - hidden upstairs. You’ve kept it so secret and safe but why do you have it, really? You and I both know why. You know that there will come a day when you finally snap and you want it all to end..”

“Oh god…” 

She couldn’t look away from his piercing eyes. He was cradling her face now and scratched his claws down her cheeks, tearing at her flesh. She felt no pain though. She was completely in his thrall. 

“Come with me….” 

“I…” 

Chrissy!

Someone was screaming her name, but no that was impossible. It was just her and Vecna and Vecna was going to murder her. 

But then there was music. Such loud ringing music that it seemed to shake the foundations of the world around her and flood it with a bright gold light. Its sparks gathered by the red vines twisted around her limbs (when had that happened) and seemed to rip them away. 

We are young

Heartache to heartache

We stand

No promises, no demands

Love is a battlefield

She remembered the first time she heard this song. One of her friends played it during cheer drills and they laughed themselves silly dancing along to it. She’d bought a tape herself and listened to it secretly at home using her headphones. 

We are strong

No one can tell us we're wrong

Searching our hearts for so long

And then she saw a swirling white light just behind Vecna. At the edge of the lake. Just like when Eddie saved her last time. 

Chrissy! That was Eddie’s voice calling her name. That sounded better than any cheering crowd, any morning birdsong, any fucking power ballad. 

She knew what she needed to do if she wanted to fight this but she didn’t know if she had the strength. Then she thought about Max telling her she belonged in the group. She thought about Nancy who was brilliant and badass and kept guns under her bed, and Lucas who was an athlete but also a total nerd. She thought about Steve who was a fucking hero and Robin who might be a timetraveller and who she wanted drink wine coolers with. She thought about Dustin who promised he’d fight for her even when he was scared. She thought about Eddie and the way he made her laugh in the woods and how he was hanging on by a fucking thread now because of Vecna. She owed it to Eddie to fight this. 

Vecna suddenly became those rednecks back at the War Zone with their creepy entitled eyes. He became her mom. Her dad. He became Jason and the way he and the team bullied the freshmen kids. He was a fucking asshole. 

She got to her feet with a whimper. 

Both of us knowing

Love is a battlefield

Chrissy! 

“LEAVE ME ALONE!”

She screamed and kicked Vecna right in the chest. All those years of cheerleading drills had made the muscles in her legs strong and the strength of that kick was just enough to surprise Vecna and give her a split second advantage. She ran towards the white light.

She jumped. 

–

And then she was underwater. She was being pulled down to the bottom of the lake and her lungs were empty and she was screaming but she had no voice. 

She couldn’t believe that this might be the end after all. Not when she’d jumped into that bright white light wanting to live and come home. 

But then hands were grasping hold of her and pulling her away from the darkness and up towards the surface. More hands dragged her out of the water and she sank, shivering and cold, onto the grass of the riverbank. She felt warm lips against her mouth and then she was choking and then she tasted gloriously sweet air. She gulped it down greedily and let it fill her lungs. The world seemed to clear and settle around her. 

It took a moment for her senses to catch up but when they finally did she could feel everything. She could hear someone crying and people shouting in hurried frantic voices. She could feel the way her lungs ached as her chest rose and fell. She could smell the coppery tang of blood. 

Her dress was clinging to her body like a second skin and she felt so achingly cold but she was alive. That was all that mattered. 

She opened her eyes and Eddie’s face was all she saw. He was kneeling in front of her, his hands still gripping her wrists, and he had tears running down his cheeks. He was soaking wet too. Chrissy raised a thumb and wiped at his cheek gently. 

“Are you here, Chrissy?” he was asking over and over. “Are you back with me?” 

“I’m here. Eddie, I’m here.”

He crushed her to his chest and she let him. Burying her face into the crook of his neck, she let her own tears come and she wept and wept. She let out every single tear and drop of fear into Eddie’s strong shoulder. His arms were tight around her back but she wanted the weight. It made her feel held. 

She might have cried for hours (it wouldn’t have mattered).

“Eddie? I need to look at her cheeks, man.”

Her cheek? She felt Eddie release her slowly and then Steve (also wet and shivering) was there inspecting her face. He was trying hard to keep calm so he could focus on whatever it was he was doing, but when she caught his eye he broke into a proud grin. “Hi Chrissy. Welcome back to Earth.”

“I can smell blood. Is it mine?” It was easier to breathe now. The smoke and ash and water were no longer in her lungs and throat. 

“You were floating in the air above the water,” it was Max speaking now. Chrissy’s gaze came to rest over Eddie’s shoulder and she saw Max and Lucas watching her closely. Max’s face was as white as a ghost. Dustin was kneeling at their side beaming though. All of these wonderful human beings who she had heard in her vision. Who brought her back. “And then your cheeks just slashed open. Like you were scratched either side by invisible claws. Was it Vecna?” 

“Yeah. I think so. I remember…he came out of the lake,” she murmured. She glanced back at the lake now and saw that it was still and calm. It looked beautiful again. “I knew I was having a vision but couldn’t stop it.”

Steve cleaned her up while she told them everything that happened. 

“...Then I heard my name…and I heard music…my favourite song. It made a bright light appear. As soon as I saw that I knew it was my way home.”

“It was Eddie’s idea!” Dustin said proudly. “He saw you from the window and grabbed Max’s walkman. He managed to cram the headphones over your ears just before you started floating up…but I guess it’s in the lake now though.”

“I’m just glad I had Pat Bentar on there,” Max mumbled.

Chrissy didn’t want to think about ‘what if’s’ right now. Instead she looked back at Eddie. His hands were still holding her waist. “How did you know that was my favourite? You’ve never asked.”

“Didn’t need to. You humm it sometimes.”

Chrissy smiled. She began to cry. 

She let Steve finish cleaning her wounds while Lucas grabbed them all warm blankets. Steve told her she had two large jagged scratches on either side of her face, running from the tips of her lips all the way to her eyes. “They aren’t deep enough to need stitches but I’ll get you something for the pain. I don’t think they’ll scar…” 

Chrissy found she didn’t care. She might’ve once. She was just thankful Vecna missed her eyes. 

“I can't believe you kicked Vecna,” Dustin was saying. “That’s so fucking cool.”

“Very metal,” Eddie agreed quietly. 

Eddie was still watching her closely. It was like he didn’t quite believe it was over and she wouldn’t start floating away again. She watched as two faint red patches started forming on his cheeks. It was like he was just now realising how close they were. 

“I need to sit down. Can I…?”

Steve immediately suggested she go upstairs to lay down on the bed but instead she asked them to help her back into the wooden chair she’d positioned so carefully before her vision. She wanted to stay outside and sit in the last remnants of the day’s sunshine. The sun would be starting to set soon and she wanted most of all in the world to sit out here on Rick’s dock and watch it. Like he did. She didn’t want to give Vecna the satisfaction of sending her to bed and having her miss out on something she damn wanted. “Can I have some alone time?” she asked. “I just want to…sit here.”

“I don’t think you should be left alone…” Max started but Eddie spoke up. 

“I’ll stay,” he said quietly. 

The others went back inside (though Steve brought her out the much-appreciated pain medication). Her hands were trembling too badly to take it alone so he helped her. She thanked him gratefully. 

“You’re one of the team now,” he said. “We look after our own. Eddie, bring her in if she starts turning blue, okay? Doc’s orders.” 

Chrissy sighed and she lay back in the chair. Her mind was swimming with Vecna and his soft velvety voice. He’d said he wanted her purposefully because she needed him to end her long drawn-out suffering. The most tragic and clever thing, she realised, was that his words had been sprinkled with seeds of truth. She was everything he’d said. He’d looked into her heart and only held up the cracked mirror. 

Chrissy was sad. She’d been sad for a long time. But did she really not want to be here anymore? Chrissy looked out towards the lake. The blue sky was gradually fading into pink. 

“Eddie?” she said softly. 

“I’m here.”

“Will you sit with me?”

She heard the sound of scraping wood as Eddie pulled over one of the chairs next to hers on the dock. He even readjusted the blanket around her shoulders before sitting down even though she was capable of doing it alone. It was just her face (and heart) that ached. 

They stared at one another, sizing each other up almost. She noticed for the first time that his eyes weren’t entirely brown. They had little flecks of gold in them too. She’d never thought of Eddie as pretty before but she did now. 

“So you jumped in the lake for me?”

“Didn’t even hesitate,” Eddie chuckled. “You can thank Steve for the lip service though. He just loves to be the hero and save the girl.” 

Chrissy was so tired but she didn’t dare close her eyes in case she fell asleep. She was happy sitting here on the dock with Eddie. She lifted her feet and curled them up beneath the blanket. 

“I thought I was a goner. Again. I almost gave up,” she said. “I know that’s such a pathetic thing to admit but when Vecna told me about wanting to put me out of my misery, a tiny part of me wanted to believe him. He knew about me being unhappy and sad all the time. Knew that I was shutting down inside, you know? He told me it wouldn’t make any difference to the world if I was alive or dead and I let myself believe him. Does that make me stupid?”

She saw Eddie swallow. “Look, I’m not gunna’ sit here and pretend to know what your life is like because I was dead wrong before. I know now it’s been… tough… and that asshole Vecna used that to try and manipulate you. But, Chrissy, it didn’t work. You chose to come back and you kicked him like some cheerleader warrior. It probably won’t mean much, but I’m fucking proud of you, kid.” 

Chrissy smiled despite herself. “As I live and breathe, scary Eddie Munson acknowledging cheerleaders might not just be some dumb stereotype. You’ve dropped Cunningham too. It sounds nice.”

“No turning back now. It felt like such a trip when you called me Munson during breakfast. Even if I totally deserved it.”

“You didn’t.” 

“No, I did. I was a complete asshole. Chrissy, look, I know you’ve been through a lot today and the kindest thing would be to leave you alone, but can you stay awake just a little longer to hear my shitty apology? After that I’ll give you some space or carry you up to bed or…whatever you want.”

“You don’t need to -”

“I do. Please. I need to apologise for everything. For the way I’ve been avoiding you and for every fucking crappy thing I said to you this morning. I would take it all back in a heartbeat because every word was total bullshit, Chrissy. I didn’t mean any of it. I was so angry and scared and worried and pathetic… and you were right when you called me out on it because I was taking it out on you.”

“But why me? Because I ran away?”

“No, Chrissy, please listen…” He moved his chair so close that his leg brushed against her knee. “It wasn’t anything you did or didn’t do, okay? You’ve been so fucking spectacular. The way you’ve been caring for everyone and helping out. It’s just…in my fucked up brain…every time I look at you I think of that Fred kid - but I see you like that and it just breaks me. Every time you flinch at the name Vecna or touch your jaw I die a little bit inside. I feel so guilty and scared that it could have so easily have been you. I still can’t believe tonight…seeing you floating like that above the water and seeing the blood when that fucker cut into your face…God, if Max hadn't had that stupid song on her walkman... Chrissy, I can’t deal with the thought of…you dying.”

Eddie had closed his eyes but when Chrissy lightly touched the back of his hand they flew open. 

“Eddie, I’m right here. I’m alright. Look at my neck. My wrists. My jaw. I’m not broken. Look at my eyes. I’m here.” 

She shrugged down her warm blanket and held out her arms, bared her neck, lifted her chin. She let him trace his fingers along her skin, reassuring himself that yes she was smooth. She was whole. His eyes searched her greedily. She might have found the idea of letting Eddie Munson do this to her odd once but now it only made her feel safe. 

Then his eyes came to rest on her face, on the deep scratches. “Steve’s done a good job and I don’t think they’ll leave any punk scars. We’ll have to think of an excuse for your folks though…and Jason. If I’d only put that music on sooner…”

“The important thing is you did. It was quick thinking.”

She let him trace his fingers over her face too. She could see it helped clear away some of the tightness on his face. 

“When I looked out the window and saw you go still…I’ve never felt so fucking scared, Chriss. And the last time in my trailer? I was so freaked out I nearly ran out of there myself. I thought I was used to horror and gore and monsters, but that was all pretend before. I don’t know jack shit about any of this or how I can help, and maybe I’m a coward but I think that just added to whatever sizable chip I’ve got growing on my shoulder right now. When I saw you again at the Wheeler’s you thanked me, Chrissy, and kept looking at me like I was some hero like Steve and I knew I wasn’t. You’re still looking at me like it even now…it’s like, what the fuck can I do?”

“But Eddie, don’t you remember that Twain quote in English class? About courage being resistance to fear? We had a test about him.” 

“You know I’m failing English, Chrissy.”

“Well that’s what he said. The fact is you’ve saved me three times now. Twice from Vecna and once from drowning, and you’ve been scared the whole time. I think that’s pretty courageous,” she added with a small smile. “So I do get to call you a hero. That’s my prerogative as the  crappy damsel.” 

Eddie’s lips twitched into a smile and it looked like he was blushing. 

“Well maybe I’m okay when Vecna comes calling… but I was too much of a coward to face you though. To give you what you wanted. What you needed…”

“What do you mean?” 

They were both still soaking wet although the blankets and sun were doing their damn best to dry them off. But when Eddie reached out and took her hand she felt like it was a summer day in July. He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. 

“By my count, we’ve shared two fucking terrifying moments together but instead of…I don’t know, bonding over it? Helping each other out?...I’ve been pushing you away like an asshole. I don’t know a damn about psychology or trauma or whatever…but what I do know is talking to you about it now feels really good. Like some of my damage has mended and I can breathe a little easier. That’s got to be a good thing, right?” he said. “So let me finally step up and be here for you. I want to. I want to hear everything that’s going on with you. No frills. No bullshit... Lay it on me, Chrissy. Please.” 

Chrissy met his eyes and saw such honest sincerity and warmth there she thought she might start crying again. He was putting down his shield and offering her his friendship and she wanted to take it so badly. 

This wasn’t an olive branch or a sledgehammer - this was a flamethrower - and they would burn the metaphoric wall down to the ground. Together. 

So Chrissy told him everything. She told him about her life before her visions - about cheerleading and her shitty parents and her miserable anxieties about food. She told him about Jason and how she was pretty sure she was going to break up with him because she hated bullies and didn’t want babies and a house and to be ignored for the rest of her life. She even told him about the incident at church and how it made her hate her body but at the same time she wanted to buy fucking silk pajamas too because she knew they would feel nice. She told him about college and how she wanted to take a year off and see some of the world. She was sure she’d love California and Rome and maybe even England so she could visit some real life castles. 

She told him about her first vision and why she’d come to him for drugs and about how crap she still felt about running away from him. She told him about this vision. About how Vecna made her feel so worthless and weak. She told him about the gun she had upstairs (this was the only time he interrupted her to say gently they would get it later and store it with the other weapons so it was safe). She told him about how much she liked her new friends and how thinking about them helped her find the strength to get away from Vecna. 

Eddie listened to it all and seemed to be drinking it in. With every word she felt a coil inside her begin to unwind a little. It was just like he said before about feeling mended. Like he was switching her up. 

“...And I thought about you,” Chrissy admitted at long last. “How I owed it to you to come back and be here for you. I didn’t want to leave you alone again.”

Eddie had tears in his eyes and so did she. 

“You weren’t totally wrong about me this morning. I have been ignoring some of the crap that goes on at school,” she admitted. He looked like he wanted to interrupt but she kept going. “I didn’t know how rough things were for you guys, but that’s no excuse now. I promise I’ll help from now on. No one should be treated that way.”

“Chrissy Cunningham, defender of the downtrodden misfits and freaks. Atta’ girl,” Eddie smiled. “But you don’t deserve to be treated that way either, you know? Not to be a dick again, I swear, but you kind of let people walk over you sometimes and you seriously don’t deserve it. You’re so cool and smart and really talented. You…you’re the real deal. You should own it.”

“…I’ll try.”

Loving oneselves was not easy and Chrissy had spent years putting herself down, but she knew Eddie was right and she should exercise more self-love like Ms Kelley said. She should try, at least. Baby steps. 

Behind them the sun was setting behind the trees and the sky was a colour palette of pink, yellow, and orange hues. She lay back against her chair and she let her eyes flutter close for just a minute. She could almost purr she felt so content right now. 

“The next day at the hour of sunset Aragorn walked alone in the woods, and his heart was high within him; and he sang, for he was full of hope and the world was fair…”

“Is that from…?” Chrissy clumsily scooped up Dustin’s book from where she must have dropped it before her vision. On seeing the cover, Eddie grinned and she found herself grinning back just as wide, though she didn’t know why they were both so happy. Eddie took it from her gently, seeing that she was at risk of dropping it again in her tiredness. 

“Same author but different book. If you like The Hobbit you can borrow my copy of Rings after. I promise you’ll love it. That’s a Munson guarantee.” 

“I’d really like that, Eddie.”

“And I’ll try and read Little Women…are they actually tiny women or…?”

Chrissy found herself giggling softly. “Maybe we can talk about them together? Start our own private ‘End of the World’ book club. I’d like to hear more about D&D too and what it all means. Maybe even watch a game sometime…if that’s okay?”

“It’s a deal.”

Chrissy found her eyes once again closing and she yawned. She thought she could sleep for a thousand years. She snuggled down further into her blanket. 

“Sleep Chrissy. We’ll be here when you wake up.”

She liked the sound of that. Her friends. Nancy and Robin would be home soon too. 

“Eddie?” she mumbled sleepily. 

“Mm?”

“So you really don’t hate me?”

“No way. Not possible.” 

“Can we…can we be friends? I’d really like to be your friend.”

There was a little pause and she just about heard him clear his throat. 

“Best of friends, Chriss. Best buddies.”

And her heart sang. 

---------------

A/N:

Annnnnnd we're done folks. Chrissy and Eddie can now look to the future and kick some Vecna butt as team mates (the best team mates). A few notes:

- Firstly, thank you so much for reading this crazy mess. I promise to go back at some point and edit and cut that word count down - but I'm already up to my eyeballs with others ideas for the two (maybe taking place in the same series as this one?) - I wanted to leave it as them friends but it's pretty clear they are going to be something more, you know? Plenty of hints scattered in that Eddie is crazy about Chrissy and she's starting to notice him too. - Eddie IS crazy about Chrissy throughout this fic though he might not feel like he can show it (she has Jason remember and as far as Eddie knows they're a couple couple until she admits it at the end). He's not treading on any toes. - Lyrics are from 'Master of Puppets' and 'Love Is a Battlefield'. I saw an interview where Chrissy's actor mentions this would be the song to pull Chrissy out. - Yeah the men at the War Zone suck balls, but it's something we read about every day right? I'd like to say things are better but fuck that. Make noise, people. I actually wrote Eddie stepping in and guiding her out initially (with Chrissy under his arm naturally) but it just didn't feel right. You can bet that both he and Steve wanted to kick ass though and Eddie was gritting his fucking teeth. - I love Dustin and Chrissy moments. I also love Steve and Chrissy moments. - Yeah sorry Steve gave her mouth to mouth because he actually knows what he's doing - being a lifeguard and all - but Eddie was first in the water. Steve helped pull her out. - The Rings quote Eddie says '...The next day at the hour of sunset Aragorn walked alone in the woods, and his heart was high within him; and he sang, for he was full of hope and the world was fair…” is about a sunset, yes, but also before Aragon meets the love of his fucking life and thinks he's stumbled into a dream. Nice work, Eddie, lay those seeds.

Love to you all - Hellcheer forever.

[randomly-a-fan]

On the Red-Dirt Road Pt. 3

Pt. 1

Pt. 2

It was a rough night for two sides, with Malon crying in her sleep, and MJ having a nightmare of losing her baby. On MJ’s side, Jason has been listening to MJ crying in her sleep; probably crying for Malon. Jason was going to comfort his wife until Aquarius was woken up from her cries, and wanted to calm her down herself. Aquarius went over and massage her head while talking soothingly in comfort. “It’s okay, MJ, everything is going to be okay; We’ll get Malon back and live our normal lives.” Aquarius said calmly before she kissed the top of her head. Then MJ’s cries fade down to soothing snores.

For Malon, she had it rough; as she was dozing off, she was disturbed by Chop Top playing tricks to scare the heart out of her. “Nighty-Night!” Chop Top shouted. Malon was breathing uncontrollably while being in after-shock. Bubba saw what his brother did, him and Nubbins pulled that same stunt all the time back in the day. He felt awful seeing Malon in panic, so he thought of doing something nice for her, and do a little pay back on his brother for doing rash things to her.

While Malon tries to doze off, Bubba quietly placed Chop Top’s chocolate bar that he took from a weary traveler the other day, to Bubba’s mind, Malon deserves it more, since she refused to eat the mystery-meat that Drayton prepared for her. Bubba gently woke her up and rushed out of her sight. Malon woke up feeling hungry, until she saw a ‘Crunch Bar’ right next to her; the wrapper is still sealed; so, if that’s the case, it’s not poison, especially to the fact that it’s Bubba that gave her the hospitality. “Thank you...” Malon said mutely, before she unwrapped the bar and ate it all with a smile on her face. Bubba peeked and smiled to himself for doing something nice and then get a praise; he wished he could do so much more for her.

***

It was four in the morning when Pennywise made it to The Sawyer’s destination. To Jason’s relief, MJ was still sleeping; if MJ remains asleep, the three can go into the house and grab Malon and leave. However, Jason thought wrong; MJ woke up three minutes after they’ve exited the bus. “I’m sure it’s because they don’t want to disturb my sleep.” MJ thought out loud. So, MJ got off the bus and rush over to her husband and the Grays’. 

When Jason heard MJ approaching, he turned around and made her stop. “You didn’t wake me up when we got here, so I rushed over to help out.” MJ explained. “MJ sweetie, this is just going to be a quick search; we’ll be done before you had the chance to blink.” Aquarius said to MJ. “I have an idea, how about MJ guards the bus, yeah? yeah, that’s a great idea...” Pennywise added in. “Why are you guys trying to get rid of me... Am I not helpful to you guys?” MJ asked. Jason shook his head while Pennywise translates his thoughts. “He doesn’t want you to get hurt, so he thought of letting you stay on the bus.” Pennywise translated. MJ stumped her foot before responding. “I’m fed up with this; you keep treating me like some delicate porcelain doll, just because I was held captive by Bo, doesn’t mean I’m unable to think about my daughter’s life!” MJ stated. 

That got Pennywise excited. “Ho Boy! This is getting exciting, good thing I’ve brought my kettle-corn!” Pennywise chuckled before eating. Jason turned around sharply. “Shut up and help me with this!” Jason shouted in his head. “Nope... I’m staying out of this feud...” Pennywise replied. “He means, to translate his thoughts to her.” Aquarius corrected as she was tugging on his collar. “Oh... Right...” Pennywise prepared himself for Jason’s response. “For God sakes, this is no time to act childish!” MJ yelled. “Says you, you’ve been acting childish since we’ve got here--” 

Jason snapped and punched Pennywise in the face. “Don’t say that part, stupid!” Jason roared at Pennywise. While Pennywise tries to regain his face, Jason turned around and noticed MJ just standing, while looking down on the ground; he could have sworn he saw a tear fall. “You think... I’m childish?” MJ asked before looking up at Jason. Jason wanted to answer it gently to her, so he had Pennywise answer it for him, once he got his face back in place. “To be honest with you... You haven’t been acting mature from when we got on the bus...” Jason explained in his head, that Pennywise then translated.

MJ wanted to bawl, but she couldn’t find herself to do so. “Then I’ll wait for you three by the bus...” MJ said in a groan like voice that she was trying to hold back. Then she ran off before Jason could have the chance to hug her in an apology-act.

***

At the hide-out, Malon was screaming in fright as she was running for her life from Chop Top and his mallet. “YOU LITTLE BRAT.” Chop Top yelled. “Go away! I did nothing wrong!” Malon yelled. Then she saw a tunnel/pipe that was the right size for her, but not for Chop Top, she quickly crawled in. “Alright you little rat, get out of there and let’s talk some business!” Chop Top said. “NO...” Malon answered while crying. Then they both heard Drayton yelling from a distance with Bubba rushing from behind. “What’er you think yer doin’ boy! What’s with all that yellin’?” Drayton asked in an annoyed tone. “He tried to hurt me!” Malon yelled out from the pipe. Drayton shoved Chop Top out of the way to look inside. “What’er you doin’ out of your safe spot?” Drayton asked in a normal tone. “That rat stole my Crunch Bar! I was going to do a cavity search on her.” Chop Top answered. “Boy... Go out and get some tools at the old house, you can get something for yerself!” Drayton ordered.

After Chop Top left with fury, Drayton crouched down to talk softly to Malon. “It’s okay, Malon. Yer safe for now.” Then he turned to Bubba. “Get Malon back to her safe spot and feed her somethin’.” Drayton ordered. Bubba nodded and did as he was told. Malon slowly crawled out while tearing up before Bubba lifted her up to give her a hug. He felt her hugging him back, he never felt this sort of affection in years; Malon feels safer with Bubba, since he’s the only one who was not rough with her. “Don’t let Chop Top hurt me...” Malon mumbled in his ear. Bubba honestly didn’t like the way he treated Malon, over a stupid bar; he didn’t want to hurt his own brother, but he didn’t want her to hurt her either; he thinks of her as a little sister to him, even if he couldn’t let her go free.

***

MJ was inside the bus looking cross, she couldn’t even sketch without dropping a few tears. “I’m not immature...” MJ said to herself. Just then, MJ heard something outside, so she took a peak and noticed the food-truck, it had the same picture in the description. She also saw the strange hippie-creep that could be the one responsible for Malon’s abduction. 

Chop Top was heading for his old house to get some supplies that Drayton needs. MJ wasn’t too worried about Jason or The Grays, they can handle themselves without any problems. So, MJ took the opportunity to sneak into the truck to look for clues. The inside of the truck was disgusting, she nearly threw up from that rotten smell, but she needed to gain composure and not leave any suspicion. MJ needed to let Jason know that she was in there and that the truck might lead to the hideout. Then she thought of an idea; she quickly rushed out to the bus and took some of Pennywise’s jerky. She knew that Pennywise has a strong smell of jerky, so no matter how far she is, he can easily find it.

Jason and The Grays had no luck on finding Malon, or anything useful; except some more jerky, even if it’s out-of-date. “Pennywise, how can you think about food at a time like this?” Aquarius asked crossly. “Hey, if The Sawyers are not making jerky anymore, then at least let me bring them back to the bus.” Pennywise replied. Then they both started to argue, that is until Jason shut them both up; because he saw someone coming towards the house. “That’s Chop Top... Quick, out the back door!” Pennywise whispered. Jason was going to wait for Chop Top to come in so he can kill him with his machete, but Pennywise prevented him from doing so by pulling him outside with ease. “Pennywise, let me kill him, he has my daughter!” Jason begged angrily. “Jason, just hear me out; if you kill him, we’ll never find out where he has kept Malon, or where the hideout is. Just let him be for now, and once we find the hideout, we’ll get Malon back... And possibly kill that metal-headed creep.” Pennywise explained. Jason decided to go along with his plan, he wanted to rescue his daughter, and the only way to do it is by letting Chop Top live for now.

***

Once Chop Top got what he needed, he walks back to his truck with Jason and The Grays following from behind in stealth. MJ was hoping that her husband and friends would be back before Chop Top does, but when she saw Chop Top coming, she can’t warn her husband, or get out of the truck. So, she quickly hid in the old trunk, so that Chop Top doesn’t find her.

When Pennywise saw the truck, he knew that the food truck is heading back to the hideout. When they got into the bus, MJ wasn’t there. “Where’s MJ?” Aquarius asked. Jason was in a state of shock; did MJ runaway because she was upset for what he thought of her? he hoped not! Then Pennywise sensed something. “MJ took the jerky from my bus; I think she assumes that I can smell it from a distance...” Then he saw the food truck, and smell the jerky, along with MJ’s scent. “MJ is in the truck!” Pennywise said in panic. 

Jason was furious, first his daughter, and NOW his wife? He’s almost as worse than Freddy Krueger... Nah, no one is worse than Freddy Krueger. But he needed to get MJ out of there and go after that hippie-creep. “Jason, wait! Maybe this might help us, if we follow the truck, we’ll find the hideout.” Pennywise thought out loud. “Then go after it then!” Jason said impatiently.

***

After following Chop Top’s food truck, they stopped at an abandoned amusement park called ‘Texas Battle Land’.

Pennywise was impressed with the setup, even he wished he could have that hideout, since he’s a clown and all. Even though they were after Chop Top in his truck, they were far behind as they were tracking him, so they don’t know where the entrance is. 

Meanwhile, MJ was looking around near the dome that looked like ribs. Earlier, MJ had a chance to escape from Chop Top while he grabbed the things and walks towards the entrance, since the truck won’t fit. She was going to follow the end of the dome trail until she heard someone from a distance. “MJ!” Aquarius yelled out. “Aquarius, Pennywise, Jason! You would not believe what I’ve discovered!” MJ yelled out excitedly. “Jason wants you to come to him quietly and walk back to the bus.” Pennywise affirmed for Jason. MJ snapped, she decided to come strong. “No! If I hadn’t went with my gut to sneak into the truck, you wouldn’t have found this--” And that’s when MJ fell through a trapped door. “MJ!” Jason panicked in his head. MJ was hanging on to the roots for dear-life. “Jay, don’t let me fall, Jason!” MJ cried while trying her hardest to reach for her husband’s hand. But as they were close, the root snapped and she fell right down. “MJ!” They all yelled. 

Even though MJ took a tumble all the way down through the pipes and down the slide, she fell right through the ground. They all heard her screaming, hopefully the Sawyers didn’t hear her. “Come on, we’ll find a way in and get MJ out of here. Pennywise said. 

As Pennywise and Aquarius rushed towards the end of the trail, Jason just stares down at the trap door while feeling guilty. “I almost had her... What kind of a husband am I? Why did I ever exclude her out of the mission... This is all my fault...” Jason said sadly as he walked after Pennywise and Aquarius

To Be Continued

[minkdelovely]

I am jet-lagged and emotionally wrought, but nevertheless so fucking thrilled to have finally gotten the time to sit down and read this absolutely IMMACULATE chapter.

Hazel… I feel like I say this all the time, but how you manage to keep weaving this magnificent web of yours week after week is truly awe-inspiring. We’re getting close to the end, but you still make sure to impart as much emotional impact as possible. I believe this is the first time we ever got a solid block of Alastor’s POV, and if I’m being honest, idk if I would survive more 😭😂♥️

The mood of this chapter was so needed — they’ve been going through so much, and something was bound to snap. So to see them get closer on the other side is just so rewarding. I just want them to be happy god damn it! 🥲

I know you don’t typically foray into angst, but I’m not surprised you knocked it out of the park Hazel! I hope you’re just feeling more and more proud of yourself with each chapter! ♥️

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Where had she walked in New Orleans? Where did she meet Alastor’s father? You had to wonder what he had looked like. Surely he was handsome. Was he kind to her, like Alastor was to you? Or had it been a one night stand?

A small smile, she didn’t look like the type but looks could be deceiving. Alastor didn’t look like the kind of man who kissed bloodied cheeks and tossed heads into holes.

ruminating on Alastor’s mom is gonna get me every fucking time tbh 😩 and the second part with Alastor’s deceiving looks… that pretty face and charm will take him everywhere!

You knew he wasn’t a virgin, and he’d mentioned before he’d been happily coupled with others before his preferences became their frustrations.

BABYYY OMG THIS WENT STRAIGHT THROUGH MY HEART 😩

Did they properly express their gratitude? Doubtful. How many times did he acquiesce to his partner’s wants and then be treated like it was the expectation and not an exception of his affections?

no one will care about him the way we care about him — it’s simply not possible

The closer you got, the more nervous you were to see him. Not knowing how he felt, be it angry or worried or a mix of the two, was doing you in.

imagining him angry is honestly so scary; my anxiety just ticked up 😩

From insulted to panicked, you realized you’d forgotten about your face. Pushing the heavy wooden door open to the bathroom, your reflection caught you off guard. Your eyes were encircled in black, scleras red, blush smeared into your hairline, and your lips were soft around the edges from misplaced lipstick. You looked like a wreck in human form.

HONESTLY MY WORST NIGHTMARE

With one more glance at your disheveled appearance you sheepishly returned to the entrance and peeked into the dining room again. Everyone was dressed so nicely. You could imagine Alastor fitting in quite well.

WHY DID THIS MAKE MY HEART CLENCH?? 😩♥️

“I thought you’d be more fatale and less femme. Anyways, your deadweight’s in the alley.” 

MIMZYYYY!! tbh this is such a perfect introduction for her ❤️‍🔥

He turned, smiled, and rushed towards you. Taking your head in his hands he kissed you on the lips, and when you pulled back he leaned in, tongue pressing into your mouth.

BRUV WE ARE IN PUBLIC!!

Parks were different. Parks were made for such things. 

not only for kisses 👀 hehehe

He was drunk. Completely smashed. Normally you wouldn’t care, drunk Alastor could be quite cute. But you’d been prepared for and in need of someone to talk to. Someone to ease the mess of feelings in your gut. Instead you were handed a job as caretaker and impromptu driver. You’d have to wait until the morning for any kind of sympathetic comfort.

the way I immediately feel the frustration and disappointment. he’s not even just drunk, but SLOPPILY so 😩

Alastor pulled his arm from your hold, “At that little park. Audubon.” He pointed west, saying it with a perfect accent. “Anyway, I’m gonna kill him. Maybe right now! Did I tell ya? I know where he lives.” He crossed the street without looking. 

LET THE BABYSITTING COMMENCE 🫠

“Alastor, yes. He’s got two kids, a wife. He stays out late, obsessin’ over us no doubt.”

my cortisol has spiked, but there’s something about this line that just makes me smile 😂🙈

“Who are you to stop me? To tell me,” a pause as he lost his balance and leaned too far to the right, catching himself with a sneer to his own legs. He turned back and continued on his way, “what I can and cannot do.” You stopped. The sound of his mother’s shoes no longer snapping behind him made Alastor pause his clumsy march and look back at you. “Are ya really not comin’?” His sharp tone had shifted down to a whiny, almost pleading one.

so much here… the hurt from his words, but also just how clearly we can see that he’s barely keeping it together. wonderfully executed, my love 🥹♥️

Hiding yourself from him felt like betrayal, so you’d abandoned it some time ago. Your chin quivered, hands gripping the sides of your dress in stress. Your eyes were pleading with him to not do this. To not throw you away so easily. Diminish you with one slurred sentence. It felt like a dare to your pride. A choice, your self respect or his attention. It was a rhetorical question, as the answer would be a revelation to an entirely different quandary. 

UGHHHH IT HURTS SO GOOD!! he really is coming off as so callous right now — it’s brutal 😩

Alastor stared you down, his height finally mattering in a way you didn’t like. 

SHIVERS

The only way he could ever truly hurt you was with that cutting muscle behind his teeth. 

HAZEL OH MY GODDDD 😭🫠

Turning around, you walked the way you’d both just come because truth be told you had no idea how to get home from where you were. You just needed to get away from him before you said something you didn’t mean. Before he said something you couldn’t forget. 

as heartbreaking as this is, I admire that Autumn is walking away before it gets worse and not like~ digging in from the pain. i don’t know that i’d be that strong 😭

You’d barely gotten five steps when you heard a clank to the ground. Turning just enough to see behind you, you noticed the car door key on the sidewalk. Alastor’s grin wide and childlike.

BITCH!! 😭

He slumped against the passenger side window the entire car ride home. You struggled with the shifting stick, and he didn’t offer any help. A petulant brat pouting into the glass.

tbh nothing I hate more than a tense car ride… ALASTOR GOD DAMN IT!! 😩

“Suit yourself. I don’t have patience for this, Alastor. You’re acting like a brat when I’m the one who had the hard night.” You turned to go upstairs before coming back, something your mother always did in arguments that you hated, “And I really don’t appreciate the way you’re treating me. We’ll talk in the morning.”

THE TURNING BACK IS ALWAYS SUCH A KNIFE IN THE GUT

It wasn’t until you were under the covers, alone, did you begin to cry. It was mostly anger, if you were honest. But a good dose of self pity mixed in. Practically running to find him, after thinking about just him for hours before, and to be met with a drunken child was disappointing beyond measure. And the disrespect of tossing his keys…

THE KEYS!!! IT WAS SUCH A SLAP IN THE FACE!! 😩

You could remember the uneasy feeling you had when your mother would leave you with friends when she had work. How every inch moved felt like you were brushing into poison ivy, it wasn’t your space, you didn’t know the rules or the norms. Now you felt you no longer knew your place in Alastor’s home. 

this is truly such a horrific feeling… i hate that we’ve all seemed to feel the sting of it 🥺

Which was fine, you lied to yourself. You just needed to know the parameters so you could stay within them. Not take things too seriously. Not expect too much from him.

Not give too much of yourself. 

this is such a specific form of fear of rejection… I can relate only too well 😩

You couldn’t believe you had wanted to tell him you loved him. How long had you choked back those words for your own personal safety, just to be in a man’s home far from your own with no real way back.

I’M WRITHING OH MY GODDD THE HURT AND THE SHAMEEE WHYY??

A shiny and sunlit movie played of him slipping off your shoes and putting yours on his feet. 

I am honestly never not thinking about the whole thing with the shoes…

Lying down again, you tried to take deep breaths. He’d said he wasn’t mad at you. Was he not allowed to make mistakes? Could he not be angry around you without you taking it personally even when he said it wasn't for you? That was unfair of you. You were expecting a drunk man to speak clearly and with well thought out perception of how he’d be heard. The reasons for his drunkenness were unknown, and when you stopped to consider things more, you’d never just out right told him how you felt. Until you were upset and going up the stairs. Admittedly, to your defense, he was very drunk. 

this is genuinely one of the most emotional mature things I’ve ever read in my entire life — and something I’m gonna try to keep in mind the next time I’ve lost my temper

The idea of him waking up to an empty home and a migraine almost brought you back to tears. Alastor’s distaste for being alone had become clear, in the way he used to go out often just to have dance company, how he so quickly pulled you into his home and lap. You’d feel his heart break from across the river if you up and left while he slept. 

and I’m full circle to wanting nothing more than to cuddle this man… Hazel I swear to fucking god 🫠♥️

The best way to find out if someone was worth trusting was to trust them. Alastor had been worth so much more than you’d expected a person could be. This was just a hiccup. 

NO WORDS JUST MY HEART WEEPING

Alastor, what more could he do? What on earth could he possibly get away with? He had no interest in stepping out, and he couldn’t easily date when his hobbies and home were crime scenes.

GETTING BIG FEELINGS AGAIN FOR OUR LONELY, MURDEROUS BOY 🥺♥️

He would make it better. He would say whatever really happened in the morning and fix it. You could trust that and let your eyes finally close. Alastor hadn’t failed you yet, and you believed he wouldn’t start now. 

Alastor, darling, for the love of god please I’m begging for clarification 😭

When you woke up, it was early. Unnaturally early for you. But stress did that. Whatever the opposite of Christmas morning, that was the mechanism pulling you out of bed as the sun was just beginning to rise. 

BEEN THERE AND IT SUCKS

He was still asleep on the couch when you crept down the stairs. He looked like shit. Which made you feel a little good. If he looked perfect it’d be immensely dissatisfying.

this was such a glorious way to humanize our otherwise ethereal husband 🙏🏻✨

You heard the creak of the screen door and felt the old wood bend behind you as he finally stumbled out. He plopped down beside you, before lowering himself to his right side and resting his head on your lap. He stared out at the greenhouse like you did. Your hands twitched to touch him, but you kept them to your sides. 

AUTUMN I TRULY ADMIRE YOUR STRENGTH

“You are my darling.” He said with a raspy voice hoarse from an intoxicated dehydration. You finally looked at him, but he didn’t meet the gaze. “That’s who you are.”

“You sure didn’t make me feel like your anything last night.” Your tone was cold and sharp, spoken like a stranger scolding another. Stay strong, you thought. Make him understand how he made you feel before, even if you were already cooling off. 

You saw the fabric of your white slip turn a storm grey beneath his face, tears tumbling across the bridge of his nose before seeping into the night dress.

LIKE GENUINELY SO FUCKING STRONG — I WOULD HAVE FOLDED LIKE A WET NEWSPAPER JESUS CHRIST 😭

He nodded, slick and smooth face gliding over the silk. A sob, choked and broken as he buried his head again into your lap. “I’d never felt so helpless, I just…I responded very selfishly. I’m sorry.” 

The heavy and hot indignation finally began to cool in you, and you let yourself run your fingers through his hair. 

AHHHHH THIS IS PRECISELY WHAT I WANT: TO PET THIS SAD LITTLE MAN

You thought for a moment. The safety in Alastor’s killings were the degrees of separation between him and his targets. The plausible deniability. The lack of obvious motive. If you could find that same safety net when killing Brady, then, sure. “When he’s no longer a threat to us. When no one will be shocked to hear he’s dead.” 

YOU BAD BITCH OMGGGG Kenneth must be feeling a chill down his spine as we speak!! 😂

“I’m beginning to think it doesn’t matter.” Alastor inched his body closer to you. “I’ve never been a bigger failure in all my life than last night. In every way. To myself and to you.” His head turned, the soft and sharp features alike of his face burying into your lap. A gentle shake of his shoulders as he lost his fight to not weep openly into you broke your heart. He let out a weak and muffled series of sounds, followed by a louder and clearer, “Do you want to leave me?”

I ACTUALLY CAN’T FUCKING HANDLE THIS. THE FACT THAT I CAN’T COMFORT HIM MYSELF IS A FUCKING CRIME!!

You pulled his head up by the back of his collar. With your first good look at him in the crisp orange morning light you could see his lips were red and raw from nervous chewing, his hair lacking its usual shine or form. The right side of his face was wet. Tears new and old began to reroute and slide down his high cheeks and pointed jaw. They met at the very bottom of his chin, for the first time in their short lives, and dropped onto you in little couplings. Falling like they were made to always do just that. Just now. Just for him. A fate you could understand so naturally it was bordering on unnerving. A love story you were sure you were playing out.

HAZEL SHAKESPEARE IS GETTING US GOOD Y’ALL HOW I’M STILL CONSCIOUS DEFIES SCIENCE

How rarely you’d seen a man cry. In the past perhaps you’d have been put off. Cringed. Considered it a pathetic show of weakness and lost respect for them. But all you could feel now was a pain so deep and all encompassing it felt as if your skin was cracking off. A dry river bed in the heat of summer. What had been there before? Disgust? Indifference? Even his tears were of a magnitude more important than anyone else’s. Every piece of him mattered more to you. 

this whole paragraph is a baseball bat to my psyche

You were in that worst kind of love; Unconditional. 

SLAP MY ASS AND CALL ME MEGARA

“Give me a little time. I’ll show you how stupid of a question that is over our first fight,” Your thumbs wiped away his tears. The handkerchief came back to view, so you gingerly took it and dabbed the sacred lacrima from his cheeks. You took his head between both hands and stared unflinching into the sweet, sun kissed brown of his eyes, “I never want to leave you. Even if I do, even if somehow I’m convinced to go, you’ll have to rip your heart out of my cold dead hands or I’ll take it with me.” 

I’VE LOST ANY AND ALL ARTICULATION

Another torrent of tears from him and a reply so earnest and so sure your body leaned back with surprise, “But, it’s not mine anymore. Isn’t that obvious?” He half whispered it into the ether.

HAZEL PLEASE I’M SO WEAK IT’S TOO BEAUTIFUL OH MY GOD

“If you ever speak to me like you did last night again, with that sharp tone and cruel words, sober or not…” you trailed off, begging him to not make you say it. Don’t force you to make threats you didn’t want to keep. Things you’d be ashamed of not following through with. Little self failures you were genetically predisposed of committing. 

“You can take my heart with you.” 

AAAHHHHH I CAN’T BELIEVE I GET A SECOND DOSE OF THIS THROUGH ALASTOR’S POV — I am floundering and grateful all at once 😩♥️

- — - — - — - — -

A trickle of fear dropped down his spine. Worst case scenario didn’t quite exist as some ladder of concerns, he just felt tremendous fear you were dead. That was the only rung. Had someone been watching you, that he didn’t notice as he was too preoccupied with watching Brady? 

ALASTORRR I’m not strong enough for this!! 😭♥️

Alastor didn’t move. Hand still in the air between them. Johnny registered the distinct lack of light in Alastor’s eyes. He took a deep breath in, Alastor looked like a photograph of a man before him. There but, just a facsimile of human.

he’s in such disbelief omggg 🥺 this paints such a visual!!

Alastor’s mouth opened and then closed. He swallowed, then smiled, and his head did a little tilt. Ruth looked from him to Johnny. Alastor’s rolodex of canned responses spun infinitely around in his mind. Nothing was catching. There wasn’t a facial expression or comment or body posture in existence he had prepared for this conversation. Because he hadn’t ever predicted such a situation.

baby got the rug pulled out from under his feet 😭

The man he punched? What was his name again? No. He didn’t know where you worked. He didn’t know your name. 

William, for good measure, my darling buck

He was in disarray, a tremble in his hands making him pause and stare at his own body with a loss of recognition.

I love how he’s so immediately ready to pay whatever price while he’s literally floating away from himself… THE WAY YOU MAKE ME LOVE THIS MAN 🥲

“Hey, I was there that night you cornered Tommy into the booth. I saw you two. The night he hit her. Tommy was a real piece of shit. And I’m glad he’s gone.”

JOHNNY!! 😭😭😭

“Well, go have a drink, try to just… try to stay calm.” Ruth’s words barely entered his mind as he stumbled out into the night. Thoughts came so quickly and in such a multitude that Alastor found his head entirely empty, unable to latch onto any single one.

he’s in such shock; I know we’re going through it with Kenneth but damn this is pulling at my heartstrings 🥺

Long fingers gripped the steering wheel, knuckles an uncomfortable white with the force. How much would it take to snap the wheel? Had anyone ever tried before?

blacking out on the drive and now just so fucking angry… he really knows how to get me scared (for him) 😭

There was no fear you’d say anything. It simply didn’t exist. Even trying to conjure the idea of you telling anyone who he was and what he did was ridiculous to him. A dark part of him knew that notion was born out of a blinding fear and not out of true trust. Because if you did such a thing, it’d mean he’d been wrong about everything. That he couldn’t trust his own decisions anymore. What would he do if you did confess?

WHY ARE THEY SO SIMILAR AND SO NERVOUS ABOUT COMMUNICATING?? 🥲

Alastor made a beeline for the bathrooms just past the entrance of the Grano D'oro. His hair was mussed, his pupils constricted. He drew his bottom lip in and began chewing it nervously, hands pushing his hair back into some form of style. A cough to clear out his tightening throat, he straightened his bow tie and suit jacket. Staring at his reflection, he flinched. An unsettling feeling in his bones that if he stared long enough, it would take on a life of its own.

THE PARALLEL WITH BEING A MESS IN THE BATHROOM AHHHH!!!

Alastor offered passing pleasantries to a few people and smiled as he was escorted past them to the private dining section of Grano D'oro.

picturing him going through the motions is honestly so painful 🥺

Through the kitchen, with a smile and another nod to the staff who all sang his name as he walked by, Alastor made it to the barely visible door to the side.

but I am absolutely not surprised the kitchen staff adores him 🥹

“Little late for you isn’t it? Shouldn’t you be at home with your heart.” She dragged out the word, eyes rolling not at the idea of you but at the idea of someone being more important than a night out.

THIS IS SO FUCKING LOADED — HOW MANY TIMES HAS HE COME TO MIMZY TO TALK ABOUT READER AAAAHHHH!!!

“Oh fuck.” Mimzy added two more fingers to the glass. “What for?”

this feels very me for some reason lmao

Nervously he chewed on his bottom lip, biting red lines into the soft pink flesh. Mimzy stared, unnoticed. She couldn’t remember the last time he looked sad. He did sometimes open up when drunk, perhaps smiling through a pitiful story. Or dancing when she knew he was bruised in either his ego or his heart. But, normally, for Alastor, he kept the obvious and plain emotions kept tightly buttoned up. 

I LOVE THEIR FRIENDSHIP SO MUCH — the way she sees him is just… I can’t put it into words!

“And you can’t just,” she made a fist with her thumb stuck out and dragged it across her neck in a cutting motion, “get rid of the issue?”

Mimzy you rascal!!

Killing Brady would solve everything. And it’d feel good. It’d feel….ah, he leaned back, letting his chest open and fill with the shadow of satisfaction, it’d be the best kill yet. How would he do it, he wondered. It’d have to be special. Slow. Perhaps even over the course of days. Oh, or better yet, perhaps he could show Brady exactly how he disposed of his targets. Piece by piece, taking from him and letting him watch as he buried his parts in deep holes. Giving him all the answers to his questions before snuffing out his nagging life. 

as much as I belittle Kenneth, I am no match for the way Alastor wants to belittle Kenneth

No one would believe Brady, he considered. If someone pulled him back into the shadows of his tree lined street with a blade to his throat and gave him the warning of what was to come if he kept this up….Did he have any allies in this at work?

MUAHAHAHAHA I LOVE ME SOME PARANOID KENNETH! Go get him honey 😂❤️‍🔥😈

In fact, as he took a slower sip of his somehow still full glass, he thought she was quite right. Brady was testing his pride. Hurting the closest person he had to get at him. This was villain activity. 

I just love the irony of Kenneth “Clutching Pearls” Brady being painted A VILLAIN (and it’s not untrue)

Either Brady thought Alastor was all bark and no bite, only attacking men alone at night, or, worse, he thought Alastor was using you.

I can’t lie, his masculine pride is really doing something for me lmao

“Don’t try to distract me. I’m in no mood for such trivial things, Mimz. My love was arrested. At work no less. I’m useless.”

ALASTORRRR I CAN’T WITH YOU SAYING THIS SO CASUALLY!!

You looked different than she’d expected. She wasn’t really sure what she was expecting…actually, on second thought, she had just imagined a female Alastor. Alastor with a perm and an empire waist dress. A little out of fashion but classy. 

why is this so endearing to me? 😭♥️

He’d translate his determination into lavishing you. When you made a yelp and pushed him away, he was confused. Why weren’t you happy to see him? 

and the miscommunication begins 😭🙈

Your breath against his body when you and him first entertained affection came to his mind so intensely he thought maybe he had been pulled back in time.

HEHEHE Alastor I was thinking the same thing earlier 👀

Brady had done this. You’d never– He was just trying to clean up his mess. Why did people think they could dictate his life so freely? Why did what he wanted to do not matter, even though he was just trying to be a good man?

I know it’s drunk brain, but I’m so sad that he’s so quick to believe we would buy into some BS from KENNETH FUCKING BRADY 😭

Alastor paused to stare down at his legs. Et tu, crura? Even his own body was betraying him.

An ‘et tu’ will always get me good but this is also just so adorable to me how offended he is by losing his balance 😂♥️

What an odd question. Had you used your stage name so long you’d forgotten your true one. He laughed, what a silly thing to ask! “Now who is drunk?”

omggg he really didn’t realize what else came out of his mouth!! 😭

Your turning and walking back forward the restaurant made his eyes roll. Oh, the keys still. He pulled them from his pocket, fine, have them. I give up. Failure pile growin’ every minute.

Reminder that pity parties are not cute — our guy fucked 👏🏻 up 👏🏻

But when you turned around, he could feel the rage rolling off of your body. Alastor couldn’t pinpoint what it was about your face that was different than usual, but just beneath your skin he could see a you he’d never met before. One he didn’t care to meet. 

case in point 🫠

The pain behind his sternum was akin to a splintering rod; stiff, solid, and biting every time he moved. No one had ever made him feel this way before. He couldn’t put his finger on the feeling though, it was sadness, and it hurt, but there was something deeper. Something underneath these shallow reactions that dredged up a vague sense of mourning.

oh darling your drunk brain got you so focused on the wrong thing 😭

He slammed the car door behind him and fell into the sofa as soon as he could. Nothing went right. The day had started so wonderfully… you’d felt like a part of himself he’d finally found. And now….

SOBBING

He thought it and immediately winced. Not alone alone. Please, if anyone had been listening, please disregard it. That wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t mean that at all.

HE CAN’T BE ALONE AND I’LL NEVER BE OKAY ABOUT IT

His thoughts and the room were liquid and floating up into the atmosphere. Alastor was confident he would follow them up. 

we all float here Alastor 😂🎈

Patience… there it was. You’d lost patience with him. And you’d been so patient for months now. Waiting in bars and cars while he killed. Waiting for him while he threw body parts into holes and snapping jaws. Waiting for weeks beside him for inspiration to strike and for him to seek your intimacy in more serious touch.

I thought I’d be okay in the second round but IT HURTS EVEN MORE??

The yellow pillow was pulled to his face to muffle his scream.

this being one of his coping mechanisms when he feels embarrassed/ashamed of himself just… really cuts through me for some reason. There’s an innocence to it that just makes my heart swell 😭♥️

For all he knew, you’d made up your mind already. How odd. He himself was the cat in the box. He could already be dead and not even know it.

WE GET LATIN AND SCHRÖDINGER’S CAT ALL IN ONE CHAPTER?? IT MUST BE CHRISTMAS

The handle of your bag peeking out from under the dresser. It had been in the closet, he had emptied it and put it there for you so he knew that to be a fact.

OH GOD OF COURSE HE WOULD NOTICE THE BAG

He couldn’t find the courage to check. Rushing past it like it could come to life and grab him by the ankles, he went to the nightstand beside his side of the bed and opened the drawer, the bright yellow of your handkerchief calming him just a sliver. If he kept it, you’d have to come back. He could call you and remind you to come back for it. And then he could convince you to stay. His mother always said he was good with words. If you forgot it at his house when you left he’d have a way to bring you home again. Fresh tears welled, the backs of his hands smearing them into his hairline.

I AM A WRITHING FUCKING MESS ON THE FLOOR!! HAZEL!! 😩😭

Sitting on the second to last step of the house, he took a moment to collect himself. Being so frazzled, so undone, wasn’t like him. That foreignness just added to the panic. Bringing a hand to his chest, he opened his shirt to run his fingers down his sternum and to the left. A beating heart, evidence he was the survivor in every encounter he’d been in. But now, half a house between your and his back, why did he feel the most in danger? Rarely did fight or flight kick in, the last time he felt it was rolling around with that man who’d tried to choke the life out of you. 

No strange man here now. Just strange feelings. 

Hazel I actually really fucking can’t with you right now… ♥️

If you didn’t accept it….Alastor had never begged a day in his life, but he could see himself begging you to stay. Perhaps hugging your ankles and promising things he didn’t have. There was no longer an impossibility in what he would do, which was alarming. The idea of him being so pathetic and pitiful was nauseating, however there was no one and nothing that could stop that if you got up and left. 

OH MY GODDDDD

But that was what made you worth the risk. It began as entertainment, but soon enough the dome of your stage extended out and around him, sheltering Alastor in the warm light of your presence. And now as he looked around the railing of his stairs, he was scared to see the exit lights flicker on. 

AAAAAHHHH!!!! AAAHHHHH!!!!!! I AM A MESS!!! AAAHHH!!!

And he’d made you feel like nothing to him. The mountain of derelictions crumbled under the weight of perhaps his biggest failure of the evening, an avalanche of embarrassment and shame washed over him and he didn’t try to impede his tears. Men were only supposed to cry on their wedding day and at funerals, but he supposed this day could still go either way. Could still be as pivotal to his happiness.

ahhhh you’ve gone with the baseball bat again, I see. Excellent choice, my love 🫠

‘I’m sorry’ was just crystals of salt dropped in the gulf.

HAZEL!!! I CAN’T!!!

“I’m beginning to think it doesn’t matter.” He pulled himself closer again. Brady was nothing compared to the threat of losing you. “I’ve never been a bigger failure in all my life than last night. In every way. To myself and to you.” What a joke he was. How high and mighty and curated he tried to be that he forgot the point of it. A shield he turned to you was just a barrier between what he desperately wanted by his side. His tears returned with renewed vigor, the complete breakdown of his manicured image was a tell tale heart he couldn’t smile away anymore, the greatest weakness he was never so happy to call his own. Muffled by your clothing and inviting lap, “I just love you so much…” he choked and then sucked in a deep breath to try and get control of himself, shifting his face to the side again to watch your face for an immediate reaction to his question, “Do you want to leave me?”

A MUTTERED CONFESSION!!! YOU KNOW WHAT HAZEL YOU WIN THE WAR OKAY?? MY CASTLE HAS BEEN SUFFICIENTLY PLUNDERED AND YOU CAN RULE OVER MY SOUL AND DOMAIN AS YOU PLEASE — I WAS A FOOL TO EVER KEEP UP THE FIGHT!

He couldn’t promise himself he wouldn’t keep that little yellow fabric in his hands even after you parted, but he could swear to not try and guilt you back into his arms. 

I really don’t know how I’ve made it this far… I’m being pummeled into DUST

Take his heart back? His mind finally processed the words. It was yours. The morning had proved to him he couldn’t claw it back if he truly wanted, and if he was further honest with himself, he didn’t want it. It was better off with you. He felt the air cooling the once body-warm tears, he whispered what he felt was too vulnerable to say at full volume, “But, it’s not mine anymore. Isn’t that obvious?” His eyes looked down at your feet pointed in towards his own. Was this pathetic display not making it glaringly evident he was a man turned inside out? Guts in his hands and heart in yours?

transforming from dust into vapor…

His body was a tool, and he’d use every tool he had available to make you understand what you meant to him. Would you feel different now, now that he knew you loved him? Would he find your body warmer, more inviting… Could he make you scream your love for him?

Later, he would have to bookmark that idea. The confession was too fragile still, a crystal figurine too precious to even take out of the box. 

AND THEN YOU END THIS FUCKING MASTERPIECE WITH TWO PARAGRAPHS THAT MAKE ME WANT TO FLING MYSELF INTO THE OCEAN (AFFECTIONATE)

A Doe in Fall (Part 13)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

A burlesquer with a penchant for conning men, you find your latest game interrupted when your next mark saves you from an aggressive fan— by killing him. The chance encounter left you curious, still half convinced you could complete your normal chase. Unbeknownst to you, you were the one being tracked.

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds Part 11 - Caught Part 12 - Eddie Part 13 - The Release 📍

Late? Yes. Buuuuut

If ya missed it:

Oct 19th Kinktober Day 19 - Proffer smut💦 Oct 13th Kinktober Day 13 - Handled smut💦

Where we left off: Autumn got released from the station to learn Alastor is at an unknown place called the Golden Dish.

Part 13 The Release

Two idiots meet on a sidewalk, one is drunk and one is stressed. Angst ensues. First Half is reader’s POV, second is Alastor’s POV.

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem!Reader, two parts in one, still not smut cuz we’re waiting for the special moment, surprise Latin, Alastor drunkenly remembers his accent, angst, first fights, muffled confessions, bare feet, too much alcohol, Mimzy is her own tag, I promise she’ll be back」

MDNI 🥃 😵‍💫

The Release (Autumn)

Your relief Alastor wasn’t there was clouded by the slight hurt Alastor wasn’t there.

Any ability to mask your true feelings left you with the exhaustion of being arrested at work, in front of customers and companions alike. This was made obvious by Johnny’s slight pat to your shoulder, “Want me to walk you there?”

You shook your head. Everyone already knew too much. 

“It’s not too far, I think… I’ll be fine.” You could imagine Alastor’s panicked face. Had you ever actually seen it though? 

With a wave, you left Johnny and began the walk to, presumably, the Golden Dish. It was cold, already the night bringing a chill. Eyes to your feet, you realized you were still in her shoes. 

Where had she walked in New Orleans? Where did she meet Alastor’s father? You had to wonder what he had looked like. Surely he was handsome. Was he kind to her, like Alastor was to you? Or had it been a one night stand?

A small smile, she didn’t look like the type but looks could be deceiving. Alastor didn’t look like the kind of man who kissed bloodied cheeks and tossed heads into holes.

Flipping the card over again, you lifted it to the light. 

Tentatively you brought it to your nose and gave it a sniff. No perfume. 

The list of possibilities ran wild. 

You knew he wasn’t a virgin, and he’d mentioned before he’d been happily coupled with others before his preferences became their frustrations. But you’d never stopped to really imagine it past a fleeting image. Alastor kissing someone else. Alastor going down on someone else. Did he enjoy it as much as he enjoyed you?

It wasn’t necessarily jealousy, but your stomach did a little flip. Did they properly express their gratitude? Doubtful. How many times did he acquiesce to his partner’s wants and then be treated like it was the expectation and not an exception of his affections?

It wasn’t as late as you had thought and the streets were busy. It made you feel a little safer. Not having a purse helped that.

You weren’t entirely sure where Rosseau was, and after stopping a very lovely looking couple, you got hastily pointed toward the water. Anxiously, you kicked up your pace. The closer you got, the more nervous you were to see him. Not knowing how he felt, be it angry or worried or a mix of the two, was doing you in. Turning left, you practically jogged down the street in search of The Golden Dish.

On the first pass, you didn’t find it. You crossed the street and tried again, getting more of the buildings into sight. Nothing.

Crossing back, you found the door with a shiny golden number three.

The restaurant looked nice, but it wasn’t the Golden Dish. The name above the door was Grano D'oro.

You leaned into the alley, hoping maybe there was a man waiting with a secret door. It was pristine; no men, no trash, no mystery liquids.

Taking a moment to smooth your hair and adjust your dress, you walked in.

The entrance was lavish, the floor a black and white marble and fixtures that shined like gold. A man stood behind a host stand, looking at you expectantly. When you were within a few feet, he asked if you had a reservation.

“Uh, no. I’m looking for Alastor.”

“Does Alastor have a reservation?” He looked down, presumably at a paper of names, and then back up at you.

You looked past the parted red curtains into the dining room. “I don’t think so…ah! I have a card.” You handed it over and he gave it a look, flipping it over before nodding. “Just a moment, miss. Please wait here. You’re welcome to use the ladies room to clean up.”

From insulted to panicked, you realized you’d forgotten about your face. Pushing the heavy wooden door open to the bathroom, your reflection caught you off guard. Your eyes were encircled in black, scleras red, blush smeared into your hairline, and your lips were soft around the edges from misplaced lipstick. You looked like a wreck in human form.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck,” you grabbed a tissue from the nearest stall and wetted it under the faucet, removing every bit of make up you could. The skin under your eyelashes still had a darkness to them and nothing could be done for the bloodshot eyes, but you let that go. You did away with the lipstick entirely, and most of the blush was out of your hair and off your cheeks. Now you just looked tired. 

Mortified, you remembered the couple you’d stopped and asked for directions from. They must have thought you’d had a fight or were some loon. Hell, maybe that was why no one stopped to bother you.

With one more glance at your disheveled appearance you sheepishly returned to the entrance and peeked into the dining room again. Everyone was dressed so nicely. You could imagine Alastor fitting in quite well. The host returned, not saying a word and sans Alastor. Before you could find the courage to ask him anything, a hand smacked your arm from behind.

“I thought you’d be more fatale and less femme. Anyways, your deadweight’s in the alley.” 

A small woman with bleach blonde hair had snuck up behind you, seemingly from the outside, “He’s got his card back. He’s your problem now!”

She brushed past you and disappeared into the restaurant.

“Have a nice evening.” The host dismissed you. A confused pause, the series of events had been so fast you were left quite literally spun around. 

When you tentatively turned back to leave, you saw Alastor stumbling onto the sidewalk. 

“Hey! Alastor.” You half shouted, Alastor seemingly unaware of his surroundings. Apparent in how he nearly collided into a group passing the restaurant.

He turned, smiled, and rushed towards you. Taking your head in his hands he kissed you on the lips, and when you pulled back he leaned in, tongue pressing into your mouth.

You screamed into his mouth, pushing him off. Looking back briefly before dragging him away, you saw the host staring at you through the clear windowed door. He was not impressed. As much as you enjoyed his kisses, it was out of character and out of class to make out on the sidewalk. 

Parks were different. Parks were made for such things. 

“What has gotten into you? You taste like a fucking distillery.” You reached the corner of the street and stopped, “Where’s your car?”

He was drunk. Completely smashed. Normally you wouldn’t care, drunk Alastor could be quite cute. But you’d been prepared for and in need of someone to talk to. Someone to ease the mess of feelings in your gut. Instead you were handed a job as caretaker and impromptu driver. You’d have to wait until the morning for any kind of sympathetic comfort. 

He hadn’t even mentioned the arrest yet or asked you how you were. Yes, he looked elated to see you. Eyes wide and adoring when he took you by the face. But you needed more than adoration now. And instead you had a mess of a man struggling to maintain his balance.

On the safety of his porch, or perhaps together at a bar, it’d be just fine. 

But this was neither safe nor fine. 

Alastor pulled his arm from your hold, “At that little park. Audubon.” He pointed west, saying it with a perfect accent. “Anyway, I’m gonna kill him. Maybe right now! Did I tell ya? I know where he lives.” He crossed the street without looking. 

You had to run to catch up to him, his long legs carrying him further and faster than you. It took a second to understand who he was talking about, clearly he’d been having a silent conversation until now. “Alastor. You’re drunk. No.” You managed to get in front of him, eyes surely begging.

“Alastor, yes. He’s got two kids, a wife. He stays out late, obsessin’ over us no doubt.”

“Alastor!” He stumbled past you and toward the park. “Hey. You can’t-,” 

He wheeled around on his heels, hand pointing a sharp finger at you. 

“Who are you to stop me? To tell me,” a pause as he lost his balance and leaned too far to the right, catching himself with a sneer to his own legs. He turned back and continued on his way, “what I can and cannot do.” You stopped. The sound of his mother’s shoes no longer snapping behind him made Alastor pause his clumsy march and look back at you. “Are ya really not comin’?” His sharp tone had shifted down to a whiny, almost pleading one.

“Who am I, Alastor?” In the past you’d try to hide when you were wounded, as prey animals often do. But you were different from who you were before. Already, you were changed. Hiding yourself from him felt like betrayal, so you’d abandoned it some time ago. Your chin quivered, hands gripping the sides of your dress in stress. Your eyes were pleading with him to not do this. To not throw you away so easily. Diminish you with one slurred sentence. It felt like a dare to your pride. A choice, your self respect or his attention. It was a rhetorical question, as the answer would be a revelation to an entirely different quandary. 

He laughed, “Now who’s drunk?” Your arms crossed your chest and your eyes narrowed further into slits. 

“I thought you’d stop if I asked. I thought I was your equal in this.”

“Well!” He gawked, “This is different. He isn’t like the others. Mister Detective Kenneth Brady is-,” he practically yelled it into the night.

“Shhh!” You hissed, a couple crossing the street to put distance between you both and themselves, “Give me your key. You can’t drive like this.”

Alastor stared you down, his height finally mattering in a way you didn’t like. 

Your eyes narrowed further, Alastor. Unspoken and yet screamed across the sidewalk. You weren’t scared of him, of his height or his sharp eyes or the fact you knew he so often carried a knife beneath his vest. No. Because he was a smart man and a smart man would never be so stupid as to physically harm you. Not unless he planned to kill you. And Alastor wouldn’t do that unless you were honestly bad.

The only way he could ever truly hurt you was with that cutting muscle behind his teeth. 

He tried to straighten his back to gather some kind of dignity and perhaps a show of dominance but stumbled backwards. He caught himself again with the brick wall beside him. 

Mind racing, you had to think of alternatives. Fight him for the keys? Cut into his tires? Just leave him to his own selfish devices? 

He could afford to fix the rubber tires, you thought. You couldn’t afford him running off the road. 

“If you want me to come with you, I am driving. Make your decision now.” You put your hand out, an indication there was only one answer you expected. When his eyes flitted from your palm to your face and stared blankly, you closed it. “I won’t let a man waste my time when I’m just trying to help him. You’ve got me confused with someone else.”

Turning around, you walked the way you’d both just come because truth be told you had no idea how to get home from where you were. You just needed to get away from him before you said something you didn’t mean. Before he said something you couldn’t forget. 

You’d barely gotten five steps when you heard a clank to the ground. Turning just enough to see behind you, you noticed the car door key on the sidewalk. Alastor’s grin wide and childlike.

Never had you felt true anger for him before. The water rising in your chest raged against your ribs and you were sure you’d drown in your own fury before long. Another second of imagined possibilities — kick them into the storm drain, throw them into a bush, take them and leave entirely.

Before you could pick one he stumbled over while bent in half the entire time, scooping the keys and holding them out for you to take.

A list of names flew over your tongue but stayed behind your clenched teeth, snatching the keys from his hand and leaving him to struggle behind you. 

The walk was silent, Alastor several paces behind you with his hands in his pockets.

He slumped against the passenger side window the entire car ride home. You struggled with the shifting stick, and he didn’t offer any help. A petulant brat pouting into the glass.

As soon as you’d gotten into the house Alastor made a sloppy beeline to the sofa and fell face first.

“You’re mad at me.” You said from the doorway, dropping his keys into the bowl beside the door. It felt odd, you were the one who had every right to be pissed. But he was showing it in a much more egregious way. His anger made the least sense to you. 

“No. I’m mad.” He grabbed a pillow and tucked it under his head. “Full stop.”

Obviously, but why? Not an ounce of compassion could be managed for you? When you were the one who’d been humiliated and dragged from your place of work in handcuffs? 

“You’re acting like a child. Go to your bed. I’ll sleep here.” Sleeping alone in his bed didn’t seem right.

“You’re talkin’ to me like a child.” He closed his eyes, apparently in a fake sleep.

“You really don’t see the connection between those two things?? Atleast— go to the guest bed.” His mother’s old room. You absolutely didn’t want to sleep there. 

“No.” He didn’t look at you. 

You stared for a moment, disbelief painted on your face as your own frustration swelled again.

“Suit yourself. I don’t have patience for this, Alastor. You’re acting like a brat when I’m the one who had the hard night.” You turned to go upstairs before coming back, something your mother always did in arguments that you hated, “And I really don’t appreciate the way you’re treating me. We’ll talk in the morning.”

He didn’t even stir.

After placing his mother’s shoes at the end of the bed, you got undressed and properly washed your face. It wasn’t until you were under the covers, alone, did you begin to cry. It was mostly anger, if you were honest. But a good dose of self pity mixed in. Practically running to find him, after thinking about just him for hours before, and to be met with a drunken child was disappointing beyond measure. And the disrespect of tossing his keys…

The bed felt so big and so foreign now. Just sitting in it made you feel like shit. A stranger, unwanted in someone else’s home. You could remember the uneasy feeling you had when your mother would leave you with friends when she had work. How every inch moved felt like you were brushing into poison ivy, it wasn’t your space, you didn’t know the rules or the norms. Now you felt you no longer knew your place in Alastor’s home. 

If you weren’t scared you’d never see him again you’d have just walked the several hours home. Knees to your chin, you didn’t bother with wiping away your tears. It added to the wallowing you were experiencing.

What did he mean? Why would he say it like that? Had it been a lie the whole time, that he’d stop killing if you asked him to? Alastor had never hissed quite like he had then. 

It felt like a lie, and now you questioned everything. Maybe while you worked he was out killing people. You never pushed him much about what he did while you were away.

A secondary thought simultaneously played with that one. No, you’d have noticed him at night taking care of the body. Your face slipped past your knees and pressed into the tops of your thighs, as quickly as the fear receded your melancholy swept back in.

Fine, but if he lied about stopping then you didn’t mean as much as he claimed.

Which was fine, you lied to yourself. You just needed to know the parameters so you could stay within them. Not take things too seriously. Not expect too much from him.

Not give too much of yourself. 

A second wave of tears, chin trembling.

Idiot. 

Maybe Brady had been right. Were you just some dumb dame? You’d done so much for him and now with some liquor you were just another person to him.

Then a sickening feeling made your throat tighten. Had getting arrested made you no longer attractive? Perhaps he blamed you. Being publicly dragged into a police station was the closest he had ever been to being found out and it was your fault. Fuck, even his name. That had been you who said it so casually. 

You didn’t want to be somewhere you weren’t welcomed.

Slipping out of bed, you pulled your bag from the closet and sat it on the dresser.

You couldn’t believe you had wanted to tell him you loved him. How long had you choked back those words for your own personal safety, just to be in a man’s home far from your own with no real way back. You pulled your dresses from the closet, and paused.

Alastor had been lovingly removing your stockings just a week or so ago. 

After tossing innards into the water. He’d showed you where he buried the only evidence of his expansive crimes. He trusted you with things he’d never shown anyone, something you felt sure of given his freedom. 

Glancing up through tear-heavy lashes, you saw your reflection in the mirror and remembered how he kissed your shoulder and undressed you. His promise to keep you warm.

A shiny and sunlit movie played of him slipping off your shoes and putting yours on his feet. 

Your mother had always said you were too quick to give up when things didn’t come easy. You resented that, but now it was ringing painfully true. 

You put the dresses back, tossing your bag to the floor and kicking it halfheartedly under the dresser.

Lying down again, you tried to take deep breaths. He’d said he wasn’t mad at you. Was he not allowed to make mistakes? Could he not be angry around you without you taking it personally even when he said it wasn't for you? That was unfair of you. You were expecting a drunk man to speak clearly and with well thought out perception of how he’d be heard. The reasons for his drunkenness were unknown, and when you stopped to consider things more, you’d never just out right told him how you felt. Until you were upset and going up the stairs. Admittedly, to your defense, he was very drunk. 

He owed you an apology, that was absolutely expected given the way he’d spoken and tossed his keys, but he’d done enough to earn the right to explain himself before you just up and left in the middle of the night.

The idea of him waking up to an empty home and a migraine almost brought you back to tears. Alastor’s distaste for being alone had become clear, in the way he used to go out often just to have dance company, how he so quickly pulled you into his home and lap. You’d feel his heart break from across the river if you up and left while he slept. 

Johnny had said he was a mess before, clearly he did care to some degree. You’d trusted him this long. You’d killed a man for him. You could give him a night to be an ass and hear him out in the morning.

But if he didn’t apologize, if he didn’t seem to understand how selfish and unkind he had been to you… You rolled onto your side and tried to straighten your legs but felt vulnerable like that. Pulling them up again you curled into a ball and focused on deep calming breaths. It would be fine. The best way to find out if someone was worth trusting was to trust them. Alastor had been worth so much more than you’d expected a person could be. This was just a hiccup. 

Thinking back on past relationships, you realized most first fights were also your last fights. If you and someone had friction, it was easiest to walk away and try again. There was no expectation of a picture perfect romance, not at all. But once someone disappointed you, it was hard to see them again in a positive light. Throwing things away had always been simpler than putting in the work to fix them. Once you’ve done that, you’ve shown someone your hand. You’ve shown them they mattered and they could use that against you. 

People who knew they were important to you could hold that over your head and push just how much they could get away with. 

Alastor, what more could he do? What on earth could he possibly get away with? He had no interest in stepping out, and he couldn’t easily date when his hobbies and home were crime scenes.

The person with the most to lose was him, you realized. Maybe not lose you, you didn’t pretend you were that important to him. But his life away from iron bars and cuffs was now dependent on you. If he had always been a few too many drinks away from fucking that all up, he’d have been caught a long time ago. 

He would make it better. He would say whatever really happened in the morning and fix it. You could trust that and let your eyes finally close. Alastor hadn’t failed you yet, and you believed he wouldn’t start now. 

When you woke up, it was early. Unnaturally early for you. But stress did that. Whatever the opposite of Christmas morning, that was the mechanism pulling you out of bed as the sun was just beginning to rise. 

He was still asleep on the couch when you crept down the stairs. He looked like shit. Which made you feel a little good. If he looked perfect it’d be immensely dissatisfying. You tried to open the back door quietly but the old hinges whined and the swollen wooden door snapped against the frame when you let it go. 

Sitting on the top of the porch steps that led to the backyard, if you could call such an expanse that, you tried to take in the wet cool air. It was officially fall. Soon you’d have to pull out your coat. Your toes wiggled against the flaking paint of the steps, you still needed to go home and get your shoes. 

A groan and you doubled over, you were assuming so confidently that you’d still be staying with Alastor. That was a good thing, right? Or…. you weren’t sure. You had no healthy relationships to look to for guidance. Rolling your back up, you looked up at the dark cobalt sky fading into baby blue, a color that matched the ceiling of the porch above you. 

You heard the creak of the screen door and felt the old wood bend behind you as he finally stumbled out. He plopped down beside you, before lowering himself to his right side and resting his head on your lap. He stared out at the greenhouse like you did. Your hands twitched to touch him, but you kept them to your sides. 

“You are my darling.” He said with a raspy voice hoarse from an intoxicated dehydration. You finally looked at him, but he didn’t meet the gaze. “That’s who you are.”

“You sure didn’t make me feel like your anything last night.” Your tone was cold and sharp, spoken like a stranger scolding another. Stay strong, you thought. Make him understand how he made you feel before, even if you were already cooling off. 

You saw the fabric of your white slip turn a storm grey beneath his face, tears tumbling across the bridge of his nose before seeping into the night dress.

“I know. I’m sorry. I was so,” he sighed and you took your opportunity.

“Drunk.”

“Enraged.” He whined, eyelids coming to act as a poor dam, “And drunk.”

“And disrespectful.”

He groaned now, shoulders tightening in shame, “That too.”

You understood he was angry. Did he think you weren’t? You’d been humiliated. You’d been interrogated. 

“I want to split his skull with an ax.” His fingers were playing with something beneath his closed thighs, hands pressed between them.  “I’m sorry. I— you were not wrong.” You caught a glimpse of the bright yellow handkerchief being wrung between sweaty palms with nervous fingers when he finally opened his legs. “I didn’t know what to do with myself when your manager said you’d been arrested. I almost drove my car into the station doors.”

“So getting zozzled and shouting the personal details of a New Orleans detective into the night seemed… the better option? When I had already had a difficult evening?” You felt a flame in your chest again. “When I needed your support? Comfort?”

He nodded, slick and smooth face gliding over the silk. A sob, choked and broken as he buried his head again into your lap. “I’d never felt so helpless, I just…I responded very selfishly. I’m sorry.” 

The heavy and hot indignation finally began to cool in you, and you let yourself run your fingers through his hair. 

“Will you ever let me kill him?” He asked your thighs.

You thought for a moment. The safety in Alastor’s killings were the degrees of separation between him and his targets. The plausible deniability. The lack of obvious motive. If you could find that same safety net when killing Brady, then, sure. “When he’s no longer a threat to us. When no one will be shocked to hear he’s dead.” 

His arms came to hold onto your legs, soft pads of his digits stroking the skin beneath your clothing.

“He went too far.” Alastor muttered, moving his head enough to look at you from the corner of his eyes. 

“And he knows your name.” You added, the arrest being of equal importance if not less. 

“I’m beginning to think it doesn’t matter.” Alastor inched his body closer to you. “I’ve never been a bigger failure in all my life than last night. In every way. To myself and to you.” His head turned, the soft and sharp features alike of his face burying into your lap. A gentle shake of his shoulders as he lost his fight to not weep openly into you broke your heart. He let out a weak and muffled series of sounds, followed by a louder and clearer, “Do you want to leave me?”

Wincing, you remembered how close you’d been to doing just that. It was good though that he asked. Indicating Alastor knew how serious you took the way he had acted the night before. 

You pulled his head up by the back of his collar. With your first good look at him in the crisp orange morning light you could see his lips were red and raw from nervous chewing, his hair lacking its usual shine or form. The right side of his face was wet. Tears new and old began to reroute and slide down his high cheeks and pointed jaw. They met at the very bottom of his chin, for the first time in their short lives, and dropped onto you in little couplings. Falling like they were made to always do just that. Just now. Just for him. A fate you could understand so naturally it was bordering on unnerving. A love story you were sure you were playing out.

How rarely you’d seen a man cry. In the past perhaps you’d have been put off. Cringed. Considered it a pathetic show of weakness and lost respect for them. But all you could feel now was a pain so deep and all encompassing it felt as if your skin was cracking off. A dry river bed in the heat of summer. What had been there before? Disgust? Indifference? Even his tears were of a magnitude more important than anyone else’s. Every piece of him mattered more to you. 

Leave him? Of course not. No matter what he did, dead or alive, monster or man, you would never hate him enough. And that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. No, that absolutely wasn’t a good thing. A dangerous something he could never fully be told. 

Oh.

Ruth’s words on the roof crawled from their grave and tugged at your ankles. 

You were in that worst kind of love; Unconditional. 

Fireworks were out of the question but you could manage something for him. You had to tell him. Things were too far gone now and you couldn’t be sure how much time was left now that Brady had a name.

“Give me a little time. I’ll show you how stupid of a question that is over our first fight,” Your thumbs wiped away his tears. The handkerchief came back to view, so you gingerly took it and dabbed the sacred lacrima from his cheeks. You took his head between both hands and stared unflinching into the sweet, sun kissed brown of his eyes, “I never want to leave you. Even if I do, even if somehow I’m convinced to go, you’ll have to rip your heart out of my cold dead hands or I’ll take it with me.” 

“What have I told you? Don’t mention those things. The spirits are listening.” He attempted a gentle smile through his tear stained cheeks and you couldn’t stop yourself from kissing him. How could someone so good with a knife be so soft?

Another torrent of tears from him and a reply so earnest and so sure your body leaned back with surprise, “But, it’s not mine anymore. Isn’t that obvious?” He half whispered it into the ether.

Please, you begged whoever listened when you prayed, don’t weaken my self respect. Straightening your back to summon some form of resolve, you voiced it.

“If you ever speak to me like you did last night again, with that sharp tone and cruel words, sober or not…” you trailed off, begging him to not make you say it. Don’t force you to make threats you didn’t want to keep. Things you’d be ashamed of not following through with. Little self failures you were genetically predisposed of committing. 

“You can take my heart with you.” 

A wonderful reply.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The Release (Alastor)

When Alastor didn’t see you at the side door or back street, he dared to walk around the block to the front of the theater. He was surprised, like many others, to find the doors locked.

A trickle of fear dropped down his spine. Worst case scenario didn’t quite exist as some ladder of concerns, he just felt tremendous fear you were dead. That was the only rung. Had someone been watching you, that he didn’t notice as he was too preoccupied with watching Brady? 

“Alastor?” 

His eyes snapped from the marquee to the young man poking his head out of the doors. 

He nodded, “Johnathon, right?” Alastor moved on autopilot, hand coming to shake your manager’s.

“Johnny. Come inside.”

Alastor didn’t move. Hand still in the air between them. Johnny registered the distinct lack of light in Alastor’s eyes. He took a deep breath in, Alastor looked like a photograph of a man before him. There but, just a facsimile of human.

“She’s okay. Come on.” He gestured firmly, Alastor blinking back to life and slipping in.

Ruth hopped from her seat at the sight of the tall paramour. 

“The bastard arrested her! Prostitution.” 

Alastor’s mouth opened and then closed. He swallowed, then smiled, and his head did a little tilt. Ruth looked from him to Johnny. Alastor’s rolodex of canned responses spun infinitely around in his mind. Nothing was catching. There wasn’t a facial expression or comment or body posture in existence he had prepared for this conversation. Because he hadn’t ever predicted such a situation.

“He did it in front of everyone. He made a real scene of it.” Johnny leaned against the bar and tapped a cigarette, “I told her I’d fill you in.”

Brady had arrested you. You’d been arrested. 

“Prostitution?” Alastor finally spoke.

Ruth shook her head, “Yeah but absolute bullshit. She doesn’t have any want or need for extra money.”

Alastor nodded. It wasn’t his worry. His eyes quickly flitted around the air to the concern of the other two, searching his memory for any sense.

The man he punched? What was his name again? No. He didn’t know where you worked. He didn’t know your name. 

But, perhaps— no. He blinked away his runaway errands list.

“Any idea of the bond? How much should I bring?” He patted his pockets, fingers fumbling when he fished out his wallet. “I could get more, but I’ll need to go—,”

He was in disarray, a tremble in his hands making him pause and stare at his own body with a loss of recognition.

“I’m not sure…” Johnny said it slowly, “Ruth could you grab her bag from the back for me.”

When she was out of ear shot Johnny set his hand on Alastor’s, who was still staring in confusion at his own limbs, and made him lower the wallet.  

“Hey, I was there that night you cornered Tommy into the booth. I saw you two. The night he hit her. Tommy was a real piece of shit. And I’m glad he’s gone.”

Alastor’s eyes met Johnny’s and he wondered what he looked like to the other man. He felt the corner of his frozen smile twitch but he managed to keep from reacting otherwise. How many missteps had he taken?

For a moment, time stood still and he imagined dragging Johnny into the alley by his neck. Then Ruth. Who else needed to go? He’d carry them all away into the dark. 

“I'm no rat! I didn’t tell anyone anything.” A beat as he tried to read the face Alastor was making. A small tight smile and wide eyes that made Johnny’s skin crawl. Was he angry? No, his brows weren’t scrunched up. Was he suspicious? Maybe. Whatever feeling a trapped fox feels when the hound is close. But Johnny didn’t register that. “Just, ya know, I’m glad someone told him off. He was shaking like a leaf after. Anyway,” a nervous clearing of his throat, “I don’t think you should go to the precinct. I’ll go, I’ll pay the bail with some cash from the safe. You two can pay it back.”

No response. Alastor’s thoughts a tangled ball of red wool yarn, every time he tried to pull out a coherent reply the knot seemed to tighten and stiffen. He leaned back a little, trying to fit more of Johnny into his view. Wanting all of the smaller man to be seen.

“I feel kinda responsible. I should have spoken up when I learned what he was doing.” Johnny offered a smile of his own, something about it made him look younger than he was. “Just tell me where you’ll be, I’ll send her that way when she’s released. Maybe in the morning.”

“Responsible for what?” Ruth smacked Alastor’s arm with your small black handbag.

“For her arrest. I should have done more.” Johnny thanked her for the bag. “Where should I say you’ll be?”

“I’ll wait in my car.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll go crazy like that, just find somewhere quiet and have a drink.” Ruth turned Alastor around and pushed him towards the doors. 

“The Golden Dish. I’ll be there. Just,” Alastor stopped to pull a card from his wallet and hand it to Johnny, “Tell her to give the host this card and ask for me.”

“Well, go have a drink, try to just… try to stay calm.” Ruth’s words barely entered his mind as he stumbled out into the night. Thoughts came so quickly and in such a multitude that Alastor found his head entirely empty, unable to latch onto any single one.

He was unlocking his car door and then he looked up — he was across the street from the station. How he got from the theater to here was unknown to him. Clearly he had driven, but with what mind he had no idea. 

Long fingers gripped the steering wheel, knuckles an uncomfortable white with the force. How much would it take to snap the wheel? Had anyone ever tried before?

A deep breath, he didn’t remember holding it until his head began spinning. In the mess of thoughts, he saw flashes of what he could do. Questions to narrow down his options. Did the rooms have windows? Could he climb in one and drag Brady out?

But he didn’t know how many people there were. How many rooms. Where Brady was. Where you were.

Deep breath, he was holding it again and the thought of you being grilled by a cop made him involuntarily gasp for air.

There was no fear you’d say anything. It simply didn’t exist. Even trying to conjure the idea of you telling anyone who he was and what he did was ridiculous to him. A dark part of him knew that notion was born out of a blinding fear and not out of true trust. Because if you did such a thing, it’d mean he’d been wrong about everything. That he couldn’t trust his own decisions anymore. What would he do if you did confess?

Well, he was quite sure he’d die. Perhaps not literally. But Alastor as he was would wither and disappear. He’d be someone —- something entirely different.

But he didn’t stop to think about that. Because it wasn’t a possibility. 

With a full body tremble, Alastor leaned back into the seat and ran his fingers through his hair. He felt torn down the center. Half of him was marching into the station and doing…. He wasn’t sure. The rest was just black.

Half of him was driving away to go hide in a glass of whisky until you were released.

What would you want him to do?

He started the car and headed toward the river’s edge, hoping to find a parking spot not too far from the illicit bar.

Alastor made a beeline for the bathrooms just past the entrance of the Grano D'oro. His hair was mussed, his pupils constricted. He drew his bottom lip in and began chewing it nervously, hands pushing his hair back into some form of style. A cough to clear out his tightening throat, he straightened his bow tie and suit jacket. Staring at his reflection, he flinched. An unsettling feeling in his bones that if he stared long enough, it would take on a life of its own.

Something wasn’t right. His nightmares were back and following him around in his waking hours. Terrors of losing his control over himself. Deep seated insecurities about his work.

Alastor approached the host and explained his card was on loan to someone who would be by later. Normally it didn’t work like that, no card meant no entry. But Alastor was a regular. The man nodded and led Alastor into the main dining hall.

Alastor offered passing pleasantries to a few people and smiled as he was escorted past them to the private dining section of Grano D'oro. Separated by another large but closed curtain, the host moved it aside and let Alastor enter. The hall had a few doors but two large doors swung out from the kitchen.

Through the kitchen, with a smile and another nod to the staff who all sang his name as he walked by, Alastor made it to the barely visible door to the side.

Finally, he descended the stairs to the very lively and very lovely bar of his dear friend, Mimzy.

She clapped her hands enthusiastically at the sight of him, taking him by the arm and dragging him to the counter.

“Little late for you isn’t it? Shouldn’t you be at home with your heart.” She dragged out the word, eyes rolling not at the idea of you but at the idea of someone being more important than a night out.

Alastor plopped onto the stool and came to rest both elbows on the bar, “Should be.”

“Fight?” She was already wiping down a glass for him, his head was in his hands which was… a new sight. Sloppily, with some splashing out and onto the bar top, she poured two fingers and slid it to him.

“Worse. Arrest.” His hands curled around the cup and he considered not drinking it at all. His mother warned him to never drink alone and never drink when upset. He fudged the first rule often. But he really did follow the second. 

“Oh fuck.” Mimzy added two more fingers to the glass. “What for?”

He stared into the whisky before taking a large mouthful and forcing it down with a burning gulp, “Prostitution.” He croaked.

“That’s not illegal.” 

Alastor’s stress was momentarily broken and he looked incredulously at who could be called his closest friend, “Yes, it is, Mimz.”

With a hand on her hip she looked up in thought, “Huh…. Well, ya learn something new every day!”

Alastor held the glass with both hands now, “You do know alcohol is illegal, right? Production and consumption?” He watched her face sour, hand moving to gesture at the windowless room they were in.

“Duh. Why else would I be in this makeshift box?” It was rhetorical, Alastor rolling his eyes and lowering his face to his glass. 

Nervously he chewed on his bottom lip, biting red lines into the soft pink flesh. Mimzy stared, unnoticed. She couldn’t remember the last time he looked sad. He did sometimes open up when drunk, perhaps smiling through a pitiful story. Or dancing when she knew he was bruised in either his ego or his heart. But, normally, for Alastor, he kept the obvious and plain emotions kept tightly buttoned up. 

“So, why are you here all long faced? Did you arrest her or something?”

Alastor’s fingers found their way into his hair again, “I might as well have. It’s my fault.”

It was, without a doubt in his mind, his fault. He pulled you in. He killed your boss without any care for what you thought. He made you a shield and a target, stupid. Alastor couldn’t argue against it. 

You’d been forced to lie for him. To sneak and hide from police for him. He was no better than the spineless men he often chased. How could he be so selfish? It stung his chest and his eyes, the thought of you so sweetly sitting beside him just to be dragged into a police station. It was his fault. 

Mimzy hummed, pretending to wipe down the counter, “Then fix it. If you fucking did it, then make it better.”

Yes, obviously, but, “I don’t know how. I-,” Another forced mouthful of whisky, “I roughed up her former guy. For mistreating her. He’s been going around causing trouble now, lying about her. He doesn’t know it was me.” A lie that roughly summed up the trouble. Enough that he could vent, perhaps get third party insight. Though, admittedly, Mimzy wasn’t his first person to turn to for advice. 

“And you can’t just,” she made a fist with her thumb stuck out and dragged it across her neck in a cutting motion, “get rid of the issue?”

Killing Brady would solve everything. And it’d feel good. It’d feel….ah, he leaned back, letting his chest open and fill with the shadow of satisfaction, it’d be the best kill yet. How would he do it, he wondered. It’d have to be special. Slow. Perhaps even over the course of days. Oh, or better yet, perhaps he could show Brady exactly how he disposed of his targets. Piece by piece, taking from him and letting him watch as he buried his parts in deep holes. Giving him all the answers to his questions before snuffing out his nagging life. 

Lost in thought, he didn’t see Mimzy walk away and come back with a different bottle. The big guns, she thought. 

“That a no? Weeell,” She poured herself a glass, “Maybe go talk to the guy. Put the fear of God in ‘em! Let him know if he tries anymore shit,” she waved her finger around, “he’s gonna eat dirt.”

A threat….scare him? 

No one would believe Brady, he considered. If someone pulled him back into the shadows of his tree lined street with a blade to his throat and gave him the warning of what was to come if he kept this up….Did he have any allies in this at work?

“But you can’t do nothing. She’s your gal, right? Arresting her is like….it’s like throwing a drink in your face. He’s embarrassing you.”

A lump rose in this throat, the two large gulps of drink metabolizing and carrying away his ability to remember not to take advice from Mimzy. 

In fact, as he took a slower sip of his somehow still full glass, he thought she was quite right. Brady was testing his pride. Hurting the closest person he had to get at him. This was villain activity. 

If he didn’t reply, he’d be saying he didn’t care at all about you. He’d be the man Brady told you he was. A coward using you until you weren’t convenient anymore. Alastor’s leg began to bounce against the stool’s foothold. Yes, yeah, he had to act. Someone was challenging him. Someone was swinging you around in front of him, taunting how weak he was that he couldn’t even protect you. 

Either Brady thought Alastor was all bark and no bite, only attacking men alone at night, or, worse, he thought Alastor was using you.

Alastor stood quickly, but paused as his head sloshed to the left and he leaned with it. Steadying himself on the bar he looked down at Mimzy.

“Ah, he’s at work.” He stated it plainly, as if Mimzy already knew this. 

“Oh, then just enjoy some drinks and jazz while you wait! When is he off?”

“I don’t know…but, she’ll come get me when she’s released. So….after that?” Alastor was already losing sight of the lie he had told her earlier. He didn’t notice her top up his glass for a third time. 

“Perfect! Now, gossip. You gotta fill me in with the trashy news. You haven’t come by in so long.” She leaned across the bar, swirling her glass clumsily, big eyes blinking.

“Don’t try to distract me. I’m in no mood for such trivial things, Mimz. My love was arrested. At work no less. I’m useless.”

The very notion of thinking about anything but you made his stomach turn. 

As the time ticked on though, that turning was quickly becoming more of a reaction to the liquor and less to do with his stress. 

The only person who knew how much he’d downed was Mimzy, who kept track on his tab with an out-of-character diligence. When the host knocked on the door, she opened it to receive Alastor’s card and knew you must have come for him. 

Getting him up the stairs was difficult, but he was too drunk to let him go through the restaurant. The fine people upstairs had no idea liquor was being served in their fancy dining hall. So Mimzy let Alastor lean on her as she pushed them through the back doors and to the storage room. Opening the trash shoot, she pushed the man out and let him trip through the small opening. 

“This way, big guy,” She tugged him by the lapel through the alley and toward the street. 

She saw you standing there, looking into the restaurant expectedly, and told him to stay put. Mimzy slipped his card into his suit pocket and bee lined to you. You looked different than she’d expected. She wasn’t really sure what she was expecting…actually, on second thought, she had just imagined a female Alastor. Alastor with a perm and an empire waist dress. A little out of fashion but classy. 

She smacked your arm with the back of her hand and left you to him. 

Alastor stumbled onto the sidewalk, the lights blinding compared to the dark and smokey illicit club down he’d just fallen out of. He’d never used the back door, and he decided, somewhere in the mess of his thoughts, he didn’t particularly care for it. 

“Hey! Alastor!”

His head swung around at the sound of your voice, it was you. You were free. Shrugging off his panic like a heavy fur coat he rushed to you, taking your face in his big hands to kiss you. Grateful. He was so grateful you were back. He couldn’t let Brady take you again. How could he show you how seriously he felt?

What did people like? Kisses. People liked kisses. And passion. And touch. 

He’d translate his determination into lavishing you. When you made a yelp and pushed him away, he was confused. Why weren’t you happy to see him? 

Icy cold fear dripped and trickled down his ribs that Brady had said something to make you believe you were just collateral. You pulled him by the wrist, not looking at him, and he felt sure he had made a mistake in not going to the station. 

In the mud that was his thinking, he was sure this was the issue. What an idiot. He never let others tell him how to act or live, and yet he let some manager keep him from seeing you? He let a pissant like Brady take you and whisper poison into your ear. 

He had to fix it. He had to make it better. 

“Where’s your car?”

Ah, his car! Yes! Alastor had the power to make this all better immediately. Why didn’t he do this an hour ago? He couldn’t remember…. Alastor took his arm back, pointing you toward the park, “At that little park. Audubon.” It was a lovely little park, he thought. 

Your breath against his body when you and him first entertained affection came to his mind so intensely he thought maybe he had been pulled back in time. He paused, remembering the last park you both sat in, covered in blood and trembling. 

He needed to make it up to you.

“Anyway, I’m gonna kill him. Maybe right now! Did I tell ya? I know where he lives.” The stalking and studying was part of the fun, it made the meal tastier. And he had been sure to study Brady. When his work ended and you were busy still, he learned everything he could about the nosy cop. 

Unfortunately, most of what he learned was that Brady rarely went home at a normal time and he was relentless in his pursuit of information about you both. Many nights he shadowed the detective and heard Brady pestering and questioning locals about missing people and illegal going-ons at your theater. It wasn’t because he wanted to clean up the streets, that was obvious. Those nightly walks were a pig sniffing around in the mud for a kernel. All he needed was a good enough accusation to rush in and shut shit down. 

“Alastor.” Your voice saying his name pulled him back to the present, he paused for a beat to figure out where he was, he had thought you’d both been in front of the restaurant just a second ago. 

“You’re drunk. No.”

You slipped in front of him, making him nearly collide into you. No? Yes! What did drunkenness have to do with anything? Perhaps you didn’t understand. He did the work! He knew exactly what to do and where to go. Ah, of course. You didn’t know. How could you? He never told you what he did while waiting for you to finish up at work.

“Alastor, yes. He’s got two kids, a wife. He stays out late, obsessin’ over us no doubt.” Raising his head, he felt a swell of pride. Don’t worry, dear. I’ve not made mistakes this time.

You hissed his name as he moved past you, if he was quick he could catch the bastard before he got into his house. His road was lined with trees, shady and quiet. It’d be so easy. Fuck, it was even better suited for his hobbies than alleys and parks. How odd. 

“Hey. You can’t-,”

The word set something off in him. Can’t? Why do people keep telling him what to do or not to do?! Why were people always fucking giving him limitations? 

Brady had done this. You’d never– He was just trying to clean up his mess. Why did people think they could dictate his life so freely? Why did what he wanted to do not matter, even though he was just trying to be a good man?

“Who are you to stop me? To tell me,” He whipped around, losing his balance as he tried to recorrect. Alastor paused to stare down at his legs. Et tu, crura? Even his own body was betraying him. Saying his desires were moot points. Fine, fuck it. He barely needed legs to drive anyway. If he could just do things the way he always did, you’d see how capable he was. Brady would see how fucking stupid he was. Tommy could rot in hell harder if that was an option. 

Ah, it was quiet. How long had he been in his head? Had you said something and he didn’t hear? Oh you had stopped walking. “Are ya really not comin’?”

You had told him to not go alone, to always have you nearby when he killed. You not coming made no sense at all. 

“Who am I, Alastor?” Your voice was high pitched, he could hear your throat constricting. The reason wasn’t known to him though. People often did that before he killed him. 

What an odd question. Had you used your stage name so long you’d forgotten your true one. He laughed, what a silly thing to ask! “Now who is drunk?”

When your arms crossed and you glared back at him, his head cocked to the side. He wondered if you were playing around. You often pretended to be cross with him to make him pull you close and make you smile. 

“I thought you’d stop if I asked. I thought I was your equal in this.”

Not a joke. Well yes, of course you were. But this wasn’t that. 

“Well!” Alastor searched the sidewalk for the words, “This is different! He isn’t like the others. Mister Detective Kenneth Brady is-.” He was getting mad. Not at you, persay, but at the entire mess before him. 

“Shhh!” You seethed, “Give me your key. You can’t drive like this.”

What? 

Oh, so now he can’t drive? Your trust in him had been so eroded with just one private meeting with Brady. And did you shush him? 

Alastor, don’t go to the station. 

Alastor, don’t clean up the mess you made for me. 

Alastor, don’t drive. 

He didn’t want to fight with you. To argue or assert dominance, but…he stood up straighter to simulate sobriety. It failed, his hand jutting out to brace against the wall for stability. A failure that added to a growing pile of failures.

He caught himself and stared back at you. No. It was his car. Alastor was putting his drunken, clumsy foot down.

“If you want me to come with you, I am driving. Make your decision now.” 

When your hand came out for the keys he looked down to it and then back to you. What was that? What were you doing? 

You closed it,  “I won’t let a man waste my time when I’m just trying to help him. You’ve got me confused with someone else.”

Your turning and walking back forward the restaurant made his eyes roll. Oh, the keys still. He pulled them from his pocket, fine, have them. I give up. Failure pile growin’ every minute.

He tossed them into the space between you both, smiling to himself. You wanted the keys, he thought, there you go.

But when you turned around, he could feel the rage rolling off of your body. Alastor couldn’t pinpoint what it was about your face that was different than usual, but just beneath your skin he could see a you he’d never met before. One he didn’t care to meet. 

Fuck. 

He’d fucked up.

A flash of embarrassment sizzled in his stomach before he lurched forward and grabbed the keys, offering them to you properly.

He followed behind, too stubborn to show you the way but unwilling to be without you. 

Leaning into the window, he stared at the city as it rolled by, until it turned to water and then to woods. The air was stiff and suffocating. He hated it. Why were you so mad at him?

Alastor couldn’t understand what had happened. He was so happy to see you but immediately you pushed him away and dragged him off like a child being taken to the headmaster. What had happened at the station, he wondered. There was no way to ask now. The mood was too heavy, and he was too insolent to be the first one to speak. You were mad at him. You didn’t trust him. You, probably, we’re fed up with the complications of his company.

The pain behind his sternum was akin to a splintering rod; stiff, solid, and biting every time he moved. No one had ever made him feel this way before. He couldn’t put his finger on the feeling though, it was sadness, and it hurt, but there was something deeper. Something underneath these shallow reactions that dredged up a vague sense of mourning.

Regret?

He slammed the car door behind him and fell into the sofa as soon as he could. Nothing went right. The day had started so wonderfully… you’d felt like a part of himself he’d finally found. And now….

“You’re mad at me.” He heard the keys hit the bowl. Thank you, he thought. 

Yes. No. Not at you. Not with you. Just, mad. Mad at Brady. Mad at Tommy. Mad at liquor as a general concept. And, the most upsetting, mad at himself. Had he ever been mad at himself before? 

“No.” He sucked in a breath, “I’m mad. Full stop.” He hugged a pillow, he just wanted to be left alone now to wallow in the expanse of these new and awful sensations bleeding into his guts.

He thought it and immediately winced. Not alone alone. Please, if anyone had been listening, please disregard it. That wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t mean that at all.

“You’re acting like a child. Go to your bed. I’ll sleep here.” Your voice was stern, talking down to him. 

“You’re talkin’ to me like a child.” He felt small and stupid. Closing his eyes, he sighed and tried to settle mind. Everything was swimming. Literally. His thoughts and the room were liquid and floating up into the atmosphere. Alastor was confident he would follow them up. 

“You really don’t see the connection between those two things?? Atleast— go to the guest bed.” 

Connection? Yes! You were treating him like a naive child, talking to him like a confused child, pulling him like a disobedient child, holding out your hand to him like he was a selfish child.

“No.” If he opened his eyes he was 90% sure he’d vomit. If he could just bear through the spinning he’d be okay.

“Suit yourself. I don’t have patience for this, Alastor. You’re acting like a brat when I’m the one who had the hard night.” 

He turned his head into the pillow to conceal the frown. 

Patience… there it was. You’d lost patience with him. And you’d been so patient for months now. Waiting in bars and cars while he killed. Waiting for him while he threw body parts into holes and snapping jaws. Waiting for weeks beside him for inspiration to strike and for him to seek your intimacy in more serious touch.

He heard you make it three steps before returning, “And I really don’t appreciate the way you’re treating me. We’ll talk in the morning.”

Alastor’s eyes welled with tears that soaked into the soft yellow pillow. He held his breath until he heard the floor creaking upstairs to let his body shiver with the sob. He’d had you all morning. And he’d kissed you goodbye at work… and then he came to get you. But you were gone. 

He was scared, and angry.

And he got angrier and angrier and now— he couldn’t piece anything together.

Rolling onto his back he held the pillow to his chest. 

Eyes fixed on the ceiling he listened to you prepare for bed. The water ran. The bed groaned. As the liquor took him away the floors creaked again and he hoped maybe you’d come join him on the sofa. Even in silence. Even angry. Just be there so he knew you weren’t done with him entirely. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

When Alastor woke he was alone, the sound of the back door shutting startling him into consciousness. The only evidence he had slept and not just shut his eyes for a couple minutes was the light through the curtains. 

For the briefest, sweetest second he felt excited to see you. It was eclipsed near immediately with the nauseating reality that you’d had a fight the night before and you’d told him…. It was hazy. Clenching his eyes shut he searched through the drunken darkness of the night before.

He had to work backwards. You said you’d lost patience. He was treating you poorly. You’d driven him home. He’d thrown his keys at you.

Alastor groaned, feet kicking the end to the sofa in anger. He had tried to make you pick up the keys off the ground, when all you had done was try to take care of him. 

He remembered you tugging him along the sidewalk, before that… you kissed. No, he kissed. He could distinctly remember trying to lick his way into your mouth. On the sidewalk. In front of a very nice restaurant. The yellow pillow was pulled to his face to muffle his scream.

Drinking was the first mistake, continuing to drink was the second. And now you were upset with him.

He was to blame. It was so obvious now. Not just for the arrest and the negative attention but for the entire evening going tits up. 

Throat tightening, a tingle began in his fingertips and worked its way up his wrists. 

Stupid.

Selfish.

Useless.

Throwing the pillow into the chair opposite the sofa he tossed his legs over and sat up. He couldn’t breath, chest heavy. As his lips began to feel like they were stung with tiny needles, he spread his knees and lowered his head between them.

Not now, he yelled at himself, you’re making this about yourself again. Just like last night.

He’d wanted to fix the problems he’d made so badly but stupidly he’d just burdened you further.

There was no future in that moment. All the little daydreams of you and him were suspended and in jeopardy. Until he spoke to you, had the talk you told him was required, he had nothing. 

For all he knew, you’d made up your mind already. How odd. He himself was the cat in the box. He could already be dead and not even know it.

Alastor couldn’t stand another second of not knowing his fate. Lost in the panic he hadn’t considered at all what Brady had said to you. Taking the steps two by two he found the bed empty. Before turning, vaguely remembering hearing the screen door earlier, something caught his eye and made the world spin again with renewed terror.

The handle of your bag peeking out from under the dresser. It had been in the closet, he had emptied it and put it there for you so he knew that to be a fact.

He closed his eyes, bile rising in his throat. Was it full of your things? Were you just waiting to tell him to take you home?

He couldn’t find the courage to check. Rushing past it like it could come to life and grab him by the ankles, he went to the nightstand beside his side of the bed and opened the drawer, the bright yellow of your handkerchief calming him just a sliver. If he kept it, you’d have to come back. He could call you and remind you to come back for it. And then he could convince you to stay. His mother always said he was good with words. If you forgot it at his house when you left he’d have a way to bring you home again. Fresh tears welled, the backs of his hands smearing them into his hairline.

The handkerchief smelled faintly of you still. His bottom lip was sucked between his teeth and the skin picked and pulled. Still carrying the piece of fabric, he leaned over the stairs railing to see you as you sat on the back porch. 

Sitting on the second to last step of the house, he took a moment to collect himself. Being so frazzled, so undone, wasn’t like him. That foreignness just added to the panic. Bringing a hand to his chest, he opened his shirt to run his fingers down his sternum and to the left. A beating heart, evidence he was the survivor in every encounter he’d been in. But now, half a house between your and his back, why did he feel the most in danger? Rarely did fight or flight kick in, the last time he felt it was rolling around with that man who’d tried to choke the life out of you. 

No strange man here now. Just strange feelings. 

The pounding under his fingerprints became sonorous. It was becoming harder to ignore the obvious. 

Deep breaths, he had to prepare his responses. The only way to begin was with an apology, but after that he wasn’t sure where things would go. So he had to make a plan. 

Alastor hoped you’d forgive him, and accept the apology. At which point he would love to imagine himself doing something respectful like kissing your cheeks and thanking you for your mercy. 

If you didn’t accept it….Alastor had never begged a day in his life, but he could see himself begging you to stay. Perhaps hugging your ankles and promising things he didn’t have. There was no longer an impossibility in what he would do, which was alarming. The idea of him being so pathetic and pitiful was nauseating, however there was no one and nothing that could stop that if you got up and left. 

There was no way to run his lines for this. Like many other interactions with you he couldn’t bring the usual tools with him to battle. Either with your wit or point of view, or perhaps today your wrath, you always disarmed him. 

But that was what made you worth the risk. It began as entertainment, but soon enough the dome of your stage extended out and around him, sheltering Alastor in the warm light of your presence. And now as he looked around the railing of his stairs, he was scared to see the exit lights flicker on. 

Walking out the backdoor, he wondered if he would be allowed back in or if the door would lock behind him. 

He knew the exact moment he fucked up, and knew he had to begin there. Barefoot, still in yesterday’s clothes while you were in your night dress, he let himself drop to the space beside you before tentatively bringing his head down to your lap. He avoided eye contact, not yet ready to confront his adjudicator.

The pain in your words from last night were just now beginning to sting his eyes. 

‘Who am I?’

“You are my darling,” It wasn’t until he said it that he realized he hadn’t opened his mouth and spoken yet, his voice was harsh and throat dry. Who were you? It would be easier to list who you weren’t to him now. “That’s who you are.”

No unit of time existed small enough to measure the pause between what he said and your reply, but it felt like a gorge separating his breaths. 

“You sure didn’t make me feel like your anything last tonight.”  He couldn’t remember ever hearing you take such a tone; cutting and cold. Was there no longer warmth in your heart for him? He had been so drunkenly blinded by his own feelings he hadn’t stopped to think about how you were viewing his little tantrum. Maybe he hadn’t ever really had anyone around whose opinion mattered very much.

And he’d made you feel like nothing to him. The mountain of derelictions crumbled under the weight of perhaps his biggest failure of the evening, an avalanche of embarrassment and shame washed over him and he didn’t try to impede his tears. Men were only supposed to cry on their wedding day and at funerals, but he supposed this day could still go either way. Could still be as pivotal to his happiness.

“I know. I’m sorry. I was so,” what word could sum it up?

“Drunk.”

“Enraged.” a high whine caught in his throat, clenching his eyes now as the embarrassment took over stronger than he had thought possible. He felt stupid now saying he was just angry, “And drunk.”

He couldn’t entirely blame the alcohol, but he wouldn’t disagree with you now. 

“And disrespectful.”

Alastor folded in on himself, shoulders drawing in to try and curl up small enough that he ceased to exist in any meaningful way. Disrespectful. He had, he’d disrespected you in public and in private. The stunt with the keys came back and he thought he may just die from the mortification of what he’d done. 

“That too.” His hands nervously wrung the handkerchief beneath his closed thighs. What a terrible morning juxtaposed with the prior day’s bliss. A sigh, soft and weak. He remembered who was the catalyst for his buffoonery. “I want to split his skull with an ax.” 

Argh, it wasn’t about him. “I’m sorry. I— you were not wrong. I didn’t know what to do with myself when your manager said you’d been arrested. I almost drove my car into the station doors.” He was beginning to wish he had.

“So getting zozzled and shouting the personal details of a New Orleans detective into the night seemed… the better option? When I had already had a difficult night?” He flinched at the rising anger in your voice, the rhetoricals were scolding and biting his pride like a nun’s ruler to his knuckles. “When I needed your support? Comfort?”

Perhaps the death blow. All he could do was nod and accept his mistakes. But, it hurt. Not to admit them, but to confront them. Another tidal wave of emotion hit and he had to bury his face back into the cool silk of your nightwear. He couldn’t understand how he had fucked it up so badly. 

No, he had to find words. “I’d never felt so helpless, I just…I responded very selfishly. I’m sorry.” Two words did nothing, they tumbled from his mouth like feathers. Weightless. When the heavy guilt in his chest was threatening to drag him to hell with one misstep, ‘I’m sorry’ was just crystals of salt dropped in the gulf. Actions were all he had left and he wasn’t sure yet you’d give him the time to show you. 

When your fingers grazed his scalp and combed his hair from his ears he shook with relief. A tender touch that promised you didn’t hate him, and his cortisol levels immediately plummeted. He felt safe again, enough to ask what was pestering him still. 

“Will you ever let me kill him?” his lips ghosted over the mercy of your thighs.

As you thought, his fingers ran along the edges of your handkerchief. Feeling the stitched edges with precision as a distraction from the stress of waiting. 

 “When he’s no longer a threat to us. When no one will be shocked to hear he’s dead.” 

No longer a threat… what did that mean? When Brady moved on from you both, or was simply made incapable of doing you harm. He could expedite that, somehow. He was sure of it. 

His arms wrapped around your legs and caressed your thighs through the silk, “He went too far. Turning his head up, he got you into his peripheral. 

“And he knows your name.”

Oh. That … was expediting, wasn’t it? It was bound to happen. 

“I’m beginning to think it doesn’t matter.” He pulled himself closer again. Brady was nothing compared to the threat of losing you. “I’ve never been a bigger failure in all my life than last night. In every way. To myself and to you.” What a joke he was. How high and mighty and curated he tried to be that he forgot the point of it. A shield he turned to you was just a barrier between what he desperately wanted by his side. His tears returned with renewed vigor, the complete breakdown of his manicured image was a tell tale heart he couldn’t smile away anymore, the greatest weakness he was never so happy to call his own. Muffled by your clothing and inviting lap, “I just love you so much…” he choked and then sucked in a deep breath to try and get control of himself, shifting his face to the side again to watch your face for an immediate reaction to his question, “Do you want to leave me?”

He didn’t want the answer. He knew better than to ask. But – if you did, he didn’t want to keep you there. He couldn’t let the moment pass without finding out if you were just putting up with him. If you felt trapped, like Brady promised you that you would. When you told him those things, the silly things the detective had said before, you always laughed. You said it was so ridiculous. But, now, there was nothing funny about the idea. He couldn’t promise himself he wouldn’t keep that little yellow fabric in his hands even after you parted, but he could swear to not try and guilt you back into his arms. 

When you lifted him off of your body by the collar he couldn’t understand the emotion behind it. You were inspecting his face so carefully, but there was no sign of disgust or anger or even adoration to signal how he should feel. The teardrops tickled his cheeks and chin and fell unimpeded to your legs. 

Your eyes kept moving over his features, until a small tug of your lips to the side crept into a smile. Soft and obviously natural.

“Give me a little time. I’ll show you how stupid of a question that is over our first fight,” The pads of your thumbs were soft as they slid down his cheeks and gathered the moisture there. When he pulled the handkerchief to his lap, you took it and used it to further dry his face. He exhaled a broken breath when you took his face in your hands and stared into his eyes. “I never want to leave you.” His body again trembled with relief, blinking away the nth torrent of tears, “Even if I do, even if somehow I’m convinced to go, you’ll have to rip your heart out of my cold dead hands or I’ll take it with me.”

Stop. Don’t say that. “What have I told you? Don’t mention those things.” Death. Leaving. Goodbyes. “The spirits are listening.” They were always listening, watching, hoping to grab a hold of anything you said without precision and deliver you the reality you mused. He didn’t want to lecture, but he couldn’t let it go. Shh, don’t say such things. He could feel the dried tears crack as his eyes crinkled with his smile, a smile that he nearly failed to switch up to return the kiss when you pressed your lips into his. A first fight? He’d never had one of those. Typically he never got that far. Things fell apart the second someone was unhappy or unsatisfied. 

Take his heart back? His mind finally processed the words. It was yours. The morning had proved to him he couldn’t claw it back if he truly wanted, and if he was further honest with himself, he didn’t want it. It was better off with you. He felt the air cooling the once body-warm tears, he whispered what he felt was too vulnerable to say at full volume, “But, it’s not mine anymore. Isn’t that obvious?” His eyes looked down at your feet pointed in towards his own. Was this pathetic display not making it glaringly evident he was a man turned inside out? Guts in his hands and heart in yours?

You sniffled and sat up straight, bringing his attention back to you. 

“If you ever speak to me like you did last night again, with that sharp tone and cruel words, sober or not…” Your words got slower until you stopped, an almost wild look in your eyes he could read as pleading. He shook his own head subtly, unconsciously swearing he wouldn’t. 

If he ever forgot himself and you again, like he had let his rage and weakness do the night before, he didn’t deserve your forgiveness or grace anymore. A woman too good for him.  

Because he couldn’t ever get it back now, “You can take my heart with you.” 

A sickening fact. 

His body was a tool, and he’d use every tool he had available to make you understand what you meant to him. Would you feel different now, now that he knew you loved him? Would he find your body warmer, more inviting… Could he make you scream your love for him?

Later, he would have to bookmark that idea. The confession was too fragile still, a crystal figurine to precious to even take out of the box. 

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[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

Twisted Lies

Can I request an Angst to happy ending Eddie Munson x fem. reader long oneshot where reader is Jason’s sister and Eddie and reader are dating and happy and Jason sabotages the relationship by writing a note saying awful things about Eddie and he shows it to Eddie and makes Eddie believe his girlfriend wrote it.

When she meets up with Eddie later, she tries to hug him and he pushes her away and yells at her in anger and confronts her about the note and she starts sobbing and tries to convince him that she didn’t write it and she tells him she loves him for the first time and when he finally realizes Jason set him up, he apologizes to reader and kisses her and tells her he loves her too?

Requested by @borhapgirlforlife19 ty for the request. I hope you like it 💞

Warnings; Angst to fluff,

Likes, comments and especially reblogs are always appreciated. I do not give anyone permission to copy my work.

💞❤

She smiles as she wakes up in Eddie's arms, he was over for a study date last night and they fell asleep.

Well... There wasn't a lot of studying involved but there were a lot of mindblowing orgasms and sweet cuddles.

She loved Eddie with her whole heart, her parents adored him. The only problem was her twin brother Jason. He hated Eddie.

How he could be her twin she never knew, they barely even looked alike and they certainly didn't act alike.

Though honestly, she didn't care what Jason thought she was so happy with Eddie. He treated her like an absolute queen, he even called her his princess and was so gentle and sweet, protective.

Eddies beautiful Brown eyes flutter open and he looks at her with adoration, her belly flutters. He makes her heart race, butterflies in her belly, tingles. All the good stuff.

"Hey, beautiful". She kisses him tenderly and he cuddles with her. God, she loved sleepy, morning cuddles.

Ugh, did they have to get up? Couldn't they just stay here all comfy and curled up together?

Maybe a long hot shower with Eddie would refresh her, she turns to Eddie then winks.

"Come on handsome, shower time it. A nice soapy, hot shower". His pupils blow wide with desire and he follows her into the bathroom making her giggle as he kisses her along the way.

Little did they know while they were in the shower that Jason had snuck into the bedroom with a devious plan in mind to cause chaos.

💖

Operation break up was a go.

Jason smirks as he zeros in on Eddie, this morning when y/n and the freak were in the shower together he stole a scrap of her notebook paper.

He's written horrible shit about Eddie on it and plans to give it to him. Surely the fucker will realise his sister is way too good for him and they'll break up.

Well, at least he can hope. Either that or it causes a massive rift. He will take what he can get.

Eddie's eyes narrow at him.

"What the fuck do you want Carver?". Smug he shoves the note right in the freak's face. He takes it.

"Just thought you should know what my sis really thinks of you, found it this morning when I was getting the laundry and shit". He shrugs playing it cool.

Eddie is such a freak, I don't know what I was thinking by dating him. Jason was right about everything. All the metal shit he's into is so weird and I can't stand hearing him talking about that freak show Hellfire club.

"I'm telling you freak, she wrote this. It's from her fucking diary".

Eddie stares at the note and Jason watches with glee as his face falls. He takes the note shaking and crumpling it up in his hand stuffs it in his jeans and stalks away going to find y/n.

Operation break up completed.

💞💫

She can't wait to find Eddie, she's missed him so much. Okay, it's only been a few hours since they saw him but she's so in love with him it feels like days.

It's Friday so he will be going to set up for Hellfire any minute now.

Just as she suspected she spots in walking towards the auditorium and she beams and calls his name.

"Eddie!". She runs to him, throwing her arms around him, it confuses her when he tenses and suddenly he's pushing her away and she looks at him shocked.

"Leave me alone y/n".

What's wrong with him?

"Eddie? What's wrong?". His brown eyes flash in anger, tears just visible in his eyes.

"Oh like you don't know?". Seriously she doesn't. What the hell happened from this morning until now?

"No, I don't so explain it to me Eds?". He snorts and pulls a note from his pocket, the paper is so familiar and she realises it's from her diary.

He shoves the note at her and she takes it scanning the words. It's not her handwriting but she knows who it is. Jason's.

Her more pressing concern is reassuring Eddie that this was not written by her but by her asshole brother.

"Eddie I didn't write this". Her heart breaks as tears fall down his cheeks, she longs to soothe him but he backs away from her.

"Yeah, likely story y/n, fuck why did I believe you were different you're just like your brother".

Anxiety fills her stomach. She can't lose him not because of Jason and him not accepting her and Eddie, he needs to get over his stupid prejudices.

"Eddie it isn't my handwriting, you have to believe me". She pleads and he still won't look at her.

"Look, I have Hellfire. I'll see you later". She gently tugs him back.

"Eddie please listen". He wipes at his eyes and meets her gaze, his own full of betrayal and hurt.

"Why should I?". Fuck, she wanted this to be more romantic when she told him. Screw Jason and his bullshit.

"Because I love you, Eddie, so much. I wish I could be telling you this in a special, romantic way but thanks to Jason's shit I can't. I love you, I love everything about you, especially Hellfire and your love for Heavy metal but most of all for your beautiful heart".

His tense body softens and he looks to the note then tears it to pieces and pulls her in his arms for a breathtaking kiss.

He kisses her forehead and swears.

"Fucking Jason, that asshole. You really mean it, princess?". She nods wiping his tears away gently.

"I really do".

"Good because I love you too princess, so much. I should have realised you'd never write any of that shit".

Jason skulks out of basketball practice, spots her and Eddie together and pales. Fuming she approaches him along with Eddie.

"How dare you try and break Eddie up". She screams at him, she's so beyond furious right now.

Jason gapes flustered.

"He's a freak sis, he's a..." She cuts him off and narrows her eyes, he gulps stepping back.

"No. Enough! let me get it through that thick skull of yours, Jason, I love Eddie and he loves me. So back off and leave us alone or I will make you regret it".

He sneers at her and nods, then storms off. Message received.

Eddie kisses her hair.

"Come on princess need my lucky charm to join me at Hellfire".

They walk hand in hand to the auditorium, happier than ever and very much in love.

💞💫

[cyphertripping]

omg this is very exciting!! your writing is very nice!! 🥺 could you maybe do a pre-relationship Fade x fem!reader where the reader is clearly fond of her but Fade is a little suspicious/wondering if it's in her head bc people aren't usually that nice to her bc of all the stuff that happened? i think my girl deserves some softness in her life :/

also while i'm here, are you really open to doing character x character prompts? oooo

so true!! cat girl deserves all the nice things :)) also, yes im 100% down to do character x character my brain is currently valo brain rot!

Tea Break (Fade x f!reader)

Word Count: 699

Fluff

After it was announced to the team that Fade would be joining, needless to say the reaction was tepid at best. The atmosphere at the base which had been tense the past months with all the dossiers had hardly lifted. 

As much as Fade wanted to act like it didn’t bother her— after all, she’d wanted them to be scared of her— but it was… difficult. 

Being ignored, she could understand. She was used to that— being a shadow, the others not wanting to even meet her eye. 

But after awhile, it settled into the familiar dull ache of loneliness. The others were always cordial and cooperative on missions, but after when the toughened facade for battle was dropped, she’d watch Jett joking with Phoenix, or Neon’s loud laugh that filled the plane, and feel alone. 

The only person who treated her somewhat normally was Cypher, whom she’d come to a tentative agreement with through the interrogation, and strangely… you

From the research she’d done, you’re one of the newer agents. Perhaps that’s why you don’t hold the same reservations about her— you hadn’t been as integral in the protocol so Fade hadn’t targeted you as much. It seemed you were friendly with all of the other agents, yet you were often on your own.

She would see you in the community kitchen. It seemed you enjoyed baking and making food in general— that was how you bonded with the other agents.

One day, Fade was heading to the kitchen after her workout for a snack and found you there. You turned around and beamed— not something she had expected at all

“Just the person I was looking for!” you smile. It turns sheepish, “um, would you like to have some tea? The leaves just started steeping.”

Fade nods silently, almost hesitant. The two of you begin chatting, mostly you talking about anything and Fade nodding, a neutral expression on her face. It’s empty conversation— not about anything in particular. Her workout, you complaining about Yoru always flashing you around corners. It’s… actually really nice. Bit by bit, she feels her guard receding.

Soon the tea is done steeping and you pour it out into two sizable mugs and the two of you sit down. The warm mug clinks against her rings and she looks down at the steaming liquid— black tea, her favorite. Suddenly it feels easier to look down at the mug than at you. 

You shift in your seat a bit, awkward. Fade is honestly an intimidating person, not just from what the other agents had said and the information she had released, but she was just so cool.

You consider yourself not the most extroverted person. You enjoyed your hobbies and work in the Valorant protocol, but talking was never always easy. The way Fade commanded herself on the battlefield and around others filled you with awe. She just seemed always in control, though a bit sad.

That’s why you’d had the thought to make some tea. You knew Fade liked to come into the kitchen around mid-morning for a post-workout snack and, well, nothing cheered someone up like a bit of home. While Fade was always brewing some sort of coffee, you’d hoped perhaps she’d like something different, that showed your thoughts about her—

Well, not like that sort of thoughts. You flush slightly and realize it’s been quiet for some time. Oh god, were you making this awkward?

Fade sips the tea. The strong flavor washes over her, a hint of citrus and sugar in the blend. It was like home. She blinks fast, suddenly aware of burning in her eyes. 

“It’s good,” she says.

You feel like she’s still on guard a bit. Your worry at your lip, hoping desperately that your gesture hasn’t made her uncomfortable. 

“Hey,” you start, awkward. “I just… I’m happy you joined the protocol. I never feel scared going into site when I know your eyes are watching.”

Fade’s expression softens. “Thank you, canım (my dear).”

She hadn’t been sure of what to make of you, what your intentions had been. But when she looks at you, there’s no fear, no shadows. It’s just… you. You’re radiant.

Fade smiles.

[duuhrayliegh]

my hero - request

request: anon: hi could you write a sebastian x female reader fic where she suffers from anxiety and feels bad because of it but he comforts her and tells her there’s nothing wrong with her and how strong she is even though she has this disorder

pairing: sebastian stan x female!reader

warnings: self-esteem issues, anxiety, toxicity in the fandom, language?

a/n: hey nona! you weren’t super specific on what type of anxiety that you wanted to reader to have, so if this isn’t what you had in mind, lmk and i’ll write you another fic! other than that i hope you like it!

p.s.: my requests and tag lists are open!!

xoxo ray

check out my m.list

You and Seb met at a coffee shop in New York. It was totally cliche and seemed straight out of a storybook. You had somehow managed to spill coffee on that specimen of a man, and he was kind enough to let you pay for his dry cleaning. Your relationship didn’t grow until you ran into him again while you were at a bar with your friends. If he had any say in telling the story of how you met, he spotted you from across the smoky bar and he knew then and there that he had to get to know you. Truthfully, you liked his version, but the real one was just indescribable. It seemed, to you at least, that you were destined to be with this man. Seeing him twice in one week? Come on, that’s possible if you were in the small town you grew up in, but not New York.

You obviously had recognized him as an actor, but really you didn’t care. That’s what drew Sebastian to you in the first place. You treated him as if he was any other guy on the street, he was able to be a normal person around you. Now, two years later, you lounge on the couch of your apartment in LA that you shared with the man you love. He’s still auditioning for any role that catches his eye and you’re supporting him no matter what.

His fans for the most part adored you and your relationship with Sebastian. The fans who didn’t like you were your only issue with this whole affair, but they had nothing to do with Sebastian other than flood his socials with nasty messages about you. You weren’t perfect, that you knew all too well, and you tried to let the comments roll off your shoulders. Most of the time you were successful in your efforts, but other times they clung to your skin like an unwanted disease.

Sebastian was currently promoting his new project Endings, Beginnings. You were so unbelievably proud of Seb, he was doing something that made him happy. In this particular film, he was acting alongside Shailene Woodley, who was just amazing. Seb always came home gushing about the new inside jokes that they had come up with. One of your favorite things that Seb did with you was run lines. You liked having the inside scoop on his new works, but this one was harder for you. It had quite a few sex scenes between Seb’s character Frank and Shailene’s Daphne.

Not that it bothered you. Nope. Didn’t bother you. At all.

...mmm, okay maybe it bugged you a little. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Sebastian, it was… well you couldn’t really describe what it was. Whatever the case may be, it was putting you deeper and deeper into a funk, one that you were having a hard time coming out of. And Seb’s fans who weren’t in your corner, weren’t really helping you any.

A few nights ago, Seb surprised you with a casual night out in LA. He texted you before he got home and told you that he was going to be taking you out. Did he give you a dress code for the evening? No, he did not (wonderful, thanks so much Seb). You decided to dress in a half business casual, half rail me when we get home outfit. You ended up wearing an adorable bustier top that was embroidered with pretty blue and pink flowers, a pair of destroyed jeans covered your legs. You finished it off with a pair of nude heels, when you looked in the mirror, you thought you looked hot as fuck. It was around seven when Seb picked you up, mouth hanging open, in awe of your outfit.

“Oh my god. You look so beautiful, Y/N.” He opened the passenger door of his car after he hugged you, giving you a small peck on the lips. Sebastian drove you to a restaurant a block off of Thai Town called Home Restaurant.

“Babe, this place is so cute!” You squeezed Sebastian’s upper arm, jumping up and down beside him. “How’d you find this place?” Sebastian shook his head, smiling at you.

“I asked Shai, actually.” He rubbed his hand on the back of his neck, and your heart sank a little. Why did it do that? “She said that the paps hardly ever come around here.” He leaned down pressing a kiss to your temple. “I thought that draga mea deserved a quiet night out on the town.” His voice rasped as he spoke in his native tongue, making a shiver race down your spine.

“Well, tell her I said thank you.” You offered him a small smile. He wrapped his arm around your waist, drawing circles on the exposed skin above your jeans. He spoke with the hostess as your mind drifted away. You were pulled out of your thoughts when he guided you to your table. Sebastian sat across from you, staring deeply into your eyes. You brought your hand up to rest your chin on it, staring back at him. “How’s everything been going?” You were genuinely interested in the answer and it made your heart warm watching his face light up.

“It’s been going really well. Everyone we worked with was real nice, it made all the scenes more comfortable.” Seb’s eyebrows rose at the mention of the scenes and you knew which ones he was referring to.

“Oh, right.” You tried not to let your emotions show.

“Yeah, we’re about to start teasing some of them to promote the show.” Seb sighed at the thought of having to use social media, you shook your head at him.

“I’ll help you with it, you dork.” You laughed to hide your discomfort. “Which scene did they approve for the posts?” Sebastian began to speak when he was interrupted by your waitress. After the two of you ordered your food, the waitress returned with your drinks. Sebastian took a large gulp of his before answering your previous question.

“They want me to post the trailer and then the scene between Frank and Daphne at the bar.” You tried to think back to the script, remembering the context. Frank and Daphne were meeting after Daphne had gone out on a date with Jack. Daphne was claiming that she didn’t want to be a wedge in their friendship, then proceeded to make out with Frank. If you were recalling correctly, Frank and Daphne’s first sex scene followed soon after.

“Okay, we can do that. Do you have any behind the scene pictures you wanna post too?” Seb got out his phone, scrolling through his camera roll to see. He had several different photos of him with Jamie and then him with Shailene. He showed you his phone on a picture of Shailene leaned against him on a couch, her arm over his waist. A red filter colored the photo, you had to hand it to him, it was a good one to use. “We can post it whenever we get home, love.” Sebastian locked his phone and shoved it in his pocket, to focus solely on you.

“How has your day been, draga mea?” You bit your lip as you thought about what you’ve been doing. You’ve been working towards your Master’s, so your days have been filled with preparing for your dissertation. On top of that, you’ve become a bit of an influencer on different social media platforms. Really, you believe your popularity came from your relationship with Sebastian. You’ve been giving his fans the content that they’ve always wanted. Not only that, but you’re active with them.

“My day was good today. I had to edit a few papers from my other classmates but other than that I didn’t do much. I did make a few TikTok videos, but really today was a bit of a lounge day for me.” Seb smiled at you, proud of how hard you’ve been working.

“I should be getting a few days off soon, so we can relax together in the apartment, if you aren’t too busy with your classes.” He stretched his arm across the table, palm up waiting for your hand. Seb pulled your hand up to his mouth, placing a sloppy kiss onto the back of it. His eyes settled on you lovingly. To Sebastian, you were the greatest thing that had ever happened to him.

The two of you managed to finish your meal in peace. No fans came up to Sebastian asking for photos, no paparazzi swarms when you left, just a quiet meal for a normal couple in love. After you got home and you were snuggled in your pajamas alongside Sebastian in your comfortable bed, he handed you his phone to read over his post for his Instagram. The paragraph was sappy, about his time working with Drake, the director, and working with the rest of the cast. Seb always was a softy, never was able to hide it, especially in promo posts.

“It looks good to me. Are you going to post it now? Or wait until tomorrow morning?” Seb debated, he probably should wait and do it tomorrow, but he was most likely going to forget to do it. He clicked post, putting his phone on charge and snuggling into you.

“Thank you for always being there for me, Y/N.” He kissed your jawline, nuzzling his face into your neck. “It really means a lot to me, baby. I love you so much.” He wrapped both hands around your waist, pulling you to his front. You smiled wide, momentarily forgetting all of your troubles.

“I love you too, Seb.” You turned your head slightly, pressing a kiss against the corner of his mouth. “Now let’s get some sleep, love.” Little did you know that a single post could ruin all of the progress that you thought you had made.

*********************

You woke the next morning, alone in bed. You could hear pots clanging in the kitchen of your home, bringing a smile to your face. Before you left the safety of your bed, you checked your socials out of habit. You opened Instagram first, seeing an absurd amount of notifications this early in the morning. Your smile dropped as soon as you opened the first post. Comments on Sebastian’s post about Endings, Beginnings and his chemistry with Shailene weren’t entirely out of the ordinary. They were to be expected, they were playing parts in a love triangle. People were ‘shipping’ Shailene with Seb and Jamie, so that wasn’t too crazy.

What hurt you were the comments saying, “living for shailene and sebastian! she’s a much better match for him than y/n.”

“never thought that y/n girl was going to last, glad he’s going w shailene”

“shailene and seb supremacy”

“yes! i’ve always supported seb in everything he’s done, but i rlly questioned him when he got w that y/n girl. what was he thinking?!”

Tears gathered in your eyes as you continued scrolling. You never thought you and Sebastian never fit. You knew that people had issues with your relationship, but you never let it get in your head this bad. You checked your explore page, pictures of you and Sebastian from last night were riddling the page.

Your heart dropped.

There were pictures of the two of you from last night with parts of your body circled. The exposed skin above your waistband, the excess skin on your neck and arms. You don’t know where they got these pictures, but your stomach was steadily sinking with each picture you saw. The door of your room opened, revealing a smiley Sebastian with a plate full of eggs in one hand and a cup of orange juice in the other.

“Good morning, baby.” You quickly shoved your phone away from you, wiping your tears away from your eyes to meet his. His brows furrowed immediately. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” You snuffled quietly, before answering.

“Uh, nothing. I’m just so proud of you.” You smiled at him, not wanting to bring down his already happy mood with your problems. Was that entirely healthy? Probably not, but you were doing it anyway, consequences be damned.

“Oh, well you don’t have to cry for me, Y/N. Even if you’re proud.” He walked up to your side of the bed, placing the cup and plate on your nightstand. He brought his hand up to your cheeks, wiping away your tear streaks. “You know that I only like to see tears whenever it’s me causing you so much pleasure you beg me to stop.” He winked at you, smirking at your rising blush. To say that didn’t lift your spirits for about half a second would be a lie. Sebastian brought the plate to your lap, waiting for you to start eating. At this particular moment, after seeing all those horrible pictures of your body, your appetite had gone out the window, but he was so smiley.

“After you eat, I want ya to shower.” Sebastian’s hand came up to your jaw, cupping it as you used it to chew the eggs. “We’ve got a long day of lounging and enjoying each other's company ahead of us.” Sebastian stood from the bed, throwing a wink at you as he left the room dramatically. You stopped eating soon after he left, the food tasting like ash on your tongue. At some point, you got into the bathroom, staring at the reflection in the mirror.

Your phone was in your hand again. The pictures flooding your Twitter feed. Shaky breaths left your mouth as you watched your reflection tilt its head. Tears began gathering in your eyes as it felt like you weren’t in your own skin anymore. You had worked so hard to be comfortable in your own body.

It’s amazing how just one picture can ruin everything.

You leaned forward on the countertop, hands holding up your weight. You shifted towards the mirror, examining every miniscule detail that your eyes could see. Your lids came down quickly, tears dragging down your cheeks. You squeezed your eyes closed, shaking your head back and forth.

“You are not going to let this get to you.” You took a few deep breaths as you turned on the shower. Not wanting to be around the mirror anymore, you kept your bath short, talking to yourself the whole time. By the time you left the bathroom, it was steamed completely, you couldn’t see your reflection even if you wanted to.

“He loves you.” You had a mantra and you continued to repeat it as you walked into your shared closet. “He loves all of you.” You pulled one of his old t-shirts off a hanger. “Sebastian loves you.” A pair of your underwear and his loose boxers covered your lower half. “Sebastian loves all of you.” You shoved your feet into a pair of fuzzy pink socks, leaving the closet still muttering to yourself. You tucked your phone into your waistband after checking your socials again. You know you shouldn’t have, but there was some part of you that just wouldn’t let you not.

The same shit covered your For You page on TikTok. Videos from the trailer of Seb and Shailene and then videos of you and Seb, comparing the two relationships. “They do fit well together.” You thought to yourself. A part of you wondering why Seb was with you in the first place.

“Did you say something, love?” Sebastian looked at you from the couch. A blanket was strewn over his lower half, his upper body inviting, waiting for you to join him. His smile dropped when he took in your glassy eyes instead of your usual happy expression.

“Oh baby, what’s wrong?” He started towards you, eyes running over your body for any outward injuries. An understanding look crossed his face when he saw your phone clutched in your hand. “Y/N, talk to me, baby.” Sebastian’s hands rested on your shoulders, lightly caressing your biceps. You recoiled from his touch, feeling uncomfortable in your own body.

“Just some stuff that some fans posted.” Seb’s thumb traced just under your eye, wiping away the tears. He held his right hand out for your phone, to understand what you were talking about. His brows furrowed deeply as he scrolled, not fully processing how destructive his fans could be. Sebastian always believed that they were the best fucking people in the world. He knew that they could be mean, but this was something else.

“They don’t know what they’re talking about, Y/N.” Sebastian’s voice was firm. It was almost strong enough to cut through the fog invading your brain, but not quite. You had officially zoned out. Dead to the world. Lost in your own thoughts. No matter how destructive those thoughts may be.

Sebastian noticed that you were already too deep, having experienced this with you many times before. He was aware that you were self-conscious, insecure, however you want to describe it. Your anxiety always got worse when you were stressed. Prepping for your dissertation was definitely a stressful time. Add on top of that, Sebastian was constantly pulling you from your work for various reasons. Had he contributed to this? Scratch that thought, he didn’t have time for that. He needed to bring you back down to Earth, back to him.

“Y/N.” His hands hovered over your hips. “I’m going to touch you for a second.” He directed you to the couch, settling on the coffee table in front of you. His fingers lightly traced circles onto your knees, as he assessed how he should approach this.

“Y/N. Baby?” Sebastian hesitated before bringing his fingers up to your chin, not wanting you to react badly. “I’m right here, Y/N, it’s Sebastian.” His left hand hadn’t left your knee, continuing to trace small patterns into your skin, giving you something to ground yourself with. He watched you blink and swallow harshly, inhaling sharply before opening your mouth.

“Why are you with me?” Your chin trembled with unvoiced sobs. “You deserve the world, Seb. I’m not even--” Your sentence was cut off by a loud whimper causing tears to start streak down. Sebastian wasn’t sure if this was a situation where you wanted him to be involved, so he waited for a sign.

“I’m not even worth a glance from you.” Your hand came up to wipe at your runny nose. “They’re so right. You need to be with someone like Shailene.” A bitter sob racked your body, making your body fold in half. Sebastian caught you before you hurt yourself.

“Y/N. I love you.” He always heard you say that to yourself when you thought he wasn’t listening. He knew that you suffered from anxiety, so he was always watching. Always paying attention to your little cues. The little things that he could use to help you as much as he could. “I love all of you.” He held one of your hands, running his thumb over the back of it.

“I don’t care what they say, baby.” He lifted your face to his, steel blue eyes locking with your cloudy pair. “I picked you.” He pecked your right cheek. “I want you.” A peck to your left. “I want only you.” One to your forehead. “It’s always been you, Y/N.” Another on your chin. “I love all of you, Y/N.” Sebastian landed a final short kiss to your lips, lingering for only a second.

“I want you to understand something, Y/N.” His gaze never left you. “I’m not going anywhere.” His brows raised as he hardened his voice. “I’m especially not going anywhere at the behest of my fans. I love them to death, but they don’t get to decide who I love.” Sebastian shifted to sit next to you on the couch. “Is it okay if I put my arms around you?” All he got was a brief nod in return, which was expected.

“I’m yours, Y/N. As much as you’re mine.” His arms descended around you, wrapping you in a loving embrace. You turned to face him fully, bringing your own arms around his waist, shoving your head into his neck.

“I’m sorry you have to deal with all my shit, Seb.” Sebastian almost missed your comment because you spoke into his shoulder and through loud snuffles. He backed away to look you in the face.

“I signed up for this, Y/N. I’m here for whatever we go through.” He tucked a stray hair behind your ear. “We go through ‘your shit’ together, Y/N. This is a partnership, a two-way street.” He looked at the weak smile on your face, heart warming slightly at the sight. His face turned serious, casting a glance at your phone on the coffee table.

“How long have you been sitting on this?” He knew how quickly your mind could twist things, so he wasn’t sure what to expect. You bit your lip, not meeting his eyes anymore.

“Just since this morning.” He held you away from his body, watching your expression.

“Is this why you were crying earlier?” You gave him a meek nod in response. “Baby, I thought we talked about this. We have to talk to each other when we think we’re going to go into a funk.” The two of you had talked about it before, but you didn’t think this was going to be a funk.

“I should’ve been able to just shake this off because I know you love me and you won’t leave me because of something that some people on the Internet say.” The words left your mouth before you could process everything, your mind quick to defend itself.

“It’s okay, Y/N. You don’t always have to be able to shake something off. We just have to keep each other in the loop.” Sebastian looked over your tear-stained face, pressing a kiss to your forehead again. “Let’s ditch the phones today. Just spend the day in each other’s arms, how’s that sound?” You smiled softly, nodding at the man in front of you. He got up quickly hiding both of your phones in the kitchen somewhere.

This definitely wasn’t a solution to dealing with your anxiety, Sebastian knew that. It also wasn’t dealing with the toxic people on the Internet, but you didn’t need that right now. You needed to be immersed in an environment that accepted what you were going through without judgement, Sebastian could provide that. Seb hummed happily when you snuggled into his side under the covers on your couch while he searched for a movie. He kissed the top of your head and he felt you smile against his stomach.

“I’m proud of you, draga mea.” You turned to face him, a confused expression lacing your features.

“For what, Seb?” He stroked your face with a single finger, mapping out your features.

“I’m proud of how you handle yourself. I’m amazed at how strong you are, even when you think you’re not.” He leaned closer to you, whispering his next words. “You’re my hero.” One corner of your mouth twitched upwards, not wanting to accept it. You rolled your eyes playfully, settling back onto his stomach before speaking.

“I love you, Sebastian.”

“And I love you, Y/N.”

[ghost-with-a-teacup]

In The Glow Of The Morning Sun - Alcina Dimitrescu x Reader

Summary: The only time Castle Dimitrescu is quiet is in the early morning. Everything is calm and quiet, or is it? Maybe it's not so quiet after all, oh well.

Just some early morning fluff with our darling Alcina Dimitrescu (Plus maybe some Dimitrescu daughter appearances? Can't forget them!) You can also read this fic on AO3 here.

Word Count: 1,157

Warnings: A bit of steaminess, but nothing too NSFW. Mostly fluff.

Type: More domestic!Alcina because I cannot get enough of it, and not everything has to be smutty, although there's nothing wrong with smutty ;)

At times, Castle Dimitrescu could be... chaotic at best. With three inhuman daughters running around getting up to all sorts of trouble alongside occasional screams from the cellar, there weren't often quiet moments. When Heisenberg comes to visit somehow it's even more chaotic, but that can be a story for another time.

There's only one period during the day where it's quiet, in the early light of the morning after the girls have worn themselves out from the day before. This moment of quiet was the best because you could enjoy a peaceful time with your darling, the lovely Alcina Dimitrescu.

Well, usually.

The loud squawking of birds woke you up today, them deciding to scream their mating calls in the early hours of the morning for some god-forsaken reason. Spring was the worst. Yes, the weather was nice and cool sometimes, but otherwise, it was rainy, or too hot, or too loud (like right now). Hardly an enjoyable experience if you could say so yourself. Huffing loudly, you flipped over onto your stomach to shove your face into your pillow, letting out a long groan. With that, you heard an amused chuckle coming from your side.

You glanced to the side and peeked open one of your eyes to send a glare at said person, making them only laugh louder.

"Oh my! What a terrifying glare, darling! If I hadn't known better I'd think you harbor enough hatred to rip my head off as I slept," Alcina says with a low chuckle.

"Maybe I should Alci," you let out another groan, "my poor sleep..." you whined.

"Aw, my poor baby didn't get enough sleep?" she said, amusedly again, running her fingers through your hair and untangling any knots that had formed during the night.

You only nodded into your pillow, not finding the will to say anything. Alcina only looked at you fondly and pulled you into her lap. You smiled happily at the contact, nuzzling your head into her chest. You knew you wouldn't be able to fall asleep again, it was honestly a tragedy. So you just relished in her embrace.

Moments like this were moments you would always cherish. There was something so fulfilling about being loved by Alcina and being able to spend time with her like this.

Thinking back to when you were young, your head was filled with stories of characters falling in love, finding their soulmates. There was nothing more you wanted.

As you grew up, however, your faith in these stories began to fall. It seemed like no one could fulfill the feeling you craved when you fell in love. Everyone has an idea of how they should feel when they find the one, after all. But that all changed when you ventured to Romania, where you found Alcina. The moment you met, your world was changed. You weren't one for clichés, but when you were with her the world seemed brighter, warmer, beautiful. Just like her.

Although your heart should be whole when you fall in love, so that you can give your partner everything you have, your lover should fill a piece of your heart you never realized you were missing. Alcina did that and more. You gave her your heart, and she treated it like a treasure, soft and tenderly.

When you were with her, it felt right. When you were with her, you were home.

As you were lost in your thoughts, you didn't notice Alcina looking down at you in curiosity.

"What's going on in your pretty little head, my love?" You blushed at her words. Even after all this time, Alcina never failed to make you feel flustered with her words.

"I, I was just thinking about us," you say, a bit embarrassed.

"Oh? What about us?" she asks.

You hesitate to answer for a moment but decided otherwise. What better time was there to admit your truths than the early hours of the morn?

"Just, how much I love you", you admit. "How," you pause, trying to put your thoughts into words, " How much I feel safe in your arms, and how I know that home isn't a place, but instead a person. You. When I'm with you, I'm home Alci," you say, blushing at your admission.

You hesitantly look up at her, and you're met with an expression of pure adoration in her eyes, the lightest blush across her pale cheeks. You admired how she glowed in the morning sun, it lighting up her golden eyes that held the depth of a thousand burning stars. There was no better way to phrase it, Alcina was like a Goddess amongst the mortals, both strong and beautiful. Yours.

"I love you too, my darling," she says softly, placing a gentle kiss on your hairline. "I... I never thought anyone would ever be able to love someone like me. Someone the world calls a monster, incapable of loving or receiving love. But that day you walked through the door without care, meeting my eyes without fear when people would cower away, I realized that you would be different." you met her eyes lovingly. Her words washed over you warmly, she's never told you this before. "I'm not one to believe in things like love at first sight, but I held an affinity for you the moment we met dearest."

Your heart overflowed hearing her words. Knowing you couldn't put your feelings into words despite them bubbling up in your throat, instead you pushed them all into the kiss you placed on her lips. You took your time, kissing her slow and savouring the taste of the mouth you have come to know as the years passed.

You felt Alcina's hands drifting across your body, lighting up your skin as she went and you shifted up further on her body, wrapping your arms around her neck angling your head to kiss her more deeply. Slowly, her hands drifted to your thighs, the tips of her fingers just barely grazing the edge of the nightgown you wore before pushing it up slowly, gently. Then all of a sudden a figure came bursting through the door.

In your surprise and embarrassment at getting caught in a compromising position with your lover, you let out a squeak as you jumped. A bit too hard you supposed, as you fell on the floor with a loud thud. Alcina stayed on the bed, her hands still floating in the air where you once were. Then she looked down at you in your flustered state and let out a laugh. You only pouted at that.

She let out a sigh, and without looking at the door, said, "Daniela, what have I said about knocking on the door?" scolding her daughter softly.

Daniela's eyes widened as she realized what she walked into, a blush spreading across her cheeks.

"I- I DIDN'T SEE ANYTHING!!" as she flew out of the room at rapid speed. You let out a loud laugh at that.

After a few seconds, she comes back hesitantly, hovering outside the door.

"Bela told me to tell you to come down to eat, you were missing breakfast, Mother, Mama," she mumbles, disappearing once again.

Alcina climbs out of bed, picking you up gently from the floor and setting you on your feet. She leans down and places a final kiss on your lips, this one no longer sweet, but hot and passionate, heat spreading across your body.

"We'll continue this later, alright darling?" she says, her mouth turned up in a slight smirk, and sets off to get dressed. You only squeak slightly in response, nodding.

Mornings like this were nice.

[imagines-to-quench-thirst]

Visiting your hometown

What happens when you take your man to your home town? As your memories, people and places come together how will he react?

A small/long drabble to get me back into writing. Enjoy!

Victor Creed

This mutant never thought that he would walk in your hometown. He didn't expect to see cultures that morph together into one special town, your town. A place where you grew up. So keeping all that in mind he was cautious. Various not to offend someone or to say a rude word in your mother tongue. For the first time in his life, he is frazzled and nervous. he will keep in his front pocket a small leaflet some words he heard you say a few times that may be of some assistance. trying to woo you.

-that old hag showed me the middle finger. let's go.

Unfortunately, anything that he says wrong, will be your responsibility to amend it. so good luck.

Loki

you just know that Loki will have your mother tongue in his little finger (that sounds weird but let's carry on) but do not be fooled, he can not survive the morning wave of people in the farmers market. something that is pretty much normal for you. Loki doesn't know how to feel when he sees the local butcher wrapping the meat in todays' newspaper giving it to buyers or how people shove him to the side as his black suit with the green scarf is more than brought down in value. he will hear the near shouts of Famers that are trying to sell their livelihood to him as his head goes from one side to another in a split second. he will easily get reeled in by the old farmer who just smells the innocence on the Midgardian addressed god. you know the moment you grabs his hand he looks at you.

-how did you ever survive in this chaos?

-I thought you said that chaos is your middle name.

-it is however my kind of chaos is more dignified.

-survive just a little bit more, I need to go to that man in the corner.

-oh, no...

Thor

we all in the fandom know that thor is a ball of joy. but when he lands in your city, your territory he is stoic. he is here on a mission and no one should stand in his way. he will glue himself to your side and he will hold the dictionary book in his mighty right hand and your hand in his left. he will not stand for wasting a day on mundane stuff that you do with him back in the HQ so say goodbye to lazying around. when you go to the oceanic part of your country you are now almost ready to drown him in the ocean. or just leave him on the road, it is getting that heavy.

-thor, think it is time to stop.

-what do you mean?

-to be honest, I don't know anymore I am so tired.

-you are right... let us stop. for 2 minutes and then you can drive again.

-I will leave you here.

Bucky Barnes

bucky loves to travel. he loves to see you in the role of a guide you tell him about the park where you cut your leg open and when you got to the hospital as a nun stood above you praying for your recovery. bucky loves to feel the fresh air going into his nose thinking to himself how this was the same air that you breathe in. he loves to see all the different parts of the city where you went to. even so much that he went to your former hairstylist.

-bucky, you don't have to do this.

-nonsense, doll. I want to experience it. just like you did.

-that was eons ago. and I wore super short hair, like a hedgehog.

-hedgehog?

-yeah, it was so short that I only put on gel and made small spikes.

- I will give everything I have and say that you looked beautiful.

-alright, your call.

Steve Rogers

steve cannot wait for enough for him to arrive in the city where you walked, ran, and laughed. he cannot wait to enter your old apartment and see all of the hidden pieces that he wants to know. he loves to help you clean the apartment and see a big box of your old photos. he will look with your through on the hard wooden floor with one arm around your shoulders as you talk about each photo. even showing him the photo of your sister.

-when will I meet her?

-I don't know.

-didn't you say that she lived here, still?

-yeah...

-I want to meet her. I think am ready for it.

-okay...

Bruce Wayne

you just know that when you told him to pack his bags to go with you he did his research. he knows when, how the city was built. he will try to memorize the tongue twisters and say them horribly wrong just to make you laugh. when he looks at your old apartment he tries to envision the day you left it all behind to go to Gotham and it breaks his heart to imagine you in tears.

-bruce.

you take his calloused hand feeling his fingers tighten the grip.

-sorry, I immediately imagined you when you moved out. I got sad.

-why?

-because, you surely cried.

-I did, a little, but this city didn't have that something.

-and what is that?

-you dumbass. now stop sulking we need to clean.

Clark Kent

as Clark arrived at the farm where your aunt lived he couldn't help feel but prepared. he saw the cows eating grabs and was ready in a split second to milk it just to show off his soft and delicate side. Clark heard the stories of your aunt, well one of them, and from what he concluded, for now, this aunt was the beginner level, nice one, the one who won't tear him a new one if he doesn't treat you right. as the door opened you greeted your aunt in your mother tongue and introduced your man. Clark shakingly trying to reply in the mother tongue feeling the few letters that stood together could fall more apart than from his mouth. your aunt laughed hugging him and roughly patted him on his back. almost like a punch if you will. you look at your aunt and Clark cannot help but stand behind you as he whispered.

-what did she say?

-she said that you seem stiffer than a goat's turd.

-you said that this aunt was nice.

-she is. but that is the way we express ourselves.

-with curse words???!!

-what better way.

Arthur curry

Arthur was relaxed when he arrived, he was laid back when he slept in your apartment but that all suicide jumped off a cliff as he shook hands with your mother. Your mom wasn't that intimating but he heard the stories of her standing to your abusive father and running away with just some change in her pocket and a used car. he knows that the woman in front of him is strong can make or break your relationship. so he held the coffee cup in his hands as if was the key to everything he needed to know how to make your mother happy. he saw how your eyes sparkled when you talked to her how your smile ever left for a second you take what seemed to him in complete gibberish but cute gibberish. your mother turns to him asking in English.

-so Arthur, can I call you by your first name?

-yes, madam. of course, you can.

-thank you. well, then Arthur what do you do for a living?

with a small nod from you, he tells the honest truth.

-I am a superhero. but minus the stupid cape. I am here to keep you and your daughter, of course, safe from all danger. and I hope you will like me!!!!

you turn to your mother with a small chuckle as you tell her in your mother tongue.

-he is helpless.

-he seems like it, good luck, Y/n.

Orm Marius

nothing can save his pulse from rising as he walked with the crowd of people in the town square only your hand which he held more than tightly enough. you stopped pointing at a big statue of a colonel on a horse placed in the middle of the square.

-he is a big deal.

-yes, I can imagine the poor people that had to lift it up to place it here.

-yes, but thanks to those people, people now in the present can always remember what they went through at that time.

he didn't find any specialness in the statute for him it lacked in far more than that he can count but when he saw your face looking at the statue he knew that whatever that stirred in you he wanted to see it every day. he only squeezed your hand placing a kiss on your knuckles.

-does this mean you want in your likeness?

-sure, but only if you will make it.

-oh, darling, that is a recipe for chaos.

The Joker

j never put effort into himself. he did in destruction, in chaos, in mayhem, and even in covering his white skin with some basic foundation as he meets your off the edge aunt. when you told him that every second sentence from her is a curse he was more than ready to meet her. because sometimes crazy people click with the people who like to curse. everyone knows that. so when he sat in the house of your crazy aunt he firstly observed, he watched you talked together and exchanged laughs, even more, when you ever brought to tears as you laughed off the curses she threw at you so playfully making even j smile. so when she turned to him it was game time. and you were the translator.

-my aunt asked what is that you do for a job?

-tell her I am the man of your dreams.

-I told her that.

-damn, then tell her-WHAT?!

you giggle at his shock as you heard the playful quote she told you when you were little and j wanted to know what she said.

-what did she say?

-she said "if a girl gives a man a hand, she will give him her ass"

-your aunt is a wise woman.

- I knew you would like her.

Duncan Vizla

Duncan likes to take walks and taking a walk with you next to him as you showed him around your old neighborhood and told him stores of the always pissed on metal slide and the always filled cafes that were always the pinpoints for some scammers he found in question why you like it so much. as you showed his around you stopped at your old elementary school. you showed him the main entrance was where everyone hurled in the morning hours and where you sat with your friends and talked about the horribly proffers that still to this day haunt you. something he heard you mumble in your sleep.

-she was that awful?

-yes, and people like here never get old it's like the evilness she has in her keeps her eligible for work.

-am i not the same?

he couldn't ask a stupider question. and for that, you punched him in the shoulder.

-don't compare yourself to her. you aren't evil.

-you are forgetting my job, darling.

-you kill for money, she kills for fun and to keep herself alive. a difference now let's go home I need to remind you just how good and attentive you can be.

-lead the way, dove.

hope you liked it. Tell me what you think❤️

Support me with a kofi

[keilemlucent]

(nsfw) ✧ (dark content warnings) ✧  (minors do not interact) 

hawks | takami keigo x reader

wc: 1.7k

warnings: abuse, noncon/dubcon, yandere, vomit due to illness, delusion, reader is definitely not mentally well, brief description of injury, hawks is Not nice in this, reader has difficulty eating, 

a/n: uhhh it’s 2am, time to post dark drabble lol!! i love like.... deep yandere stuff. when darling’s already been In It for awhile and worn down. mwah. chefs. kiss. anyways, here’s my take!

You want to know what rain tastes like.

Is it different than water from the tap? You had asked him one day. He chuckled but didn’t give you an answer. Just an easy deflection, something unrelated to pull your mind from the outside. 

It is easier this way. 

It’s so much easier to draw the curtains in the morning. Damn the sun, damn the light— You can take vitamin D supplements and pretend you don’t mind how dark the apartment is no matter the time of day.

It’s easier to ignore the multiple locks (seven. you count them sometimes to pass the time) that are bolted into the door. The time it takes him to open them with all their tumbling gears and thundering clicks is the preamble to his comings and goings.

You know to rise from your damn-near sacred spot on the couch to greet him. You go to him with a kiss on his cheek, and to give him hug so hard, it hurts. You can’t tell if it’s from the strain of your arms around his, or the pressure of his embrace around you. You don’t particularly mind either way. It’s the reminder you need that as empty and dark as the apartment is, he’ll always return.

Always.

You lock your hands behind his back, clasped below his wings. Routinely, you bury your face in his chest while he sways you. He asks about your day, but he isn’t listening. You don’t think so, but you don’t mind. Nothing you say means much, and every day is the same. You sit on the couch and stare at the floor. The walls. The ceiling if you’re feeling more adventurous.  

You stopped watching TV alone months ago. No matter what you watched on Keigo’s big, sleek television, it was just a reminder. An awful, unavoidable reminder that the world is quite large, and you weren’t apart of it.

You couldn’t be. You were locked in place— one, two, three, four, five, six, seven — in the little apartment. Wasting away, as much as you tried not to.

...

“You need to eat, baby,” Keigo coax. He holds a deep spoonful of soup to your lips. It smells divine, like chives and cream. “Just a little. For me?”

‘For me.’

Your inability to stomach anything is his problem, just as much as it is yours. That’s just a fact.

“I don’t want to get sick again,” You squeeze your hands. There is a semblance of comfort in the action as Keigo inspects you. Searching.

It isn’t a lie. Your stomach growls and rolls, and it has been all day. Keigo has started to always leave ample leftovers in the fridge in the case you’d actually want to eat them. And you do. Sometimes, you even try! Really try. But the end result is always the same. Your head ends up dangling over the bowl of your toilet while you wretch and writhe. 

Acid stings your throat for hours. 

Despite Keigo’s... previous treatment, he seems genuinely concerned about this development. You’re hardly able to keep anything down, despite being well otherwise.

(You’re so unwell and have been for so long, he can’t begin to see it. The bruises are perpetual. The scars that you didn’t have a year ago are fixtures he can’t remember you without. The constant tremble you carry is from the drafty apartment, not from the deeply instilled fear you carry. The one he had branded (literally) onto you. Into you.)

(Fucker.)

You shake the thought off and open your mouth and accept the bite. And Keigo, bless his heart, is sweet enough to not shove the spoon to the back of your throat. He lets you suck the soup from it, quietly praising your work.

You manage to eat half the bowl before shaking your head, tummy already twisting in the worst, most familiar way.

Keigo gives you pills then. Four of them, all slightly different colors and shapes. You don’t know what they do, and you knew better than to ask (you’d gotten slapped across the face the first and only time you tried.) 

The fourth pill is new, and Keigo, graciously, tells you that it’s for the nausea. That a special doctor is helping him help you. Isn’t that wonderful?

You’re so, so lucky.

 (You hurl the next morning once the meds wear off. Your hands shake and your slam your fist into your temples. Begging. You’re not sure to who. Maybe to yourself. Your body. Crying for your wretched form to just stop hurting you. If you weren’t sick, things would be better.

Maybe, you’re begging Keigo. For help. To make it stop. To take care of you and coo that things will be fine as things are so completely not find that you can’t comprehend it. But he is the one who decides when you hurt. Shouldn’t he be able to make this stop?

Maybe you’re begging him to unlatch those — one, two, three, four, five, six— seven locks so you could dash into the world. Scream at the first person you see that beloved, pro-hero Hawks is so beyond deranged and fucked up. Maybe no civilian would believe you. But you were the evidence. You bore the slashes of his feathers. The perpetual imprint of his fingers on hips and thighs. You even had a brand on the bottom of your foot. K-E-I-G-O.

Maybe, you’re begging to whatever god you once believed in to kill you. You don’t care about the means. Be it your hand, or Keigo’s, or random chance.)

 You spew into the murky water and try to forget.

...

Keigo’s special doctor comes by. You see the two exchange hands by the door when she first arrives. A flash of bills and coins. Paid off, part of you perks up. The doctor won’t talk about Hawks’ little captive. You’re sure it’s a handsome amount, based on the neutrality of her expression as she takes you in.

To care so little about something like you is hardly a surprise.

She examines you, collects some blood and other samples. Prescribes a few more medicines that have long and complicated names that are hard to pronounce. You try to forget them. You’re happy to be quiet. Sit next to Keigo while he wraps a wing around you and rubs your back in little circles. He’s warm and good, unlike the rot in your stomach.

 Keigo praises you once she leaves, wrapping you up in him, scarlet feathers and all. Kisses your cheeks, telling you how well you did. How you didn’t falter, didn’t scream, didn’t let her touch you too much. How you were so perfect for him. You deserve a reward! 

He treats you to fresh sheets and more kisses. The kind that feels like how lovers are supposed to kiss. There isn’t too much teeth or tongue, just slow, open-mouthed pressing that makes your tummy flutter in a good way (for once.)

“Isn’t this nice?” Keigo hums against your lips. 

You nod, barely eager but not apprehensive either. Treading lightly on a carefully, self-cultivated path between wanting and revulsion. As good as it feels, you don’t want to give him. You don’t remember how.

His lips trail to your neck, to your collarbones. He pushes up your shirt and only leaves little pecks over your nipples and chest. No wounds that draw blood. No hickeys that last weeks. 

You don’t realize you start trembling until Keigo has to grip your inner thighs to still you. So, he can coo blessed, little reminders.

“This feels good, doesn’t it?”

“I always make you feel so good.”

“You deserve this, all of this,” he says before pressing his lips to your clit. You’re just wet enough for him to fuck you on his fingers. Enough that when he bullies the bundle of nerves inside you, you coat his fingers in slick and whine. Your voice breaks, over and over, and little, unwanted tears leak into your hairline.

Keigo ignores them as usual. You can be so dramatic.

And Keigo, ever gracious, let’s you shatter on his fingers. Doesn’t make you beg, just whispered hushed adorations as you come undone on his tongue. He hardly toys with you after, and instead lets you fall into the sheets. Properly spend, though not exhausted.

You still shake, but that’s okay. It’s manageable.

Keigo cleans you up with a silken cloth. He wipes between the swell of your breasts, down your navel and to your cunt. His feathers ruffle as he does his work, clearly focused. There’s no speaking during it, only watching and observing.

“Thank you.” You speak without prompting. 

Your words are dry and underused. Your lips feel chapped, and your vision is hazy in the dark of the bedroom. 

Keigo gives you a smile (full of white-hot pride), clicking his tongue, “Of course, dovey. You deserve to feel good for me. I want you to. I like you like this.”

(He carries that same sentiment that no matter your ‘post-fuck’ state. Whether you’re twitching and dumb from overstimulation. Whether you’re bawling from pain and holding your hand over a too deep, ‘accidental’ wound. Whether your expression is blank, lips ajar, and face tilted to the ceiling.)

You can only agree with him.

What other option do you have?

...

(The doctor calls the following week. Keigo speaks to her in hushed tones from his office, muffled and stern. You only catch pieces of it.

“They do not appear to be suffering from anything specific illness.” The doctor pauses. “The weakness, fatigue, shakiness, forgetfulness, and nausea all seem to be tied back to prolonged anxiety. Constant surges of adrenaline that have pushed them to this point.”

Keigo doesn’t bother asking the source.

He knows it.

(And honestly? He seems a little proud.)

 You return to settle on the couch. Ever practiced, you turn towards the door and find the locks.

One, two, three four—

That four one wouldn’t be too hard to pick, would it?

(You’d already tried months ago. It was just a chain lock, but Keigo had nearly snapped your wrist when he caught you trying to tamper with it.)

Five, six, seven—

Your stomach rolls and your hug your knees, still managing a smile when Keigo rejoins you. His wings flex, and he flashes you a golden smile. His phone is locked and in his hand, and you know he’ll ignore it for the night. He’ll wrap you in his arms and smother you with his wings.

It’s better this way, you remind yourself, turning from the locks.

[navalcriminalimagines]

Lost self confidence

Anon: Can I request a lil one-shot where y/n has been on the team for a while and she put on some weight/starts feeling insecure about it and Gibbs helps her feel better? :> If not it's okay (Preferably a lot of fluff, angst & smut up to you)

Anon: Can I ask for a plus sized reader and gibbs please? I never see them :( Maybe someone says something about her weight when theyre working a case or something and he does the gibbs-legendary-elevator-conversation??? OuO

I thought those two requests work well together. Enjoy, lovely anons! ❤️

Warnings: punch, mention of blood, hurtful comments about weight

Tags: @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @madamsnape921 @specialagentastra

~~~~~

Your body changed. A lot. More than you like to admit.

You have been avoiding mirrors for a while now, but as you stand in front of it right now, only dressed in underwear, you have to face it. Your body changed and you don’t like it. Actually, you hate it.

As you look at your stomach that used to be flat, your hips that are larger, the celulitis… you can’t help but to think it’s no wonder you’re alone. Who could you attract, looking like this? Not many people and definitely not the man you wish you had. He has probably noticed how your body is different. Maybe before, you stood a chance with the man but not anymore. It’s a lost cause.

You put some clothes on and left for work.

You and your team are working on a tricky case, you are not impatient to get into the office today. But as always, you put on your best smile and pretend that everything is okay. Even though it’s most definitely not.

You skipped breakfast this morning - on purpose - but when you sit at your desk, you can see a brown bag sitting there. You look inside; donuts. Not just regular donuts, but your two favorites.

“Gibbs’s treat.” Tony lets you know.

“What’s the occasion?” you casually answer, putting the bag aside. It’s definitely a bad idea to eat them.

“No occasion. You’re just his favorite,”

You can’t help but smile at this. Not that it’s true, but it feels nice anyway. Before, you would have been happy about your boss’s attention, but not today. “Aren’t you going to eat them?”

“I’m not hungry. Do you want them?”

Tony grabs the bag before you know it. At least, you won’t have to throw them away.

You put yourself into work quickly after. You need to take your mind off your insecurities and how bad you feel about yourself. Tony tries to make casual conversation, just being his old self but as you barely answer, he realizes that something’s wrong with you. He just doesn’t know what.

“You’re staring.” You say to him, without looking up from your computer screen.

“You’re in a bad mood.” He states.

“Am not.”

“Y/N, please.” He stands up from his desk and walks up to yours. “I’m a trained investigator. Talk to me.”

“Not a chance.” You keep working, avoiding eye contact. You’re scared that he may read into you, or worse; that you may cry if he starts to ask too many questions.

“Did Gibbs get the order wrong?” He jokes. He doesn’t mean wrong at all, but it sets you off.

“Just-- leave me alone, DiNozzo.”

You practically jump for your chair, grab your laptop and walk away from the bullpen, leaving your coworker in awe. He’s not sure what just happened, but he’s more convinced that something’s really not okay with you.

You spend the next two hours hiding in the conference room. You didn’t work much, you mostly cried and felt sorry for yourself. You really hate yourself and your body right now. It’s not about gaining some weight, it’s also about how lonely you feel. You love your team more than anything, they really are like your family but when you get home at night, it’s just you. You and your thoughts. You and your loneliness.

You just want someone to get home to. Someone to cuddle, someone to love and who loves you back, someone to fall asleep with. Just someone.

You had your face buried in your arms when you heard the door opening. You look up, ashamed. Gibbs is standing here.

He closes the door behind him and walks to you. “You okay, Y/N?” he softly asks.

“Y-yeah. Just a bit tired.”

“You know, if DiNozzo pissed you off, you can tell me.”

You chuckle. “Nah, it’s nothing he did. I guess I got up on the wrong foot this morning, that’s it.”

Gibbs did let it go - for now - but you knew he didn’t buy any of it.

That is later's concern though, there is some news on the case and you need to get going. The afternoon went better; your mind was focused on the case, you didn’t have time to think of the rest. It’s only when you get back home that it hits again. Before taking a shower, you put a sheet on the big mirror in your bedroom. You don’t want to face your reflection for now.

*****

The next morning, you are in a better mood. Not entirely, you still skipped breakfast and avoided all the mirrors but you made a decision: you won’t let the team know. You won’t let them see you’re going through a tough time. It would only make things worse.

Everything’s going okay until that stupid lawyer shows up. You never wanted to see him again after hooking up with him over a year ago. He seemed nice and good looking, he flirted with you the whole time he was in the office, so when he invited you for a drink, you said yes.

Your agreement had something to do with Gibbs’s flirting with that shrink but to this day, you keep telling yourself that it hadn’t.

After a few drinks, you let the lawyer kiss you and before you knew it, you took him home and you had a one night stand.

The sex wasn’t the problem, you actually had a lot of fun. The problem was the next day.

He was gone before you woke up - still not a problem. But when Gibbs yelled at you for giving him some private information, you understood your mistake. The man had used you. While you were sleeping, he looked into your files and found the information he needed to save his client’s butt.

After that, Gibbs gave you the silent treatment for weeks. And he stopped being mad at you after you came to see him in his basement and did your mea culpa. No one ever talked about it since.

But now, the same man is standing in the middle of the bullpen. You growled to yourself before going in.

You don’t greet him at all, just sit at your desk. “Y/N? That’s you?” he says, apparently shocked.

You look at him briefly and don’t answer.

“My god, what happened to you?” he adds.

“Excuse you?” you snap.

“God, if you had been looking like this last year, I wouldn’t have been able to use you.”

His sentence feels like a punch in your stomach, it hurts. But it shouldn’t and you know it. But it still does. You stay there a moment, not knowing if you want to cry and beat the crap out of him. Probably both at the same, but you don’t move or don’t say a thing, you’re like frozen. You barely don’t notice when Gibbs pushes the man towards the elevator.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Ziva asks.

In the elevator

“Overprotective much, Gibbs?” the lawyer tries to appear confident and unafraid. He has his back against the wall, and in a second, he can hear Gibbs’s fist hitting a few inches away from his head. If the fist had touched his nose, he probably would have needed plastic surgery.

“Ever in your life, you disrespect a woman like that again, and especially--especially not Y/N.”

The lawyer made many people angry over the years, but never had he seen a man as angry as Gibbs looks right now.

“The only reason my hand is in this wall and not your face right now, is because she wouldn’t want me to get in trouble, but trust me when I say that all I want to do right now is to shoot you right in your precious parts.”

Gibbs is panting from anger. He can’t remember the last time he said that many words at once. But there’s no way that he or anyone else can disrespect you like this. Never, under his watch.

“So I’m gonna be very clear, you give that case to someone else. I don’t give a shit who, you just do it. And I don’t ever want to see your face again. Cause if I do, you’ll be so disfigured, you won’t be able to get another woman. Ever.”

“I could sue you for those threats, Special Agent Gibbs.”

“Are you planning to?”

“Maybe I am.”

“Well, in that case--”

This time, Gibbs’s fist hit the nose.

Meanwhile, in the bullpen

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Ziva asks.

“Yeah-yeah,” you clearly lie as your eyes are watering.

Your coworker isn’t buying it. She takes a step forward and hugs you softly. “Please, don’t let him get to you.” she whispers in your ear. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

Those words make you cry. You are not really buying them, but it does something to hear them. And you know deep inside that Ziva wouldn’t say something she doesn’t think.

As she keeps hugging, you can feel someone else’s arms wrapping around both of you. It’s Tony and shortly after, Tim is joining. “I think we should call Ducky. We’re going to have a crime scene.” Tony jokes to light the mood.

“I don’t want Gibbs to put himself in trouble for me.” you sadly say.

“Y/N, if Gibbs hadn’t taken him in the elevator, we would all have jumped on him.” Tim tells you. Which surprises you because Tim is the one to avoid a fight as much as he can.

“Also, the only reason I’m not asking you out is because of Rule 12.”

You are about to answer to Tony when you can hear the elevator’s doors opening. You let go of one another and watch Gibbs as he comes back to you and takes you by the hand. “Someone may have to call 911.” he tells the rest of the team.

Gibbs takes you to the other elevator, the one that leads to the lower floors, where Abby’s lab and Autopsy are. But of course, he switches the button as soon as the doors close. He doesn’t say a thing, he just hugs you tight. “Your hand is blue, Gibbs.” you cry in his neck.

“Yeah and his nose is red, who cares.” he kisses your hair. “I don’t want you to cry because of him, Y/N. And especially not because of what he said.”

“But Gibbs--”

“Not ‘but’, Y/N. Look at me.” he softly grabs your chin with his non-injured hand and forces you to look into his eyes. “You may not believe me right now, but you’re beautiful, Y/N. Sexy. Hot.” you uncontrollably shake your head, not buying a word he says. “I know I’m not the best with words, so I’ll let my actions speak.”

Gibbs ducks his head just a bit and closes the gap between his lips and yours. He softly kisses. You probably have never been kissed this softly before. Gibbs is so gentle and tender, his lips move slowly but expertedly. You’re literally melting under him.

The kiss may have lasted for minutes, hours, you don’t really know. You lost track of time, as if the world had stopped spinning.

“I’m sorry I waited for something like this to happen to do it. I’ve wanted this for a very long time, Y/N.”

“Me, too, Gibbs. But I’m not sure that’s the best time. I’ve lost all self confidence and--”

He kisses you again, undoubtedly to make you shut up. “I’ll help you find it again. I wish you could see yourself through my eyes.”

You rest your forehead against his, some tears are still rolling down your cheeks. “You’re not bad with words.”

“I’m still better with touch.”

[gammija]

The final Web!Martin evidence list

Now that canon is done, and we’ve got word of god confirmation that Web!Martin wasn’t complete nonsense, I decided to go back to my lil chronological evidence list and actually clean it up a bit, delete parts that in hindsight weren't all that indicative, and put everything in a slightly more readable format. (Obligatory disclaimer that i don’t and never did believe or advocate for some kind of evil web!martin, and that I'm not intending to connect a moral judgement to martin (or anyone else for that matter) having some of these traits)

So here: The (hopefully, please) final list with Web!Martin Evidence! Presented in order of importance, according to. me

The final (hopefully) Web!Martin evidence list

(In order from most to least obvious)

Spiders

I mean, it’s called the Web. TMA reiterates quite a few times that Martin liked spiders. Sometimes it IS that easy.

MAG022: Martin: "I like spiders. Big ones, at least. Y’know, y’know the ones you can see some fur on; I actually think they’re sort of cute -"

MAG038: | Sasha: "A spider?" Jon: "Yeah. I tried to kill it…" [...] Sasha: [Chuckles] "Well, I won’t tell Martin." Jon: "Oh, god. I don’t think I could stand another lecture on their importance to the ecosystem."

MAG059: Jon: "I have done my best to prevent Martin reading this statement in too much detail. I have no interest in having another argument about spiders."

MAG079: Jon: "Apparently, biologically, his account of the spiders doesn’t make any sense according to Martin."

MAG197: Martin: “What? Because I like spiders? Well, used to.”

Lies and subterfuge

Martin is able to use lying and subterfuge to achieve his goals, and is called manipulative a few times.

Lies:

MAG022: Martin: "[He] became slightly more co-operative after I lied to him and told him that one of the upstairs residents had buzzed me in."

MAG056: Martin: "I lied on my CV."

MAG158: Peter: “But you said –” Martin: “Honestly, I mostly just said what I thought you wanted to hear.”

MAG164: Jon: "You – I actually believed you!"

MAG189: Martin: “Sorry. Sorry, John. Not sure how much everything up there actually understood what was going on. But, y’know, I didn’t want to take any chances so it made sense to… um…” Jon: “Put on a show?” Martin: “Yeah, basically, more or less.”

MAG191: Martin: "That's not true." Arun: "Liar!"

Subterfuge:

The plan in 118, which revolved around convincing Elias that Martin was only “acting out”, to create a distraction for Melanie. (Also compare the way he evades giving a straight answer here with the way Annabelle talks in 196.)

Working with Peter in s4 under false pretenses, to distract him from Jon and eventually try to learn what Peter wanted.

Manipulation accusations:

These, I know, are somewhat contentious, since it’s mostly villains saying this to him. I’m still including them, since

1): From a media analysis standpoint, being mentioned 3 times is a sign to pay attention, even when it may not be the full truth.

2): I only see it as describing Martin’s behaviour in the previous points, not as a moral judgement; Especially since he almost always ‘manipulates’ people in positions of power over him.

Still, if it bothers anyone, feel free to ignore these.

MAG138: Martin: "That’s it? No, no monologue, no mind games? You love manipulating people!" Elias: "That makes two of us."

MAG186: Martin: “I can be a real manipulative prick, you know that?” Also Martin: “Oh yeah.”

MAG196: Annabelle: “Because you always managed to get what you wanted through smiles and shrugs and stammerings that weren’t nearly as awkward as they seemed.” [SMALL SOUND OF MARTIN’S CONCESSION TO THE POINT] Martin: “Point taken.”

The Lonely/the Web

The Lonely and the Web sometimes affect Martin to similar degrees.

In season 3, when Martin is getting used to reading statements for the first time, most of them leave him emotionally affected: MAG084, MAG088, MAG090,

MAG095: Martin: “S-S-Statement… done.” [HEAVY BREATHING & TREMBLING AS MARTIN STEADIES HIMSELF] “I don’t like recording these. There. I-I said it.”,

MAG098: Martin: [Panting] “End of statement.” [Deep breath] “I, um, I think I might need to sit down. Oh. Yeah, I am. Right. I don’t, uh, I’m not really sure if these are actually getting easier or harder. I mean I don’t feel –”

Only the last two statements he reads are remarkably easier. This might be a hint that Martin is just getting used to reading them, but the quote from MAG098 seems to contradict that. Either way, it’s likely not a coincidence that those last two happen to be the Lonely and the Web:

MAG108: Martin: “Statement ends.” (exhale) “That wasn’t so bad…”

MAG110: Martin: “Statement ends.” [...] “I mean, I think it sounds like a Jurgen Leitner book. About spiders. Hm. Good John didn’t have to read this one, anyway. I know he’s not a fan. Although, this one wasn’t too bad, actually! I – yeah. Anyway.”

In season 5, there are two powers’ Domains that actually affected Martin mentally, as opposed to only physically: the Lonely’s, in 170 (and arguably 186), and, depending on your interpretation, in 172, when Martin went exploring without knowing why he did so.

Proximity

Martin investigates a lot of the Web statements during season 1 to 3 (in other words, when the archive team still researches statements). The only ones he isn’t mentioned in during this period are MAG019 and MAG020, when he’s being harrassed by worms, and MAG081, which Jon records by himself outside of the institute.

Most notably, he’s the one who discovered the statement in MAG114, ‘Cracked Foundations’, which is the one statement in the entire show that sets up the interdimensional properties of HTR.

The Web!Lighter passed through Martin's hands first, before he gave it to Jon.

Similarly, Annabelle mostly spoke to Martin in season 5, despite most other Avatars usually focusing on Jon.

Aesthetics

Apart from the above obviously Web related areas, there are some other aesthetics which are mentioned in connection to both the Web and Martin, throughout canon.

These are describing the Web;

These are describing Martin.

Tapes:

Martin is the only character to treat the tape recorders as friends - any other character is either indifferent, or treats them as enemies.

MAG039: Martin: "I think the tapes have a sort of… low-fi charm."

MAG154 Martin: “Oh. Hi. Hello again.” … (small laugh) “Sorry pal, false alarm this time.”

MAG156 Martin: “Mm? Oh.” [HE LAUGHS, GENTLY.] “Yeah. (rustling paper) I was going to read one. Hate for you to miss it!” [SHORT, FORCED LAUGH, AS HE FLAPS THE STATEMENT AROUND.]

MAG170 Martin: “Oh. Oh, hello. What’s this? Wow, retro! What are you up to, little buddy; just – listening? That’s okay. It’s nice to have someone to talk to.”

MAG190 Jon: "[The tapes] seem to like [Martin]."

Retro:

MAG069: Statement: “I only saw Annabelle Cane once during this period. She wasn’t hard to pick out. She dressed like a vintage clothing store exploded on her, and her short bleach-blonde hair stood out sharply against dark skin.”

MAG160: Jon: “Anyways, don’t tell me the phonebox down there doesn’t appeal to your retro aesthetic.” Martin: “It – might. Maybe.”

MAG163: Annabelle/the Web callying Martin via an old payphone: [ A PHONE RINGS. IT’S NOT THE TINNY, ELECTRONIC SOUND OF A CELLPHONE – NO, THIS IS A TRUE, HEAVY, CLASSIC RING.] Martin: “Uh. John? Uh, J, John – the, uh, payphone that’s – here, for some reason – it’s ringing?”

Hatred of burns:

MAG067: Jack Barnabas’ statement: “I looked up and noticed within the corner of the room, where there had been a spider’s web this morning, there was just a faint wisp of smoke.” “Another held a bag that seemed to be full of candles, while a third had a clear plastic container filled with hundreds of tiny spiders.”

MAG139: Statement by member of Cult of the Lightless Flame: “The Mother of Puppets has always suffered at our hand; all the manipulation and subtle venom in the world means nothing against a pure and unrestrained force of destruction and ruin.” Agnes burned down Hilltop Road.

MAG145: The Web ties Gertrude to Agnes, stopping the Desolation’s ritual (the only Power whose ritual the Web is known to have prevented).

MAG167: Gertrude enlists Agnes’/the Desolation’s help in order to burn her assistant Emma, who was Web aligned.

MAG169: Martin: "Look, I just – don’t want to get burned, all right? It’s, it’s like my least favorite pain ever. [...] I, I legitimately hate burns, alright? They’re, they’re awful, and they scar horribly, and they just – it – it just makes me sick; I, I hate it. Hate it!"

Phrasing:

MAG039: Martin: "I’m trapped here. It’s like I can’t… move on and the more I struggle, the more I’m stuck. [...] It's just that whatever web these statements have caught you in, well, I’m there too. We all are, I think."

MAG079: Martin's poem: "The threads of people walking, living, lovi–"

MAG117: Martin: "This last couple of years, I’ve always been running, always hiding, caught in someone else’s trap, but, but now it’s my trap, and, well, I think it’ll work. I know, I know it’s not exactly intricate, but it felt good leaving my own little web. Oh, oh, Christ, I hope John doesn’t actually listen to these. “Good lord, is Martin becoming some sort of spider person?” No, John, it’s an expression, chill out! Besides, spiders are fine. I mean, yes, people are scared of them, obviously, but actual spiders, they just want to help you out with flies."

MAG167: Jon: “Methinks the Spider dost protest too much.” Martin: “Jon –” Jon: “Joking! Just joking.”

Personality:

How applicable these are depends heavily on how you interpret Martin's own personality, so your mileage may vary.

MAG008: Statement: “Nobody ever said a word against Raymond himself, though, who was by all accounts a kind and gentle soul [...]”

MAG123: Jon: "The Web does seem to have a preference for those who prefer not to assert themselves."

MAG147: Annabelles statement: "I discovered a deep and enduring talent inside myself for lying. [...] My manipulations were not intricate, but they were far beyond what was expected of a child my age, and I have always believed that the key to manipulating people is to ensure that they always under- or overestimate you. Never reveal your true abilities or plans."

Word of God and Annabelle

I kinda wanted to ‘prove’ that Web!Martin had quite a bit of evidence to back it up, hence this header being last. But of course, in this post-canon world, there are a few lines that most obviously confirm the theory:

MAG197: Martin is Web enough to be able to read the 'vibrations', like Annabelle, and see Jon and Basira (the latter being especially notable, as he hadn't known she was there beforehand): [CHITTERING, BUZZING AND HIGH-PITCHED SQUEALS CHANGE CADENCE] Martin: "Wait… Wait, hang on, is that him?" Annabelle: "Yes. I guess you’re better with the Web than we thought." Martin: "And – Wait, ha– No, uh… is that… Basira? He – He’s got Basira with him!" Annabelle: "Yes."

Season 5 Q&A part 2: Jonny: “Essentially, it was fascinating looking at the fandom and, like, the Web!Martin believers, because what they were doing was correctly picking up on hints dropped in the early seasons that were later, like, not exactly abandoned, but it was much more like, ‘Well, no, he does have like aspects of The Web to him, but he is moreover The Lonely.’ And that came about very… very organically, really. Because throughout Season 3 and going into Season 4, we had this conversation and we were like, ‘No, actually he's like-” Alex: “‘It can't be, it cannot be, it must be the other way round’ Yeah.”

(Note that they say “throughout season 3 and going into season 4,” which likely means that season 1, season 2, and at least part of season 3, aka half of the entire show, were written with Web!Martin as an intentional possibility.)

If you read all that, thanks so much! Obviously, Web!Martin never really came to fruition, so it's fine if you still don't like it. This is just a post explaining where it was coming from, at least for me and the other theorists I've spoken to.