#and briefly about acrylic stands

[godslavecomic]

Hey, I've been following you here on tumblr for a while because your art looks great and I studied egyptology and love everything related to egyptian mythology. I finally started reading the actual comic and now I can't stop. I was also wondering: Any chance you'd sell Anpu pins at some point? Or stickers? I don't have a straight wall in my room, so I can't hang posters, but I'd totally buy other merch

Hey, thank you so much for reading and for the ask!!

I 100% understand the limited wall space issue. I’ve wanted to dabble with stickers for awhile, but never saw much demand for it! I have the ba pin, but it’s been awhile since I experimented with a new design.

Anyways, all of this is to say, I really appreciate you reaching out and letting me know you’d like to see more anpu! I can’t guarantee anything, but with con season coming up, I’d like to try to putting some new items together!

[xprakzif]

𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙖 𝙝𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙪𝙥 • m.sturniolo

the sequel to for the night

parings: matt x fem!reader

warnings: SMUT MDNI, bleeding(briefly), p in v, raw intercourse, kissing, foul language

summary: after matt’s ‘on night stand’, he’s haunted by the memory when he can’t escape her at a friends house.

“welcome, welcome! shoes off please”

the triplets had just arrived to larray’s house. nick brung them along to hang out and get to know eachother before they film a collab.

“this is nai!” he introduced nailea to the boys, she was sitting on the floor building what seemed to be a lego set, there was pieces scattered around and somethings already built as if she had help.

they exchanged greetings and introductions before having a seat on the long sofa.

“that’s cool, what is it?” chris joked to nailea, pointing to the pieces on the floor.

“it’s supposed to be flowers, we’re not finished” she replied.

“wow larri, i didn’t know you were artsy like that!” nick teased making chris giggle.

larray gave him a confused look, “i didn’t make that”

the boys stood lost, glancing at eachother. as if on cue, a creaking sound caught their attention.

“um, there might be blood on your bathroom floor from how many times i got scratched..”

there stood a wet cat in the arms of a girl.

no one recognized her, except matt.

this was the girl he met that night, the red lit room.

suddenly his cheeks tinted red, becoming flustered, embarrassed, and terrified all at once.

she wrapped the soaked feline in a towel, the article of clothing that she wore was awfully familiar. it was oversized and rolled up at the sleeves revealing small cuts on her hands and palms from basically wrestling the cat to bathe. underneath was a short white tank top paired with black shorts.

matt gulped, it was the flannel he left at the party. in the room. where they-

“oh, hi! nice to meet you guys, i’m y/n” she handed the irritated cat to larray, walking back to her place next to nailea on the floor.

they looked as if they finished a difficult puzzle, seeing it was her who accompanied nailea in building lego flowers.

the boys mentioned their names once again to introduce themselves to her. larray was in the background cooing at his fur-ball, letting the group settle in and become comfortable with one another.

“i swear matt has that same shirt, y/n” nick blurted gaining the center of attention.

she looked into matt’s eyes, they were feet apart but it felt like she was right in his face.

she recognized him, now she knew from where.

“i’m sure he does..” she smiled still locking eyes.

he shifted in his seat, a mix of embarrassment and shame. in his mind replayed that night. he shut out the voices surrounding him, focused on the vivid memory of being inside the girl who was just a few steps away. he felt his pants tighten.

chris smacked his chest making him flinch and nearly gasp as if he could read his mind.

“dude, hello?”

“huh- what?” matt replied.

“we’re asking if you’re hungry?” all eyes were on him. he scanned the room to see everyone waiting on his answer.

“i mean, yea i-i guess”

her gaze never left him, the acrylic nail on her thumb between her rows of teeth. she knew the effect she had, it only made her more excited.

they both lingered on each others skin for days. regretting not exchanging numbers, thinking it was only a one night thing. there was way more.

“alright, who’s coming?” nick was by the door with larray, ready to make a trip to mcdonald’s.

“me! me!” nailea leaped up singing her way to the door the collect her shoes.

“i’ll stay back, i’m actually enjoying this” y/n motioned toward the lego’s on the carpet.

“text me what you want!” nailea shouted, they began to walk out the door.

“you coming, matt?” chris asked peeking through the front door carefully not to let out the cats roaming about.

“nah, i- i’ll stay. just get me what i always get.”

chris nodded before shutting the front door. the sound of the group pulling off was heard vaguely, headlights shined across the curtains.

matt was watching until he felt the seat next to him move. she sat next to him, getting inches away from his face.

“hi,” she whispered, her legs bent under her body.

“hey” he responded with less confidence.

“matt..” he shuddered at the sound of his name in her voice, “i couldn’t stop thinking about you,”

her hand ran down his bicep to his, grasping it gently. his eyes watched every movement.

she was waiting for him to say something, anything. she didn’t want to look stupid trying to get to him when he only wanted to hook up for a night.

but that was far from it.

unexpectedly, their lips collided. he moved his hands to hold her face while she wrapped hers around his neck.

mouths moving at such a speed filled with passion and lust. their tongues collided and twirled around one another mixing their dna.

matt pulled away barley, “you know,” placing another kiss to her lips, “this looks way better on you than me,” tugging on his own flannel she wore, “but i’d like to see if off right now.”

she wasted no time in almost ripping off the fabric, tossing it over the sofa they were on. she layed backward pulling him down with her. both lips finding their way back to his.

matt’s phone buzzed in the pocket of his jeans, ignoring it too fulfilled in the moment.

he kissed down her neck, leaving wet marks down to her chest right where her heart was. lifting up the small shirt that barley reached her waist. underneath was bare, getting to work right away kissing all over her boobs, occasionally sucking on the soft skin.

randomly her phone buzzed loudly, causing them to jump. it didn’t stop there, she was receiving a call this time. he smirked at her frustration, mentally laughing remembering how last time it was his phone being blown up.

she reached over to the floor, it was nailea.

“hello?”

“y/n! we’re texting you guys, what do you want?”

“i’m actually not hungry-“

“me neither!” matt interrupted and snatched the phone from her hands ending the call, eager to continue.

she giggled, soon turning into a subtle moan as he continued nibbling at her flesh.

the heat in her skin tight shorts was killing her, so she pushed him back up and straddled his lap. his eyes grew slightly wide at the action but he obliged.

before doing so, she lifted her self to remove her shorts. beginning to unbutton his jeans and tugging for him to move, “y-you gonna ride me?” he smirked, a little too excited.

she nodded with her bottom lip bitten. in swift motion his pants along with his boxers were halfway down his thighs.

he was already rock solid from all the kissing, visibly throbbing. she took ahold of it and slid her panties to the side.

she ran his tip up and down her slippery folds preparing it for entrance.

he was groaning and whining at the feeling, eyes shutting and reopening as if he was falling asleep.

finally sinking down onto him they both let out a throaty moan. he let out a few curse words as she began grinding back and forth.

“i’ve missed you..” he whispered almost like a sigh.

“m-“ she couldn’t even speak, the pleasure building up from his long size hitting her spot with each push.

it felt so good to him, but he wanted more. his long fingers gripped her hips to hold her in place as he started fucking into her from below.

“matt!” she cried out.

he wanted to release so badly, knowing the others could be back any minute, he didn’t want to be interrupted.

his head was thrown back as he grunted with each hit. her mouth was open unable to make sound as she was on edge.

“s-so good, you gonna c-cum for me just like last time?”

“fuck- yes!” she almost screamed out. with that the burning sensation of him hitting her g-spot bloomed throughout her body during her high.

she was a trembling mess, moaning and gasping for air as he kept going to reach his. she leaned down and pressed her forehead against his.

“up- i’m gonna- fuck-“ he tried to move her but it was too good he couldn’t help himself. strings of white painted her walls as if they weren’t already slimy.

he panted his way to relaxation after moaning loudly riding his high. they stood still for a moment catching their breaths. both of their eyes opening to look at eachother.

“i really like you, matt” she whispered hesitantly. still unsure of his intentions.

“yea.. i like you too. i don’t think i can just do the ‘one night’ thing with you..” they smiled and felt relieved at the mutual feeling.

she placed a kiss to his lips then hopped off to clean herself in the bathroom.

she returned to find him all fixed up, now checking out the lego set her and nailea were attempting to make.

“stop! i know you��re making fun of me” picking up the flannel from the floor and putting it back on, “also you’re not getting this back!”

“good, i love it on you”

the front door opened revealing the crew with bags of food and drinks in their arms.

“we’re back! i know you guys said you weren’t hungry but we still got you some!” nailea mentioned placing the bags on the coffee table.

“you’re literally the best,” y/n added.

sounds of moist pattering came down the stairs.

“y/n! i thought you were blow drying her!”

larray held up the still damp cat. her eyes grew wide and matt blushed.

“i forgot! i can still do it- i was too busy um.. working on the lego flowers!” she lied to not raise suspicions as everyone began to eat.

“girl-“ larray walked over to check out the progress, which there wasn’t any, “you ain’t even do anything! and why does it smell like sex in here?!”

“it’s the wet cat” matt joked through a full mouth of fries, y/n hiding her laughter in the process while he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“i’ll get the blow dryer..”

LOWKEY wrote this fast

part 2 of “tell him” coming soonnnn also happy birthday to my bae larray <33

[imshii-kin]

Good Luck

Chapter # 6 Foggy Fears

Platonic Yandere Dc x reincarnated Reader

Wattpad

Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6 (You are here)

I realized at that moment that there are some whose dread of human beings is so morbid they yearn to see monsters of ever more horrible shapes.

- Junji Ito

(Once again, this chapter was changed quite a bit.)

!!TW!! Death, Blood, Car accident, Sudden switch from first person to second person.

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

'Dinner was too quiet.' Louis thought as she picked up the plates from the table, slowly bringing them to the sink.

'How could I have missed it?' She thought as she began to scrub the plate in her hand. 'She's my daughter. How could I have not seen it?'

Her grip tightened on the plate, her acrylic nails painfully dug into the plate. 'Am I such a horrible mother that I couldn't even notice my daughter ███ █████ ██?'

Snap

Louis looks down at her broken nail, a stinging pain accompanying the sudden loss of her red nail.

"Mom?"

Louis jumps, quickly turning her head and letting out a sigh of relief when she sees Jon. Placing a hand on her chest, she gives Jon a shaky smile, "Oh, Jon, be careful you almost gave your mother a heart attack."

Jon simply nods, as if not hearing his mother, "Um, Conner is... here." He muttered.

Louis's smile drops briefly before returning with a strained one, "Oh? Really? Well invite him in, it's been forever since he's come to visit."

Giving his mother a concerned look, Jon makes his way back out of the kitchen.

Louis sighs as soon as Jon leaves, running a hand through her hair.

"It's all my fault," She whispered, "It's all my fault..."

──●◎●──

The movie had ended, though Y/n barely noticed. All she could think about was how... ѳЧҭ ѳf ҁћӓГӓҁҭЭГ Clark had acted during the car ride. This wasn't the calm, happy-go-lucky superhero Y/n grew up with in the comics, he seemed so different. More stressed and less stable the Clark Kent from the comics. It all led to one thought;

If he's like this, how would he react if he found out about her reincarnation?

'I just want to go home.' Y/n ran a hand through her hair, her thoughts made her feel guilty, was she being ungrateful? Was Y/n even really Y/n? What if she just took over this Y/n's body? Was it her fault Clark's 'daughter' was gone?

What if he found out-

"Y/n? Are you ok? The credits ended a while ago." Clark's hand on Y/n's shoulder felt like fire. "Let's get going, okay?" Clark said softly, dipping his head down to look into  Y/n's eyes. "I'm sure Bruce (the prick) is anxious to have you back at the manor."

With a hesitant nod, Y/n stands up slowly. "Yeah... You're right, we should go." Clark smiles warmly, complete 180 from earlier. "Before that, I was hoping we could stop by the store on our way back." Clark rubs the back of his neck bashfully, "I might have promised your mother to get groceries while I was out, and the market is on the way to Bruces Mansion." His eyes seem to light up, "Oh! They might even have that snack you like so much! We can pick it up as well."

Y/n nods, "Yeah, I don't mind,"

Clark's smile widens, "Great! Let's get going then!"

Sighing, Y/n follows Clark to his car, 

'DC has Walmarts?' Y/n thought as she followed Clark into the supermarket.

The Walmart looked normal for the most part, there didn't seem to be too many people (probably because it was relatively late and this was still Gotham). Clark grabs a cart before heading into the supermarket, Y/n following closely behind, immediately he heads over to the dairy section browsing the milk and cream aisle.

"What's your favorite creamer?"

Looking over to Clark, Y/n raises a bow "Hmm?" she hums confused. Clark smiles, "I figured I could get some while we're here for when you go back to Bruce." 

An 'ooh' escapes Y/n's mouth before turning to get a better look at the creamers. In Y/n old life, she honestly preferred sweet things and would often put way too much creamer in her coffee, but as of late she's been enjoying less sweet things. 

"Mmm, I think I'm good for now,"  Y/n responded, not missing the way Clark frowned.

"Oh."

Clark grabs a few things before leaving, and you awkwardly follow behind him.

The rest of the shopping trip continues like this, Y/n felt like tearing her hair out, it was just so awkward and uncomfortable. Eventually, the pair ended up in the electronic section of the store.

"- game you really like!" Clark's voice bleeds into existence, breaking Y/n's train of thought. Glancing over, Y/n sees Clark holding a bootleg version of Minecraft. "Y/n? Did you hear me?" Clark frowns a bit, his eye's losing that spark again. "Y/n. I know you have a lot on your mind, but you-"

"AAHHHHHHH!!!"

You and Clark jump at the sudden scream, Clark's eyes quickly scan the store for the source of the screaming.

"OH GOD-"

"GET AWAY FROM ME!"

"THEY'RE IN MY HEAD, MAKE THEM STOP!"

More and more screams start popping up, Clark quickly pulls you close to him and you can feel your heart pounding. What was going on??

"MY SKIN IS BURNING, I'M BURNING ALIVE!"

"I'M FALLING, I CAN'T STOP FALLING!"

"SPIDERS!"

A mist seems to slowly cover the ground, screams of desperation continue to fill the air, only growing more and more unsettling.

"Shit," Clark mutters, he grips your shoulders and swiftly turns you around to face him. 

"Y/n. You need you listen to me." His voice was serious, "No matter what you see, it's not real. Do you understand? It's. Not. Real." 

Y/n's eyes widen, Fear Gas, the mist was fear gas! This was bad! Very very bad! Unlike Clark, Y/n wasn't immune which meant Y/n was about to experience the full effect of the gas.

"Y/n! Y/n just remember! It's not real- it- ot- rea-"

The world seems to blur as a burning sensation enters Y/n's lungs.

__

You sigh tiredly as you walk along the worn-down sidewalk, comic book in hand. It had been a long day, and all you wanted to do was go home and rest. Stopping at the crosswalk, you take a few glances from side to side, you never know when a truck could just barrel through you because you didn't look. 

You step onto the asphalt road.

Your heart was pounding for some strange reason, it suddenly became really hard to breathe. A loud honk rings in the air. Looking to your left, you see a dark blue truck heading towards you, its headlights illuminating a path where you were dead center.

The vehicle's driving was so erratic, you didn't know which way to run. Ultimately, whichever direction you chose didn't matter. The result would undoubtedly have been the same.

The impact was fast, you didn't feel anything at first.

It didn't last very long, though.

You lay on the asphalt road, gasping for air, trying to gain back all the air knocked out of you. That didn't do so well for your broken ribs, of course. The taste of blood indicates that some of your teeth might be missing, based on your guess.

You can't see much of your surroundings either. Aside from that dark blue truck's headlights blinding you, your vision was growing dark.

For a brief moment, you could see the man step out of his truck and go over to you. Then, everything in the world went dark.

__

"-waking up! She's waking up!" a boyish voice rings in Y/n's ear. A pounding headache seems to accompany her as she slowly sits up in her bed.

A few seconds after Clark enters her room. He looked around until he spotted the suitcase next to her closet, he went over and started to put her belongings in it.

"We are leaving." Clark states firmly, "And tomorrow you and I will be having a talk about what you saw." He seemed upset, extremely upset.

Clark... where are we going?" Y/n asked, though she already knew his answer.

"It's dad, not Clark, Y/n." That was all Clark said as he dragged you downstairs towards the manor's doors. 

Bruce was standing by the door with a perplexed look on his face. He seemed stressed and a bit frustrated. Looking over, Bruce glared at Clark, quickly walking in front of him as if to intercept him, but Clark just pushed him aside.

"Clark put her down, we need to talk about this! Her condition could get worse!" Clark ignored him and walked out the door to his car, Bruce hot on his tail.

"I don't need a man who puts his children through hell and back to lecture me or tell me how to parent my kid Bruce." Clark and put you in the car with the suitcase. Then he got in himself and started the car.

"How about you start focusing on how not to kill your own kids before you start worrying about mine"

──●◎●──

Jon gasps. This... this couldn't be right. It was... no it was impossible! But... it was, it was here and it was possible. This changes everything...

──●◎●──

𝚆𝚎��𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝚁𝚎𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚜 𝙴𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝙸𝚗𝚌. 𝚆𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍.

𝚂𝙾𝙼𝙴 𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆𝚂!!!

█████ 𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆𝚂!

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

TagList - @blublock404 @no-sleep-for-insomniacs @rosecentury

[dilfhos]

HE’S NO DIME

TOJI FUSHIGURO X FEM!READER

inspired by [ the worst • j.aiko & basically whole ye album ]

cw;deadoves! abusive relationship, dvbc0n, alcohol, hyperfem!reader (hair done/laid, acrylics, makeup), violent threats, ass play, fingering, derogatory use of bitch, car sex, fear, baby trap, toxic toji, rough handling, toji’s really mean like borderline sadistic, toxic relationship. toji’s slightly delusional. he pulls a tool on ya (ending’s a bit rushed—wanna expand on this and dont wanna reveal tm)

+n; this turned out a wee’ whumpier than intended, trying diff things. i do not promote nor officially romanticize the acts in this fiction. if you find yourself in this situation, please try n’ exhaust every method of telling someone and leaving.

You almost didn’t register the click before the head of the barrel was pointed in your direction, trained directly in between your brows…

wc: 4.9 | MDNI.

“Don’t take it personal, but I just don’t see us…” He flicked his finger back and forth across the table. “You know.”

Under the low glow of the lights in the expansive restaurant, your face cracked but only briefly as you picked up your wine glass and looked away.

The low hum of the crowded dining room was only heard between the two of you, serving no comfort to the looming silence hung aimlessly. Fushiguro tugged awkwardly at his collar, sighing when you didn’t initially speak.

You cleared your throat after setting down your glass as you took your time to formulate a response.

“Right. So, you somehow managed to boss up because inherently you’re broke. Let's start with that. The fact that I’m actually sitting here is a miracle,” You giggled to yourself ignoring the way his lip twitched up at the corner.

If he weren’t surrounded by such a distinguished audience at the moment, you wouldn’t have gotten so far but he let you have it. You continued with a wicked upturn of your glossed lips.

“So somehow, you’ve gotten a hold of a shit ton of money. And the first thing you do is demand I ‘doll up’ for you, bring me here just to tell me I don’t mean anything to you.” He shrugged as your gaze narrowed.

“You pay your bills, Toji? Pay your debt collectors? Pay for your past exploits. You know my card is still being billed to this day! Heh, and the very first thing you want to avoid talking about is where we stand.” You jabbed a finger against the table.

“I’m tired of it. Tired of the push and pull. You’re a grown ass man! Can’t take care of yourself but want to drag me down to hell with you.”

You could go on but the more you looked at him, the more you wanted to slap the shit out of him. Your words were sharp, everything inside having been edged each time you saw him. They felt good to say but it didn’t seem like it was enough especially considering how unbothered he seemed to be across you.

“You need to stop talking now.” He deadpanned.

By now your other hand was pressed against the table, freshly manicured hands gripping into the tablecloth. It seemed your own composure was slipping to reveal more of the betrayal and resentment inside. Still, you fought through the budding sluggishness, plump lips set in a tight line as you glared back.

“Didn’t have to agree on coming if yer just gonna shit-talk me. Coulda spent my hard-earned money on a nicer bitch.” He countered.

You scoffed. “Hard-earned money my ass. You stole that shit. And like anyone would be sane enough to put up with you for as long as I have. Regardless, that’s not the point here,” You thrusted a single digit between him and yourself.

“I’m leaving and you’ll never see me again until you get your shit together.” He was silent, watching the subtle tightening of your jaw and slitted eyes.

“So you’ve clearly missed my point altogether.”

He said it so casually, igniting the fire in your gut to spread along your body. Your face burned, heat nipping at your nape and the pit of your arms as he just sat there.

Fushiguro stared back at you, not missing the twitch in your cheek with his deadpan expression. But deep down he was roused. He knew exactly what buttons to push to get a reaction out of you, make you fall apart in any sort of way because he knew exactly how it would end. You were close too, just needed a bit more of his nonchalance as you spiraled through your anger.

Your hands moved to drag down your face, only last minute remembering your makeup and opting on clipping your fingertips together in irritation.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that right.” You started moving, throwing a napkin over your barely touched meal.

Fushiguro was silent as he watched you gather your belongings. You didn’t look at him; you knew he wore that goofy expression, lips twisted up in a condescending smirk with amused eyes as you did what you’ve always done.

He only picked up his glass, eyes trailing down your body and landing on your ass as you turned off without a word, heels clacking as you maneuver around the approaching waiter toward the door. The vision of glass and the flood of richer sunlight blurred through brimming tears as you pushed through, immediately met with the subtle frost of the autumn chill.

Fushiguro watched you go and heard the distant chime of the front entrance closing behind you too. He felt alone in the middle of the restaurant surrounded by only a reminder of what he couldn’t have. He simply huffed, nudging aside his half-empty glass to go straight for the wine bottle. His other hand came up to pop open the blazer buttons, bringing forth little comfort to the heat flushing his skin.

Brazenly he choked the neck, downing the sweet taste in two, three, five gulps before slamming it down, meeting the eyes of the rich bitches to the table next to him. With a toothy grin he stood, fisting out wadded, striped bills from his pocket to throw down before eventually heading out, a wobble in his steps.

Met with the cool air, his head cocked to the side to see you at the far end of the sidewalk in front of the building, pacing with slow steps as you talked into your phone. You didn't look his way, didn’t seem to notice even as he headed in the direction of his vehicle.

Both of you knew you didn’t have a ride, being that he was the one who wanted to bring you. He chose this far-out location specifically, knowing something like this would happen. That you’d try to run from him, call up one of your childhood boys to come and try to intimidate him.

More of the sleek black SUV came into view as he unlocked the door, immediately awakening the car with a low hum from the fob. He got in and sat in silence, eyes trained on you through the mirror. You were looking towards the entrance now, probably still waiting for him to walk out. To grab you up. To apologize and offer to take you home, make it up to you just like the prince concocted preciously in your deluded mind would.

He enjoyed the anger on your features as you brought your phone back in front of your face, tapping the screen angrily before shaking your head.

Fushiguro shrugged out of his coat, flinging it behind him. He then put his car in reverse and began backing out of the parking space. You didn’t notice the hulking vehicle stalking up beside you until he rolled his window down.

“Get in.”

“Fuck off Toji,” He laughed and leaned over, engine revving in succession. “I'm so serious. Leave me alone.”

You spun in the opposite direction, waking up your phone again to call another car. Anything to get away from him.

Starting back toward the warmth of the restaurant, a sudden snarl of the car ripped through the lot, startling you. He skidded backwards and had you stumbling as he jerked the vehicle to a stop. You knew well enough that he couldn’t hit you on the sidewalk, but something deep inside told you if given the opportunity, he’d run you down with no hesitation.

Witnesses be damned, he’d skip town, leaving you behind altogether like nothing.

The car door slammed shut and Fushiguro emerged from the side growing bigger in sight until he loomed over your body. You realized he’d taken his tuxedo coat off in the car, the white button down snug over a bulging frame. His hands flexed, clenching and unclenching as he blinked narrowed eyes toward the other passerbys.

“Get in the car. Why’re you making a scene?” He muttered getting closer to you.

“I don’t want to be around you right now. I’m tired of you playing me,”

“Don’t be stupid. Just get in the car. We can talk about it,” he gripped your wrist and you attempted to jerk him off.

“Let go of me.”

“Don’t push me.” He warned.

“Or what? I’ll be replaced?” You shrugged him off again and he let you. “Woe to me. Go home Toji. I'm calling a cab.” Before you could bring your phone to your ear, he snatched it away. You couldn’t get a word out as he spun on a heel and stalked toward his car wordlessly, the sound of the door slamming following. You gaped after him, eyes flickering about the audience your interaction drew.

They whispered among each other and your cheeks burned as you followed him, cutting around to the passenger side. You flung open the door.

“Toji please give me my phone so I can call someone to get me. We don’t have to keep doing this and I’ll be gone.” Your voice remained calm as you bit back the tremble.

You almost didn’t register the click before the head of the barrel was pointed in your direction, trained directly in between your brows. Black swallowed the olive specks in his eyes, pupils seeming to pulsate under his leveled gaze.

“Get in the car baby.”

…

The ride started quiet as he turned out of the parking lot and onto the main road. Your body was pressed toward your side of the vehicle, away from him as you stared out the window.

Until your sight turned rural, the familiar scene of the apartment complexes that surrounded yours parting into spaced treelines. You snapped your head to face him, his expression unreadable as he continued driving.

“Take me home.” You glared a hole through his temple but he didn’t register your demand. Only strummed his finger against the steering wheel as he stared at the road, humming to the low faded music playing.

“I'm serious. I never want to see you again. I want you to take me home.” You shoved his arm hard, earning a faux surprised expression as he gaped at you. “Take me home now, Toji.”

“Okay, okay relax. Just sit there and be pretty, yeah?”

“Screw you.”

He laughed again, foot quickly pounding the pedal as you jerked forward, yelping as the revving grew louder in your ears. The scenery whipped through the window blowing cold air along your body.

“What are you doing!”

“We’re going home right? ‘M taking you home, we’re juss getting there faster.” He chuckled darkly, tongue laving over his scar as he glanced over at you. The way your wide, glassy eyes stared back, a hand clutching your door and the other in your lap. His eyes flickered up and down your body, eyeing the heave of your chest behind the strappy bodice of your dress as he only inched his foot lower.

“You’re gonna kill us!”

“Till death do we part.” Toji only grinned as his hand clutched the wheel, ignoring the way you gawked at him. Tears sprung fresh in your eyes as you clutched yourself, hair wild as it whipped around you through the wind. You clawed at the strands sticking to your gloss as your other moved to the handle instinctively.

“What, you gonna jump out at ninety-eight miles per hour? I’d love to see you try it sweetheart!” He roared in boisterous laughter, the taunting noise loud over the buzz of the engine, swirling aimlessly around your fuzzy mind.

“Please,” He turned again at your whimper, noticing the trembling in your chin as you bit your lip. In the passenger seat, you looked pathetic. Not at all the big bad attitude you personified publicly just an hour before as you stared at him disgusted.

Instead you’re cowering against the door, fear etched all over your face. “Stop it. I’m sorry, okay. I’m sorry.”

He eased his foot up until the car came to a crawl. When he stopped, it was quiet again, save for the anklet jingling against your shaking legs and subtle breaths.

You only met his eye for a second before you flicked the lock, jumping out as you ignored the way your leg buckled onto the soft ground.

You whipped your head around, the treelines gone completely to the highway surrounded by mountains and country space. Straight ahead was a bar before the plunging drop of the hill you were standing on. Stumbling back against the door you start to circle around the car toward the road.

“What are you doing? You wanted to talk so let's talk!” You waved him off as bleary eyes scanned both directions. Toji sighed, leaving the driver side to go to the backseat. He situated himself comfortably against the new leather, relishing in the subtle fan of fresh heat coming from the vents as you frantically searched for another car. He popped the buttons of his sleeves and collar before groaning to roll the window down.

“Get in or I’ll leave you out here. I’ll throw you off the fuckin’ ledge and no one will find you. You want that?” He leaned further when you looked back, lips agape. “Then get in the damn car.”

You shivered again against the bite of the evening, now painfully aware of the darkening sky and desolate surroundings. Your arms crossed, internally regretting the bodycon you wore, feeling exposed and idiotic as you looked back and forth between the highway. A single car hadn’t passed in the moments you’d been standing there and when you peered back toward Fushiguro, you knew it was exactly what he’d been betting on.

“I just wanna go home,” you whined, lifting a sinking heel from the earth. You nearly stumbled and Fushiguro huffed at your composure.

“I'm gonna take you home. Will you get in the car? Please, woman?” His speech was slow, emphatic as he dragged it out. As if he didn’t go through the trouble putting the two of you in the very predicament.

You turned, a pout on your face as you defeatedly made your way to the other side of the car, giving another forlorn look to the road, hoping that maybe headlights would flood the asphalt. Instead you made sure to slam his backdoor behind you, hard.

He didn’t flinch. He just watched closely as you scooted the furthest you could away from him.

It was eerily quiet, your sniffles heard over the hum of the vents.

“Why do you hate me,” you eventually whimpered, head lolling against the back of the passenger headrest. Even though he turned the heat on you shivered erratically, exhaustion beating its way through your static body.

“Because it pisses me off when you spout about shit you know nothing about. You don’t know what I do. What I can do.”

Not that he didn’t hate you. Not that the very accusation was absurd given everything the two have been through; what he’d put you through. What you’d done for him and who you became to appease the insatiable hunger that was Fushiguro.

You slumped back against the door at his response as your eyes flickered to the metal on his thigh. He followed your gaze before lifting it to make a show of turning it over. You jerked your knees back as he leaned toward the front seat to shove it in the glovebox with a snicker. He sat back, closer and he slung his arm against the back of the seats.

“So,” he waved a hand toward you. “Y’gonna talk?”

“You gonna hurt me if I try?” You mumbled half-heartedly.

“I will if you push me.” His face was dark before he grinned. “Kidding, baby. I would never do anything to hurt you. I lo-” He stopped himself, clearing his throat.

“Just need to stop acting out. I do shit my way. And tha’s that. Nothin’ to it.” He ignored the downturn of your lips, obviously disatisfied.

“Then I’ll go,”

“You won’t.” He countered definitively. He inched closer watching your shrink into the door.

“I’ll run away. And you’ll never find me.”

“I’ll hunt you down b’fore you could even think of tryin’.” He leaned in.

“To-mmf!” He had your head shoved against the window, a hand against the headrest to hold his weight. The other was furled in the roots at the crown of your head as his tongue shoved past your lips, licking at your thrashing tongue. Your hands clutched at his shoulders, nails sinking into his nape as you subtly bucked back. But there was nowhere to go. He pulled away, eyeing your state.

The makeup he’d assume you worked so hard on was fucked up, mascara smeared beneath wet eyes, lashes clumped with fat tear drops. Your nose was puffy and if he looked closer, he could make out the bit of moisture beneath, evidence of your crying. Your lipgloss was smudged, smearing opaque brown across swollen lips above a trembling chin.

And he couldn’t find anything worth more staring at.

“Wanna be a good girl now?” He huffed, eyes training down your body when you stopped moving. The dark dress was taut against your body, snatching subtle curves and accentuating your figure. It was hiked unintentionally up your leg and he slid a wide palm over your thigh to reveal more skin. Thighs snapping closed, you whimpered as his eyes jerked to yours.

“What? Don’t wanna make it all better? ‘S all your fault y’ know.” He sneered, shrinking to his side of the backseat.

You sat up and straightened your dress, palming back the hair you knew he messed up in his handling. “I didn’t do anything Toji. You’re just insane,”

He scoffed. “You been fucking with me all night. Didn’t have to take you out at all,”

“All I asked was what we were.” Silence. He imstead snarled out his window, eyes darting around the dark scene outside before starting.

“Not gonna be the man you want me to be. Take it or leave it. I don’t care if you cry, you stay, you leave— If that’s what you really want.”

“It is.”

“Yeah?” He grinned as he finally looked at you. And really looked at you.

Beneath his scrutinized gaze you straightened the best you could, eyes narrowed. But deep down Fushiguro knew you weren’t going anywhere. He’s had nights worse than this and seemed to always know exactly what to do to bring it back.

You could spout your absence and threaten him all you wanted. Take a few days, take a month even to recuperate, he’d implore you! The more time he’d give you, the easier it was to come crawling back with some half-assed explanation as to why he needed comfort, why he needed you in his life. Your hopeless devotion was something he’d been picking at from the beginning. Since he met you, little by little he revealed more layers of how much you’d tolerate and how far he could push.

Even now, as he licked his lips, bloodshot eyes glinting beneath the light post, he saw your eyes dart away as you began to shift around uncomfortably.

“Thought so. Now c’mere. On my lap…that’s it baby,” He cooed as you begrudgingly crossed the space to situate yourself awkwardly on his legs. You kept your eyes down to his chest.

“Look at me.” When you didn’t, Fushiguro slid his hand around your head to palm your nape. You whimpered as your face was brought closer to his. “Yer gonna be good f’me now?” He cooed.

“Answer me when I speak to you. Or yer still thinkin’ of leaving, hm?” His other hand crept up your shin, traveling to slide beneath your dress and rest on your hip. When you still didn’t respond he grinned.

“Open your legs, lemme see how wet she is f’me,” You still weren’t acting fast enough for his liking, earning the handling on your knees as he roughly spread you himself. Calloused thumbs dug into the plush of your thighs as he got a sight of pussy deeply outlined by your panties, lacy material sticking to fatty wet lips.

“Drooling. Look at ’er.” You whimpered as mashed his thumb against your slit, bearing no tenderness as his eyes flickered to your expression.

“Toji-”

“Shut up.” He snapped. “I let you speak enough in the restaurant. And you didn’t wanna answer me now. So stop fuckin’ talkin or I’ll hurt you, seriously.”

“Make yerself useful and pull that fucking dress up. Matter fact—Take it off, yeah. Here,” He shoved away your sluggish hands, yanking the fabric over your head as it tussled your hair. His hands trailed up your back as he drank in your dazed expression. Your lips parted to speak.

“What. Wanna complain s’more?” Nails dug into your scalp as your head was jerked to the side, meaty fingers curled in your locks. Fushiguro’s hips bucked, knocking your legs apart again as he skillfully shoved the crotch of the lace to the side. His fingers flicked up against your clit, as he dove forward with teeth bared, attacking your neck feverishly. His canines scraped over the prominent bone of your collar before digging in.

“That…that hurts,” His grip was gradually tightening on your hair as he started stroking your weeping cunny. Even so, your hips dragged, sensitivity ever growing as you smeared your arousal along his pants. He plunged two of his fat fingers into your cunt, make your body arch into him.

You didn’t know where to put your hands, mind still hazy and you were unsure of what to do. Adrenaline and alcohol coursed through, the building of the evening's events spilling out through the eventual shy tugging of his belt.

“Please,”

“What? Daddy didn’t quite catch that.” His hand stilled, palms slickened with the juices he was drawing from you.

“Won’t say nothin’ anymore. Don’want you to be mad—Don’t want you to be rough,” you rushed, trembling hands stroking the sides of his neck.

“Shoulda thought of that before shooting your mouth off.” He took over, hands flying to tug at the leather from the loops. You lifted slightly for him to shove his pants around trunked thighs, practically drooling to see he wasn’t wearing anything beneath. His heavy cock sat against his thigh, chucky in width and long enough to split you a gape.

Under your gaze, it jumped excitingly and ignited the assault of fluttering in your tummy. His hand jerked to regain your attention, the other hand fisting his dick with a couple languid strokes.

“Should fuck your brains out and leave you here,” He leaned forward capturing your nipple in his mouth, the edge of his teeth grinding against the swollen bud. “Uhnn, th-that, Toji!”

His tongue lashed over the indents before releasing your tit with a wet smack.

“Want my dick baby?” You nodded as best you could in his grip, soreness budding in your neck from the angle as hands sooth down his chest to pop open the rest of his buttons.

“Eager now? Thought ya wanted to leave,” he chucked. You ignored him, hands sliding beneath the flaps of his open shirt. You palmed his chest, his heart beating beneath prominent pecs as your fingered grazed his nipples, making him grunt.

His hand stuck against your ass like a crisp snap as you shimmied. “Yeah, keep that ass moving.”

Your acrylics clawed at his neck as you grounded your hips, whining as you frantically tried to move and appease him. It still didn’t stop another blow before he smashed the globes of your ass together, using them to roughly thrust you along his cock, his arousing leaking from his slit.

“Fuck, look at you slut. Can’t enough of me huh,” He huffed, rutting up his hips and groaning at the friction.

He tore your panties to the side again, using the skinny strap to prop against the side of your ass.

He had arm wrapped to lift you and shove you down on his monstrous length as a sob racked through your body.

His elongated groan echoed in the steamy car with your cry as you lifted slightly, cunt spasming around his puffy tip. He shoved you back down completely before his hand struck your ass again.

Your hand slammed against the hood, the other against the window, feeling the wetness of the steam through your palm. You threw your head back, the tug in your tummy satiated through his hands, through the way his dick massaged your ridged walls, thick head bumping against the fatty hole of your cervix. His hands trailed around your sticky skin, palming your tits and allowing you to take over, thighs flexing as you rode him.

“Look so good, princess. Taking my dick, I might forgive ya,”

“I hate you,” You cried, as though to somehow ease the way his fingers pinched cruelly at your nipples. Tears streamed down your cheeks, blurring the image of him grinning in your face. He brushed away the spilling tears, thumb trailing sloppily over your swollen lips.

“I know,” he pressed it past them, dragging the corner of your mouth to reveal your teeth. You resisted the alarming urge to bite him until he thrusted it deeper against your tongue, choking you.

His cock snapped up, balls slapping your ass as his thick veins scrubbed your gummy walls. You couldn’t help but drool and squeal, face slack and shiny with sweat and dirty tears ran down your face, makeup utterly ruined. He pulled his thumb out before muttering, “I know, tell me again sweetheart.”

His hands slid down to pull apart the fats of your ass as his dick drilled deeper, middle finger pressed against the opening of your hole between them.

“I-” A wolfish grin split his face as you visibly shivered when he pressed deep, the pad nearly disappearing inside. He knew exactly where you liked it, what switch to turn on, where to poke and prod. It’s what had you coming back for more. Begging more more. And he’d give it to you, always, even if you had to drag it out of him.

“God, I hate you Toji…Fushiguro. Wish I never met you!” At your blubbering, his hands snaked around your waist, gathering both wrists behind you at the small of your back under a large palm. Your head fell behind you against the driver seat, back arched as he had you trapped in the new and limiting position.

Fushiguro’s hips continued to flex, cock tearing through your little cunt as you bounced on his lap. His other hand gripped at your ass cheek, pulling it away before delivering another smack.

He growled at your fucked-out composure, relishing in the arch of of body as your tits bounced in his vision. His balls tightened as more and more of your whining grew broken and more incoherent.

“Can’t—Can’t hold it! ‘m gonna cum! Gonna,” He leaned forward, restricting your movements to keep you from squirming.

“Look a’me. We’re gonna cum together, yeah?”

Your eyes glossed briefly before you tugged your arm half-heartedly. He scooted forward, thick thighs unrelenting as they thrusted upward. He didn’t miss a beat even when you began writhing on his lap, the sound of sicky pap pap paps! quickening as it filled the car.

“Wait-Wait…can’t nut in me. Toji ‘member I stopped—”

“-Shh it’s okay, I wanna start a family,” Your lips snapped shit as you froze and he grinned, continuing. “‘Mma make you a mommy how’s that sound? You want me so fucking bad, I’mma keep you forever. Surprise, baby.”

He let you wrench free from his hands this time, knowing you weren’t fit for the strength needed to crawl away from him. His heels dug into the floor and he bucked off the seat, car creaking as hands falling to your hips.

“‘M gonna fill you up. Yer gonna take my fuckin’ load bitch. Yer gonna be my little trophy wife and ‘mma stuff my seed into this pussy. ‘Nd yer gonna give me a little bastard, honey,” Spit flew around gritted teeth as nails clawed your skin, words tumbling out unfiltered.

He didn’t care to hide it at his point, you’d been provoking him all night. He wanted to let it go, wanted this night to be the closest thing to a peaceful dinner the two of you had. Through the fiery arguments budded a deeper emotion he couldn’t describe but all he knew is you had him wrapped around your finger and he had you gripped with all of his. Fushiguro didn’t want to admit it to you but his feelings were intense, an ever growing storm swirling within him as much as he tried to stuff it down, to push you away entirely.

But you had to go and run your fucking mouth.

“Stoppit, I shit…You can’t! You scratched at his hands, twisting your body away from him.

“Shut up! Fuck just…shhh baby. Ya can’t stop me.” He growled, holding you flush against his heated body as his hips stuttered. They twitched against your thighs as his cock throbbed inside your walls, hot thick cum spilling into your cunny.

You cried out, fingers yanking at his sweaty locks, cunt involuntarily twitching around his girth.

“Toji!”

Your name spilled out at the same time, muffled into the curve of your neck. Your palms pressed against his chest to push him away but he countered with precision, thick limbs wrapping around your arms as he sat back against the seat to pull you into his chest.

“Yer mine now, ‘s what ya wanted.” He grinded his hips slowly, thrusting his spilling, warm nut back into you.

It was a second layer when you stilled, defeated as your chest heaved against his in a silent sob, sticky cum leaking around your thighs. His dick jumped around inside you as he nuzzled your neck with his lips.

“Now you can’t go nowhere baby, I’ve made sure of it. We’re gonna go home now and yer gonna be good for’me right?”

DILFOS. DO NOT PLAGIARIZE MY CONTENT—CURRENT OR ARCHIVAL.

[ruh--roh-raggy]

Flowers For My Valentine (Steve Raglan x Fem! Reader) - Valentine's Day Special

Hello hello and Happy Valentine's Day my lovelies! We have some sweet and flirty Steve Raglan this time around thanks to a wonderful Anon who made a request (this was so fun thank you so much!) If you would like to see more of this, more fnaf in general, or would like to be added to my tag list please let me know!

WARNINGS: Age gap (Reader is in her late 20's, Steve is in his early 50's), office romance, flirting, mutual pining, reader very briefly talks about how she doesn't feel good enough, some swearing, not proofread, if I missed any please let me know!

You can find my Masterlist here! ~ AO3 Link!

Word Count: 6,189

“Good morning Linda!” You greet your co-worker jovially.

“Oh, perfect, you're here.�� She waves you over, her long bright red acrylics clacking together. “Could you bring this down to Mr. Raglan’s office? I’d go do it, but he likes you better.” She teases with a chuckle, making your cheeks warm. She hands the pink flier over to you. It was the announcement for the office's annual Valentine’s Day party.

You walk down the plain, beige hallway, the walls lined with matching, cheap doors, their old brass hardware glinting in the fluorescent lights that hang from overhead. You paused in front of the last door on the left, ‘Steve Raglan' printed across the nameplate. You tap softly, a soft smile finding its way to your lips as you hear him call you in. He says your name softly, grinning brightly at you. “What a pleasant surprise.” He motions to the chair across from him. “Please, sit! Um, would you like some coffee? Tea maybe?” He hurries to stand, banging his knee on the desk in the process and making him curse under his breath.

“Mr. Raglan are you okay?” You hurry to his side, your look of pure concern making the older man’s features soften.

“I'm fine rabbit, being around pretty girls just makes me nervous.” He says with a wink. You giggle, growing flustered at his compliment.

“You flatter me, Mr. Raglan.” He gets lost in your eyes for a moment, the playful glimmer in them drawing him in. His gaze flashes down to the paper you held in your hands.

“What do we have here?” He smiles, taking the flier from you. He reads it over silently, running his fingers down his tie. “A Valentine’s Day party, huh?” His silvery eyes flash to yours, a playful smile lacing it’s way across his lips. “Are you going to drag your boyfriend to this thing?”

“Oh, there's no boyfriend to drag along.” You giggle. “I'm probably going to be stuck in some mindless gossip loop with some of the other ladies if I go.”

“If you go?” He repeats the last part of your statement.

“I'm not really a big Valentine's Day girl.” You admit, swaying awkwardly on your heels. “The whole holiday tends to be a bit of a let down if I'm being honest.” Your eyes widened slightly as you realized you were being far too casual. “I'm sorry, Mr. Raglan. I shouldn't be talking about this stuff at work.” You hurriedly tried to head for the door, wanting to excuse yourself as quickly as possible before you became even more flustered. You slam the door behind you, managing to slip into the bathroom just as you heard his office click back open. You silently berated yourself for looking so stupid in front of him. “Let’s just open up to him about every shitty Valentine's we've ever had!” You mock yourself in the mirror. You sigh, studying your reflection. It was silly really. For a brief moment the thought flashed through your head that maybe, somehow, some way, Steve would've asked you to go to the party with him. You splashed some water on your face, reluctantly deciding to go back to the office. Hopefully he would forget about your awkward little interaction by tomorrow.

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“Alright, who is he?” You freeze in your tracks as you walk through the office door.

“Excuse me?” You ask, your gaze trailing up to the reception desk. You were met with the sight of a beautiful, elaborate bouquet made up of yellow, purple, and white flowers.

“They're addressed to you. You better not have gotten a boyfriend and not told me about it, I thought we shared everything!” She pretends to be hurt, making you chuckle.

“We do, you're my work wife, I wouldn't survive without you.” You pout, she laughs, shaking her head slightly. “Was there a card?” Both of your curiosity over the matter bubbled up as you did a quick investigation of the scenario.

“There is, but no name.” She hands the small, cream colored piece of cardstock over to you.

“I know flowers from your secret admirer are cliche, but I wanted to do something special for the woman who never fails to brighten my day.” You couldn't stop yourself from smiling as you read over the message.

“Do you think it's someone in the office?” She asks in a hushed tone.

“I don't see why not. I don't have anyone that would send me flowers at work, even as a joke.” You explain, trying to place a face to the neat script that swirled across the card.

“Wow.” Your eyes snap up to Steve Raglan. His short sleeve, yellow button down with brown pinstripes tucked neatly into his perfectly pressed pants. “Someone's a lucky lady.” He smiles at Linda, more than likely assuming they were from her husband.

“Oh they're not for me, someone has their eye on your best employee.” She states in a teasing tone.

“Is that so?” He shoves his free hand into his pocket, the other holding a comically small looking mug of coffee. “Guess someone might have a date for the Valentine's Party yet.” Warmth pools behind your cheeks as your eyes meet his striking silver ones.

“You didn't happen to see who dropped these off, did you Mr. Raglan?” You ask curiously.

He shakes his head, “I'm afraid not sweetheart, but I'll keep an eye out.” He chuckles. “I have to make sure whoever is trying to catch your attention only has the best intentions in mind for my favorite girl.” You let out a flustered giggle as he winks at you. He pulls his pager off his belt, quickly reading the message. “I'm going to have some new client paperwork that needs to be filed, I'll have it on your desk within the hour if that's alright?”

“Absolutely, Mr. Raglan. I'll take care of it.” You smile brightly at him.

“This is why you're the best!” He compliments you. “Thank you beautiful, I'll be back.” You noticed Linda’s gaze trail after him, watching him intently until he shut his office door behind him.

“Do you think Mr. Raglan might have left you those flowers?” You choke on your drink, coughing and sputtering as you try to regain your composure.

“Now where the hell did that come from?” You ask in response, unable to meet her eyes as you try to hide your nervous expression.

“Well, you're obviously his favorite, everyone that works for this company knows that. He always compliments you, he’s always telling you how pretty you look or how good of a job you're doing. If it’s anyone in the office my money’s on him.” She rattles off the first few reasons that came to her mind.

“Oh, I don't know about that.” You nervously wring your hands in your lap, staring blankly down at the stack of papers that sat in front of you. “I'm nothing special, plus I'm sure he has a wife.” You try to wave her off.

“I've never noticed a ring.” Your breath froze in your throat as you saw her attention turn to you. A smirk spreads across her lips, “and from how flustered you look right now I'm assuming that someone definitely doesn't mind the attention.” She whispers.

“Okay, okay, hang on.” You wave your hand in front of her, wanting to cut her off before she has the chance to keep snowballing her idea. “If I tell you this, not another soul hears about this, not even Mark!” You point an accusatory finger at her.

“Honey, please, my husband doesn't give a rat's ass about work gossip. Tell me everything.” She leans an elbow on the desk as she spins her chair to face you, taking a long sip of coffee from her mug as she waits patiently for the details.

“I might have a bit of a thing for him.” You admit, your cheeks already heating up at the simple confession. “He's funny and charming and handsome and… I don't know, I feel so stupid.” You groan, dropping your head into your hands.

“You shouldn't feel stupid.” She rushes to reassure you. “You are a gorgeous young woman, I'm sure he would be absolutely flattered-”

“It's not even about that.” You sigh. Linda gives you an incredulous look in response. “Okay, maybe it is a little about that. But, on top of the fact that he could just outright reject me, he's my boss, he's quite a bit older than I am, he's going to get to know me and see that I'm just some stupid young kid and it's going to make things weird here and I'm going to have to quit my job because of it.”

“I think someone is overthinking this way too much.” She laughs, shaking her head slightly.

“I get it, it's scary. There's a lot of unknowns and different ways it could all pan out. But, you'll never know if you don't try. I'm not saying burst in there right now, rip your clothes off, and try to seduce him.” You can't help but laugh at her over the top idea. “All I'm saying is maybe make a little effort to flirt with him, test the waters, see how it feels.”

You sigh, leaning back in your chair, “I don't even know how to even try if I'm being completely honest.”

“Listen up, buttercup, it's time for a crash course in office flirting 101.” She laughs.

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You smooth your blouse as you stand in front of the last office on the left, repeatedly reading over the name ‘Steve Raglan’ printed in neat gold lettering in front of you as you try to build up your confidence. You tap softly on the door, waiting for the quiet ‘come in’ before entering. “Finished up with that paperwork already?” He smiles brightly at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly as he speaks.

“Yessir, I just wanted to come hand deliver it myself.” You shoot him a coy grin.

“Can I interest you in some coffee?” He asks, still reading from the paperwork you handed him, expecting you to flit out of the room like you normally did.

“Do you have any tea?” You saw him pause, his brows furrowing slightly before he looked up at you.

“I do.” It took him a moment to continue, still trying to process the situation. “Why don't you sit down, I'll put the kettle on.” You nod, plopping down into one of the slightly too hard chairs that sat opposite him at his desk. You can't help but giggle as you glance over your shoulder to find Steve studying you.

“You seem a bit surprised that I stayed.” He snaps himself from his thoughts.

“I am, if I'm being honest. I feel like every time I invite you to stay for a cup of tea you practically sprint out of here.” He chuckles, slowly walking back to his desk and sitting across from you. “I'm not that scary am I?”

You shake your head, “no, you're not. I think you're sweet, Mr. Raglan.” You fidget with your fingers for a moment before deciding to take a rather bold approach to the flirting Linda had suggested. “Being around handsome men just makes me nervous.” You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, watching as the realization set in that he had said something very similar to you the day prior.

He breathes out a laugh, a smile lacing its way across his lips. “Well, thank you rabbit. I'm flattered that a pretty little thing like you thinks I'm handsome. Also, feel free to call me Steve, I think we know each other well enough at this point, don't you?”

“I think you might be right.” You perk up at the sound of the kettle going off, immediately hopping out of your seat to get it.

“Oh, I can-” you cut him off with a small wave of your hand.

“Steve, you have to be one of the hardest workers I know.” You fill his mug first, carrying it over to him slowly to make sure you wouldn't spill any coffee. “I think you should let someone take care of you for a change.” You wink at him, your hand trailing across his shoulder as you step next to him.

“Well how can I refuse such a tempting offer.” He grins, his silver eyes flashing across your features. You made your own cup of tea before returning to the seat across from him. You feel his gaze trailing over your much smaller form as you carefully cross your legs. “Any leads on that secret admirer of yours?” He asks casually, taking a long sip of his coffee.

“Nothing yet, but I'm hoping I can figure it out soon.” You run your finger along the rim of your mug. “I'm hoping I can manage to find out who it is before the party.” He clears his throat as he shifts himself in his seat slightly.

“Anything's possible isn't it?” He responds, lacing his fingers together as his hands come to rest on his stomach. You were both interrupted by a knock on his door.

“Steve, sorry to interrupt, you got a minute?” It was one of your coworkers.

“I'll stop by later Mr. Raglan, thank you for the tea.” You smiled softly at him, his eyes locked with yours as you stood, smoothing your clothes slightly before sauntering out of the room.

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You jump when somebody calls your name. You look up to see Steve shrugging into his thick, gray jacket. “You're still here?” He asks with a warm smile that makes your heart flutter in your chest.

“I had some emails to send, I was just about to head out myself.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets as he slowly approaches you.

“Would it be alright if I walked you to your car?” He asks carefully, as if he was trying to pin down the exact right way to ask you. “It's late, I want to make sure you get there safely, is all.” You could hear the slight hesitancy in his tone, that fact he seemed almost nervous made you smile.

“That's very sweet of you Steve, thank you.” You smile warmly at him. He helps you into your jacket, stuffing his hands back in his pockets as he slows his long strides so you could keep up easily. “Are you going to be bringing your wife to the Valentine's Day party?” You finally ask after walking in silence for a while.

Steve chuckles, “oh, I'm not a married man, rabbit. I'm afraid it's just going to be me.” You feel your cheeks warm at the sound of his gravelly tone.

“It's a shame, I guess we're both going to be single for Valentine's Day.” You giggle.

“What a shame indeed, I'm very surprised some dumb little boy hasn't tried to scoop you up. A pretty thing like you deserves a man who’ll make her feel special.” He smirks down at your flustered state.

“Well, maybe if I can get to the bottom of who sent me those flowers I could get to the bottom of that.” You brace against the cold as he holds the door open for you. Steve holds his coat open, pulling you into his side and shielding you from the wind.

“You never know, he could be a lot closer than you think.” He winks at you, making you let out a flustered giggle. The end of your nose tingles from the cold as you stop in front of your car. “Have a good night, rabbit.” He smiles softly down at you, his silver eyes searching yours with a subtle intensity.

“Good night, Steve.” You pull open your car door, a dull ache settling in your chest as you watch him start to head off. You called his name, making him pause. He turns to glance back at you, your smaller form moving before you have a chance to overthink the situation. You pushed yourself up onto the tips of your toes, your hand wrapping around his strong bicep as you leaned in, allowing your lips to come to rest against his cheek. “Get home safely.” You whisper, letting your eyes linger on him before you hopped in your driver's seat and watched him walk to his own car with an absolutely dumbfounded expression on his face.

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You were one of the first people in the office this morning. Having to come in early to prepare the conference room for a meeting and to send out reminder emails for said event definitely wasn't your idea of fun, but there was something oddly tranquil about the nearly empty space so early in the morning. You had been called over to one of your coworkers cubicles to help with a paper work issue, smiling at Steve as you watched him push into the room, flurries of snowflakes trailing in through the door behind him. The memory of you kissing him on the cheek the night prior raced to the forefront of your mind, your eyes widened slightly, your cheeks growing warm as you rushed off before he had a chance to confront you about it. You had felt guilty about it, he was your boss, now you've probably made whatever small relationship the two of you had extremely awkward. You looked around as you headed back to your desk, expecting him to emerge from nowhere at any second. You froze when you noticed a red, heart shaped box, all wrapped up with a matching satin bow. ‘These chocolates will never be as sweet as you, but they're the closest thing I could find.’ you smiled as your eyes drifted over the familiar neat script. Once again, the card contained no clues as to who your secret admirer might be. You carefully undid the bow and lifted the lid to find a stunning box of extravagant assorted chocolates. “Another gift from your prince charming?” Linda asks with an excited grin as she roughly tossed her purse and jacket into her chair.

“The funniest part is… these definitely weren't on my desk when I got here. They must have just been dropped off.” She eyes you curiously before looking around at the possible suitors within the small space. You noticed her lips pull into a smile as her eyes locked onto someone.

“Well, good morning Mr. Raglan.” Your blood turned to ice in your veins at the mention of his name.

“Good morning ladies, I hope you're having a good day so far.” You reluctantly turn to face him at the sound of your name. “Another present?” His eyes dart down to the half open box before returning to your face.

“Um, yes sir.” You squeak in response. “Still no name though.” You giggle.

“Shame…” he trails off as he studies you. “I hope he reveals himself soon, I'd like to know who's keeping that pretty smile on your face.” He winks before quickly turning and heading off.

“Something happened between you two, I can feel it.” She narrows her eyes, passing you your own mug of coffee as she settles in with her own. “Spill.”

“So, remember how you brought up that whole flirting thing?” She nods. “Well, I may have pushed things a little further than just, you know, giggling and fawning over his muscles, right?” Her silence was making your nerves run rampant. “I may or may not have kissed him on the cheek when we were parting ways last night.” She gasps your name in shock. “It felt right, okay!” You yell-whisper. “He walked me out to my car, I had already been flirting with him a little bit earlier, he was being his usual sweet and handsome self… I don't know what came over me, it just sort of happened.” You bury your face in your hands.

“What did he say?” She pushes your shoulder lightly to regain your attention.

“I don't know, I got in my car and I left.”

“Are you kidding me? You kissed him and then just walked away?”

“On the cheek!” You rush to clarify.

“On the cheek or not doesn't matter, what if that could have turned into something more?”

“Doubtful-”

“But how do you know?” Your mouth snapped shut at her statement. “Give yourself a little more time to feel things out, but I would say after that you should definitely try to make things a little more serious.”

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You tapped softly against Steve’s office door, a pile of folders situated neatly in your grasp. He calls you in, his back facing you as you enter the room. You wait patiently for him to finish up the phone call he was on, jumping slightly as he slams down the receiver. He groans as he spins in his chair, massaging the bridge of his nose under his glasses. “I swear, they always stick me with the worst damn clients.”

“It's because you’re the best career counselor in the state, if anyone can solve hopeless cases it's you.” You laugh softly, Steve brightens up at the compliment.

“Why thank you bunny.” He says before letting out a quiet chuckle. “I don't know about the best, but flattery will get you everywhere young lady.” He winks at you, making your cheeks grow warm.

“I brought you Mr. O’Malley’s file, along with the applications and other paperwork for the company's we work with that hire people with criminal records. Is there anything else you'd like from me?”

“For you to come to dinner with me tonight.” The request rang in the otherwise silent room like a gunshot. You could hear the blood rushing behind your ears as you processed whether or not you had heard him correctly. “You've been working a lot of late nights, if it's alright with you I'd like to handle things for you for a change.” He smiles warmly at you, you stared back at him with a shocked, empty expression as your mind struggled to catch up with your words.

“I…” you trail off, the warmth in his eyes quickly turning into an expression of panic.

“Sorry if I overstepped, you can say no I won't be offended.” He hurries to apologize.

“Steve.” You jolted slightly at how forceful your own voice came out. You sucked in a deep breath in an attempt to steady your pounding heart. “I would love to. You didn't overstep, I'm just… surprised?” It came out as more of a question but that felt fitting for the moment. You were beyond excited, still not fully believing that he had just asked you to dinner.

“Why's that rabbit?” He rests his chin in the palm of his hand as he leans on his desk, his expression more perplexed than anything else.

Your hand slid over the cool metal doorknob. “It’s just kind of hard to believe that the most handsome man I've ever met is asking me to have dinner with him later.” Your lips pull into a coy smile. “I'll see you later tonight, Steve.” You quickly slip out of his office, heading quickly back to your desk. You decided it was best to wait to mention this to Linda, your nerves were already running rampant as it was. You tried your best to get through the rest of the work day without looking suspicious, but her sharp eyes noticed how frequently you checked the time, how you nervously flipped your pen in between your fingers as you sat idly at your keyboard.

She swivels her chair to face you, her long acrylics drumming rhythmically across the desk. You internally cringe as you watch her eyes narrow. “Spill-”

“He asked me to dinner.” The pressure was immediately too much. “I didn't want to tell you because I didn't want to be thinking about it all day but I can't stop.”

“I'm sorry, you didn't want to tell me about the biggest development in your love life since I've met you? He's so into you, this is going to be great!” She tries to encourage you.

“What if he doesn't like me? What if I'm boring or I'm not what he thought I would be like outside of work?” You start to ramble out your anxieties.

“Slow down, that's not going to happen. You are so cool, I need you to remember that.” She starts to dig around through her purse, producing a few makeup products and some tissues. “Go touch up if you want to, I can hold down things here.” You quietly thank her, heading to the bathroom to freshen up your makeup.

The remainder of the day crawled by until five o'clock eventually rolled around. Linda sat at your side, fussing over your hair and trying to convince you to remove the sweater you were wearing to reveal the slinky black cocktail dress you were currently wearing as a skirt. “I'm going to freeze to death.” She practically throws her jacket at you.

“I know exactly which dress that is, you look hot as fuck in it. Give me the sweater.” She orders. You groan and reluctantly pull it over your head, tossing it at her before standing and slipping your arms into the satin lined sleeves. “Heading out, Mr. Raglan?” She couldn't hide the excited tone in her voice as you heard his heavy footsteps approach behind you.

“As long as this pretty little thing is ready to go.” You turn to face him, your cheeks warm as you try to hide your flustered expression. “You look beautiful, rabbit.”

“I'll see you tomorrow Linda.” You smile as he offers you his arm, guiding you into his side as you leave the building together.

He opens your door for you, holding your hand as you lower yourself into the impeccably clean vintage muscle car. He slides into the driver's seat with a soft groan, his gold framed aviators glinting in the setting sunlight. A smile spreads across his face as he studies you in the seat next to him. He silently starts the car, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as he turns to back up. As he sits back down his arm remains in place, his large warm hand settling on your arm and pulling you to him. You lean in and place a soft kiss to his cheek, your eyes immediately darting down to your lap. He chuckles, taking your chin between his fingers and running his thumb over your bottom lip. “You better be careful, you might get yourself into trouble doing things like that.” He chuckles, watching your eyes widen under his hungry gaze.

Steve drove you to a cute little bistro that overlooked the river that ran through town. With you tucker safely away into his side to brace against the cold he led you inside. You were sat in a corner, tucked away from everyone else. He ordered for you, wanting you to just enjoy your evening. “Thank you for coming with me.” He says with a bashful smile.

“Thank you for asking me.” Your heart pounded in your chest as you watched his large, calloused hand reach across the pristine white table cloth to envelope your own.

“The Valentine's Day party is tomorrow.” He suddenly chimes in. You hum in response, eyeing him curiously. “Have you decided if you're going or not?”

“I've definitely been considering it. At the very least I'd get to see you, if anything.” You smile warmly.

“You're sweet.” He gives your hand a soft squeeze. “I'll never understand why you willingly choose to spend time with an old man like me.” Your eyes snapped to him, your heart beginning to race as you debated just putting all of your feelings out into the open.

“Well,” your voice shakes when you finally find the nerve to speak, “that's because I-”

“You folks have a wonderful night.” Your jaw snaps shut as the waiter approaches your table to drop off your check.

“You, what, rabbit?” You search his features for a moment, the building confidence spurring you forward had fizzled out in an instant. You slowly pulled your hand out of his, folding it neatly in your lap, he quickly copied your motions.

“I just think you're really easy to talk to.” You mumble, fidgeting with your fork in front of you. “It should be me who's confused.” You try your best to force out a laugh. “I'm just some dumb little post grad who can't find a job in her field, I'm nothing special Steve.”

“Did you know, it took me seven years to find a job in my field after I graduated college?” His voice came out gentler than you had ever heard it. “Bunny just because you're at a different point than you thought you'd be by now doesn't mean that you're not special or that you're falling behind or any way you could look at it. I look forward to coming to work everyday not because I give a singular fuck about what I do, let's not get that confused.” His crass statement made you giggle, you notice your lightening composure made his shoulders relax slightly. “I look forward to coming in every day because I know that you're going to be there. You're going to bounce into the office in your pretty outfits with your cute little heels and that infectious smile of yours… Honey, I know it's hard to see from the outside looking in, but you are a goddamn treasure to have in my life.” He chuckles. Your cheeks burned as you fidgeted with your fingers in your lap.

“Thank you Steve, it's nice to hear something so positive from someone I admire so much.” He settles your tab, walking to your side of the table to offer you his hand. You smile softly, allowing your fingers to ghost over his rough, calloused skin.

“I don't like seeing my girl looking so down.” You squeeze his hand, your fingers pushing through his as he gently tugs you towards the door. You rode back to the office in a comfortable silence. Steve's arm draped over your shoulder as you settled into his side, the warmth creeping into your body from his own making your eyes heavy. As you pulled in you were a bit reluctant to leave. Every subtle, slightly too long glance made your heart thrum, the way you pressed into him felt like a puzzle piece finally slotting into its perfect match. Being with Steve felt like home.

“I had a great time with you tonight.” You state softly in the small space.

“Same here rabbit.” He carefully reaches out, tucking some stray hair behind your ear. “I do have one more, albeit strange, question for you.” He chuckles.

“And what might that be?” You found yourself leaning in closer to him, your gaze slowly falling to his lips that were tantalizingly close.

“Will you dance with me?” As intoxicating as the idea of kissing him was, you were definitely more perplexed by the offer that had just materialized before you.

“I would love to.” Steve found a station playing some old love song, the trumpet’s lazy melody bringing a smile to your face as your stomach filled with butterflies. His strong arm slides around your waist, pulling you to him as softly as he could manage. He treats you as if you were made of glass, as if the smallest rough movement would have you shattering beneath his fingers. The bright light of the full moon made you glow before Steve's eyes.

“You look so beautiful rabbit.” He whispers. You allow him to effortlessly spin you around the pavement, your movements easily falling in time with his. The world around you faded away, leaving nothing but you and him and the dreamy, far off sound of the radio drifting from his car speakers. He dips you low, your body falling into his hands with complete trust. As you pull back up your eyes find his, striking silver that only seemed to draw you in deeper. He takes a step back from you, bringing your knuckles to his lips.

“You're a wonderful dancer.” You compliment with a soft giggle. He holds you close to him as he guides you back to your car. He opens your door, holding your hand in his as you lower yourself into your driver's seat.

“You're not so bad yourself.” He grins down at you, shooting you a wink. “Goodnight rabbit.”

“Goodnight Steve.” You couldn't keep the sad smile off your face as he turned to leave.

“You deserve someone who's going to choose you every day, not that it would be a hard choice.” He chuckles. “Bunny, you're beautiful, funny, kind, smart. Anyone would be lucky to have you by their side… especially me.” He states in a hurried tone before leaving you to sit in the still, silent night.

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The next morning started out just like any other. You went through your daily routine the same way you always did. But, you couldn't shake the memory of what Steve had said to you the night before. ‘Anyone would be lucky to have you by their side… especially me.’ You finished off your makeup before grabbing your coat and heading out the door. You greeted your coworkers in your usual chipper tone as you made your way to your desk. You were met with the sight of a small, yellow plush sitting on your desk, a rose situated neatly in his lap. You picked it up with a smile, rubbing its soft, velvet ear between your fingers as you study it. The note that was left with it contained a single sentence. But, those three words were enough to tell you exactly who your secret admirer had been this whole time. You struggled to keep your composure as you repeatedly traced over the neat script that you now recognized perfectly. “To my rabbit.” You breathe out through a laugh, your vision blurring as tears welled up in your eyes. You cradle the stuffed animal close to your chest, hurrying down to Steve's office. You didn't bother knocking, pushing through the door to find Steve answering emails, an alarmed expression on his face as he whips around to face you.

“Bunny are you o-” you wave your hand in front of him, cutting him off as you try to find the right words to say.

“I'm falling for you.” The confession hung thick in the air after it fell from your lips. Steve blinked a couple times, his brows furrowing together in confusion. “I'm tired of hiding this from you. I was worried what would happen if I told you, I mean, you're my boss, you could fire me right now and there's nothing I would be able to do about it.” Both of you laugh, the tension melting slightly at your small joke.

“I take it you found out who your secret admirer is.” A smile stretches across his lips as his gaze darts down to the rabbit in your hand.

“Why didn't you just tell me?” You sniffle, a tear trailing down your cheek. He pushes himself out of his seat with a soft groan.

“Because, I had convinced myself that you could do a lot better than me.” He takes your hands in his. “But, I'm starting to realize that's not true…” He smiles as he studies how small your hands were in his. “Sure, I can't give you all the money in the world, I can't buy you fancy jewelry at the drop of a hat, I don't live in a mansion…” he sucked in a deep breath to steady himself before continuing. “What I do know is that I want to be the one to pick up the pieces when your world feels like it's falling apart, I want to be the one to hold you tightly in my arms while we drift off to sleep at night. I want to be able to choose you day in and day out because I can't imagine a more perfect woman to fall in love with.” You looked away from him, your cheeks streaked with tears.

You reached out, grabbing him by his toe to yank him down to your level. His lips crashed into yours, two strong hands finding their way to your waist to steady both of you. As you tried to pull back you felt his fingertips press into the soft flesh of your hip, keeping you rooted in place as he drank in every second of this moment. You both separated with a soft gasp, your lungs burning with need for air. “Steve?”

“Yes my beautiful bunny?” He responds breathlessly, tilting your chin up gently with his finger.

“Will you be my Valentine?” He chuckles, no words were needed for you to know his answer. He captures your lips in a much softer, more tender kiss that leaves you feeling light headed.

“Does this mean I should get you more flowers?”

Tag List: @yellowbunnydreams @zoey5252 @loudchaosking @residentevilbeast @weirdoartist21 @lokanda @emmbny @yukkkiki @dij-ology @maria-moll (if you would like to be added please let me know!)

[the-archetype-of-civilization]

More little things I noticed in my third rewatch of ATSV.

-SPOILERS AHEAD-

There was a moment that confused me where Spot was robbing the guy of the ATM and he was setting down some cans for (seemingly) no reason. He was actually placing the ATM on top of the cans so he can roll it out.

I can't confirm if this is what was actually there, but when Uncle Aaron was telling Miles they "gotta roll," there was an acrylic stand of Spider-Man there that looked like Miles Morales Spider-Man (color and all).

When Miles was swinging through 42 NYC, there was an advertisement for "Vulture" something, I'm assuming a company. Messed up.

When Miguel first introduces himself by ramming into Vulture, Gwen gets to the spot and does this really slick landing animation where she kinda just gracefully brushes against the bannister briefly before landing on the ground.

42 Rio being given more hours at the hospital shows just how bad 42 New York has gotten without a Spider-Man. Terrifying.

I think I may have pointed this out on a previous post, but 1610 Uncle Aaron had a lucky black cat while 42 Uncle Aaron had a lucky white cat instead. I also like the parallels of Peter being tied up against a punching bag by Miles in ITSV while Miles is tied up by Uncle Aaron in ATSV.

I find it hilarious that Miles STILL doesn't know about ComicCon and didn't bother to look it up since ITSV when 42 Rio brings up "ComicsCon."

When Hobie is blocking off Miles from walking through to Miguel and Miles bumps into him, there's a tiny skull that appears when they make contact. It might just be a punk thing, but I wonder if it's an omen for the bad thing that's ahead of Miles.

Lego Spider-Man's vocalized "boop boop"s killed me.

I love the reveal when Miles realizes he's in the wrong universe, the camera pulls into his face and twists slightly. Obvious but nonetheless cool film styling of "his world is spinning" aside, I love that it feels like a 40's/50's kind of thing. Like this is something that you would see in The Twilight Zone, it nails the old comic book-y vibes too.

42 Miles' facial posture has his head up high and his chin slightly jutting out and up, like he's this "in-charge," cold, dignified superior while our Miles has his chin straight, sometimes pointed down and his head straight, showing he's trying to appeal to his humanity and trying to be humble and unassuming. It's awesome details like this that I love.

Hearing Spot say that he couldn't get a job because of what happened to him at that deli really hurts, honestly. Even if, in a way, he himself is partially to blame, it sucks that he has to resort to this. And the way he says it, almost in a "well, I can't do anything else so this is the only thing I can do ¯\_(ツ)_/¯" kind of way is really saddening, like he's trying to take it in stride and as a matter of fact. As awful as Spot becomes, I still feel bad for him.

Miles has a "#BLM" pin on his backpack. I'm sure people saw it already and it's probably a given, but in a world where media is trying to appeal to as wide of an audience as possible, it's nice to see the studio make a clear stance with a character that absolutely fits the bill.

That title drop for Earth 42 when Uncle Aaron tries to dab up Miles going into slow-mo with the music subdued was dope as fuck.

Miles throwing his arms up when asking when his dad dies ("When does it happen?!") is so on-point and well animated, it feels like something every New Yorker would do (I would personally know, since I am one).

When Gwen asks Jess if she ever made mistakes, Jess' reply, saying "yeah, but I got over it," is pretty toxic. It feeds into Gwen's need to avoid her problems rather than address them and face them, and I think that's why she probably chooses to avoid discussing things about Miles to him directly.

That look of disgust on Miles' face when he's being surrounded by Spider-People ("What is this? Some kind of intervention or something?") was so real.

The long silence between Miles choosing to go into the portal to follow Gwen is so good, I love when the movie speaks for itself rather than the dialogue. You can see the hesitation in Miles' eyes and face and then his determination as he jumps headfirst into the portal. A great character scene and fitting transition into the next act.

The album cover for the soundtrack is so good and comes from the scene where Miles goes into the portal. It feels like a mix of something from a Golden Age comic book cover, Miles' hand opened out towards the camera like he's being thrust into another world. And the colors of the portal and transition to Mumbattan are gorgeous. Fills the 40's/50's vibes I was talking about earlier, too.

Jeff's toast is really well done and I like how heartfelt and real it feels. Makes his anger, unfortunately, justified on Miles, even if Miles was trying to do the right thing for him and Rio in the end.

"I was just cool the whole time" is such a boss line, I love Hobie.

Miguel casually (almost lazily) swinging around rescuing civilians at the Guggenheim whilst talking to Gwen about a serious conversation is unironically cool. And it fits to his character, he's probably done it so many times that it becomes child's play in the end.

"I ain't got Scooby-Doo, mate."

How does Hobie know that Miles should use his palms for those powers? Curious.

"But now...I'm not afraid of anything." I love Miles so much, he's grown and become so strong not just for himself but for others. He's the best Spidey. Full stop.

I love the reversal of reflections for Gwen. At the beginning of the movie, she's in her casual wear but with the reflections always showing her in her Spider outfit. At the end, she comes home in her Spider outfit but with herself in her casual wear in the reflection instead. She started off alone in the world as Spider-Woman and ended feeling like Gwen. Her arc was completed and she's facing herself, the real Gwen Stacy and not Spider-Woman.

I felt bad that the deli clerk got bonked by the bat :( But, at least he's all right.

Miles saying "Don't do that" to the kid licking the subway window is real. That shit is nasty, the windows are the least clean parts of NYC's subway.

I love that both Gwen and Miles use comically deep voices around their respective dads. It's cute.

When the police officer was saying "I think we found our sign" when Gwen webbed them up, George's silent head turn with unamusement was awesome.

I will not have anymore George Stacy slander. Yeah, he made a bad call in seemingly arresting his daughter, but he QUIT his job for her. He loves her that much that he quit being, not just a police officer, but a CAPTAIN, for HER sake.

Speaking of which, when George had his gun pointed at her before she unmasked, he had his gun down the whole time after she unmasked, even while he was re-relaying her her rights. And when she tries to approach him, his gun flinches up a bit but stops.

"Can you go easy on the penguin?"

This is actually a follow-up post, since I said before that I might make another. This movie is too much for me and I love taking it apart.

Edit: I'm sorry for the constant updates and changes/revisions, but I can't stop thinking about this movie.

[venus-haze]

Adam Raised a Cain (Bo Sinclair x Reader)

Summary: The Sinclair house is haunted. It always has been and always will be as long as it’s standing. It’s a house you can’t think straight in, always keeping you on edge. The inhabitants are haunted too, and the longer you stay there, the further into the mire you get dragged by a dead woman’s claws and a man who can’t seem to decide whether he hates you or not.

Note: This fic can be considered a companion piece to Howl, though you don’t have to read one to understand what’s going on in the other. The reader is a woman (who gets put through the wringer again) but no other descriptors are used. It should surprise no one that the title comes from a Springsteen song. I’m going with the draft script where Bo killed Trudy, but it’s only mentioned briefly. Also I headcanon the Sinclairs as being Catholic for the drama of it all, so there’s some of that sprinkled throughout, though I want to explore that more at some point. Do not interact if you are under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 8.8k

Warnings: Murder. Descriptions of violence involving weapons (guns and knives). Disturbing and sadistic behavior. Misogyny. Kidnapping and prolonged captivity which involves physical abuse, emotional and psychological manipulation, major Stockholm syndrome, distorted sense of self. Unrequited crush (reader on Vincent). Threats of harm to one’s self. Descriptions of body horror on a victim and also parental abuse. Mentions of sexual content but nothing explicit. Do not interact if you are under 18. 

You didn’t have to meet Trudy Sinclair to know you hated her. Some place between nowhere and eternity, you hoped her incorporeal being ached every time her name was internally cursed upon by you. Her specter loomed throughout Ambrose, a shadow that somehow had a chokehold on your life, but more so on your—captor? boyfriend? fiance? Whatever Bo was to you, he made Trudy your problem too.

The day after Bo brought you up to the house, he made you go back down to Ambrose with him, giving you no indication of what he had planned except to wear black. When he brought you to the church, an odd building you hadn’t noticed before, you wondered if god could even be present in such a place. Regardless, he led you up the aisle, past the wax congregation and up to the coffin that lay before the altar where the wax priest was giving the funeral mass through a recording that played on loop. As if the scenario wasn’t morbid enough, Bo knelt in front of the open casket, and you followed his example, paying your respects to his wax-preserved, deceased mother. 

You’d gone to funerals before, seen relatives and friends done up in open caskets, one last hurrah before becoming food for worms. Trudy had been dead for at least a decade, you knew as much, but for a 10-years-dead bitch, she didn’t look half bad, all things considered. Her manicured hands, long red acrylic fingernails filed into what you could only call claws, were gripping a glass-bead rosary—you doubted she was a pillar of piety. Though, you could see her blonde wig was somewhat ajar, revealing what looked like an entry or exit wound on her temple. You knew better than to ask who shot her. 

Anything you did around the house was under Bo’s scrutiny, and you were constantly compared to Trudy. For a man who seemed to live on microwave dinners before you started cooking, he sure had a lot to say about every meal you prepared. His most common critique was “Ain’t how mama made it.” Especially for Trudy’s recipes, written in a feminine scrawl on discolored index cards that you painstakingly followed to the letter. Her recipes weren’t good, either. Unseasoned slosh despite living in proximity to the capital of Cajun cuisine in the States. 

Bo had seemed glad when you offered to clean up around the house, how quickly it seemed like you’d learned your place within the Sinclair household dynamic. Of course, it couldn’t be that easy. It never was with Bo. When you greeted him as expected when he returned home, with a warm kiss and a cold beer, he flew into a rage upon finding you had, in fact, cleaned. He somehow didn’t consider that cleaning involved you organizing belongings and throwing out garbage, ranting about how you can’t touch his stuff and now he can’t find anything. 

Mornings weren’t too bad. In fact, it was when things were most domestic with Bo, when you could best convince yourself that you were in a normal relationship with him. Morning sex with Bo was far tamer by his standards than any other time he’d have sex with you, and sometimes he’d actually kiss you during it. 

Despite technically not being on a schedule, he liked to be out of the house by 9 to work on whatever he did to keep Ambrose up and running. It didn’t matter whether or not you were an early riser, because he inexplicably was, and expected you to cook breakfast for him each day, a hot plate of whatever was in the fridge and a freshly brewed cup of coffee waiting at his seat by the time he sauntered downstairs. He’d greet you with a grin and a smack on the ass, as if you two were playful newlyweds.

Though you lived in the house, he didn’t entirely trust you, as he’d wait for you to eat your portion of whatever meal you’d cooked first before digging in. Playing house with Bo was far more stressful than you could’ve expected, though you hoped over time you’d get the hang of it. With the glittering ring adorning your finger, it seemed like he expected you to.

This particular morning was a pan of half a dozen scrambled eggs and a few slices of toast. You liked working with the radio on, cooking and cleaning during the day felt far less lonely with another voice around. Only three radio stations got any reception in Ambrose and one of them wasn't even consistent, as you found to your disappointment. Bo’s metal music was a collection of mixtapes made by various victims, which sent a chill down your spine as you briefly considered the implications. With your radio choices being country and oldies, you chose oldies, finding Frank Sinatra and Billie Holiday the appropriate soundtrack to your Stepford Wives-esque existence. A lump always formed in your throat whenever Connie Francis came on, no matter the song. She was Trudy’s favorite singer, Bo had informed you one day.

You took your seat next to him, grabbing one of the nearby newspapers. Bo would bring you newspapers or magazines he got from victims. It was how you found out you’d been in Ambrose for nearly three months by the time he let you out from captivity beneath the gas station. At first, you scanned every one for some mention of your disappearance, but gave up hope after a few weeks. Instead, you resigned yourself to ripping recipes out of women’s magazines and preoccupying yourself with crossword puzzles and comic strips.

Still, you found the astrology sections interesting and read yours and Bo’s horoscopes over breakfast each morning. He hated when his was negative, even though he claimed “I don’t believe in that garbage,” so sometimes you’d have to improvise. The news of the world was increasingly foreign to you, and you found the trends and gossip in magazines vapid. 

“Whatcha got today?” he asked through a mouthful of eggs. 

Though the paper was from two days prior, your eyes drifted to your sign. “Luck in love.”

“Damn right, darlin’.”

“Yours says an unexpected stranger will help you.”

He made a noncommittal grunt, shrugging before downing the rest of his coffee. “I’ll try to make it back here for lunch, but I probably won’t be home till late tonight. You give Vincent a holler if you need somethin’.”

“Okay, I love you,” you said, as was expected.

He didn’t always say it back, but for some reason, he made you tell him you loved him before he left in the mornings. You wouldn’t fight it, not if it made his mood even remotely better than the mildly-pissed-off to furious states that he seemed to operate under. In that instance, he returned the sentiment with an unknown amount of sincerity, giving you a kiss before leaving his dirty plate and empty coffee mug behind for you to clean. 

You liked taking your time with your chores for the day. It was easier to cope with everything if you kept yourself too busy to start thinking too much. You flipped to the next page of the newspaper, reading some of the letters to the editor. 

Creaking stairs caught your attention, and you looked up from the paper, surprised to see Vincent making an appearance so early. He was more of a night owl and seemed to avoid Bo when he could. The first time you met him was awkward as hell, and you still found it difficult to make eye contact with him over it. Bo had been in the middle of fucking you on the kitchen counter when his twin emerged from his basement ‘studio.’ You were mortified, and Vincent seemed to be as well, since he began backtracking until Bo shot him a grin, “Good ‘a time as ever to make introductions.” At least Vincent had the decency to mostly leave you alone since then.

“Morning Vincent,” you said, petting Jonesy as she ran up to your side. “Breakfast’s scrambled eggs.”

He nodded in response, piling the cold eggs on a plate and sticking it in the microwave. You looked down at Jonesy. She was a sweet dog, but you saw her just about as often as you saw Vincent, since she seemed to be his shadow.

“Do you want coffee? I just brewed a fresh pot.”

He looked at the coffee pot, considering it for a few moments before shaking his head. Unlike Bo, who drank half a pot of coffee every morning, Vincent would switch between coffee and tea in the mornings, at least the mornings you actually saw him. It wasn’t uncommon for Vincent to disappear for days at a time, though you always cooked enough for him, leaving a plate for him in the fridge.

Bo was a creature of habit, as you’d observed his strange and sometimes disturbing rituals living in the house with him, from drinking a beer as soon as he got home each evening to spending at least an hour visiting Trudy’s casket in church every Sunday at noon. Vincent seemed to do things sporadically, getting so involved in his work that you weren’t sure if he consistently ate let alone showered like he should. You knew they were twins, but even when you first met Vincent, you were aware of how different he was from Bo.

Of course, meeting Lester was nothing short of a shock to the system. You had felt like you were going crazy when you saw the man from the highway who’d directed you and your friends to Ambrose in the first place walk into the house with a friendly smile on his face while you were preparing lunch. Then Bo introduced him as his “kid brother” and Lester congratulated you for “shacking up” with Bo. The experience was dizzying and confusing, especially since you ended up getting along with Lester surprisingly well, having the closest thing to a regular, mundane conversation in months. He didn’t come up to the house very often, though.

Compared to Bo and Vincent, Lester seemed normal enough, though he was still complicit in your suffering and that of everyone else who came through Ambrose. You could barely piece together how it all started, when had their mother’s career warped into the surreal hell you found yourself in? Was it inevitable or avoidable? 

From the news clippings you’d seen throughout the house, Trudy was undoubtedly talented when it came to wax art, but you couldn’t tell whether the grainy, black and white photos of the wax figures she posed with were real, like how your friends ended up. Then again, Ambrose had been a small, bustling town with real people to notice if tourists went missing. Once the highway was built and the sugar mill shut down, everyone left but the Sinclairs. Not that there was anywhere else for them to go, since Dr. Sinclair was practicing medicine unlicensed in Ambrose and Trudy’s skills didn’t have much of a practical application outside of being an eccentric and volatile small town celebrity. 

You noticed that Bo rarely mentioned his father, and when he did, it was only in the context of his mother. There were no stories about playing catch with his old man or going to car shows together. If the myriad of rusted surgical tools laying around the house were any indication, you had a good guess as to how Bo bonded with his father, since Vincent seemed to get most of his mother’s attention. You could practically see Bo–young, devious, and starving for some kind of positive parental attention–kissing up to his father with claims that he wanted to be a doctor just like him someday. He probably ended up with a front row seat to the illegal and risky procedures that Dr. Sinclair performed in the family home. The one time you had to go into the dusty room that was the late Dr. Sinclair’s office, you almost passed out at the sight of the surgical bed that looked far too much like the one you had been strapped to for months beneath the gas station. 

By the time you looked up from the newspaper, not having read a word of the letters to the editor, Vincent was gone, and Jonsey along with him. You sighed, figuring it was about time to start cleaning up from breakfast and get to the laundry list of tasks for around the house. As a result of none of the Sinclair brothers keeping up very good care of the place, there was a lot that had to be done in the way of cleaning. You hated it when you had to point out yet another part of the house that needed repairs to Bo. It was necessary, but you sure as hell didn’t want to push your luck by seeming like you were nagging him. Some days you really thought he was going to call it and either bring you back to the basement or kill you. You weren’t sure which option scared you more. 

After cleaning up from breakfast, you began the task of cleaning out Lester’s old bedroom. He’d assured you that he had taken everything he needed when he moved into his own place and gave you the okay to throw away whatever you found in there. It would be a long undertaking, as you discovered when you first looked in the room, full of junk and smelling rancid. You had a bucket of cleaning supplies that you kept under the kitchen sink, all of which Bo had bought for you under the pretense that if you tried something smart with the cocktail of chemicals, he’d pour bleach down your throat himself. 

Equipped with yellow rubber gloves and a dozen trash bags, you began cleaning your way through the room. It seemed Lester had developed his knack for taxidermy in his childhood bedroom before moving out, as you found roadkill in various states of preservation in a cardboard box. You shoved it all in a garbage bag, resisting the urge to gag at the smell. 

Despite the monumental cleaning job before you, you were confident in your ability to make the room habitable–for whom, you weren’t exactly sure, but it’d be better than the state it was in. It had gotten to be a little past noon when you decided to go through one more box before taking a break for lunch. You’d set aside some things you found that Bo might want, figuring it best to check with him after the fit he threw when you cleaned his room.

When you opened a small, dusty box in the closet, your eyes widened upon seeing a pistol laying amongst other junk. You weren’t sure if it was even real, let alone usable, but holding it in your hands sent a shockwave through you. Dropping everything, you sprinted into your and Bo’s room, finding a shoebox with a pair of heels you never wore shoved toward the back corner of the closet. Your breath caught in your throat when you heard the front door open, Bo calling for you. Fuck, he wasn’t supposed to be home. Haphazardly, you threw the gun in the box, pushing it back in place before rushing downstairs.

“What’s kept you so busy?” he asked, regarding you with suspicion.

“Lester’s old room. I lost track of time,” you explained, sweat beading at your forehead.

To your relief, he laughed. “Shit, I don’t even wanna think about what’s in there. If you still got an appetite, I picked up somethin’ to eat while I was in town.”

“That sounds great. Let me wash up,” you said, giving him a kiss before heading into the bathroom.

You turned on the sink, holding your hands under the running water until it was too hot to touch, pulling your stinging hands away and staring at them. Less than five minutes ago, you had a gun in your hands, a get out of jail free card, and now you were going to eat lunch with a man who made your life miserable. 

Bo had already helped himself to one of the burgers he’d bought from McDonald’s the next town over. You sat down in your seat, munching on the cold french fries that had spilled onto the table. The food wasn’t necessarily good, but it gave you some comfort with its familiarity. He was in an unusually good mood, which you were sure wouldn’t last, so you relished in it, allowing yourself the luxury of pretending you were having a normal lunch with your normal boyfriend. He told you a funny story about a woman falling over in a hardware store he’d stopped in for supplies. Sure, it was mean-spirited, but the way Bo told the story had you nearly doubled over.

“You got a great laugh,” he said with a smile. 

“Thank you,” you said, shocked and flattered by the compliment.

His eyes were bright as he looked at you, but it didn’t last. His expression became serious, and he picked up his hat from where he’d placed it on the table. “I better head back out. I’ll see ya later, darlin’.”

“Okay, I love you.”

“Love you too,” he said, kissing your cheek before leaving.

After cleaning up the mess from lunch, long enough to be sure you were in the clear, you raced back upstairs, closing the bedroom door behind you as you retrieved the shoe box from its hiding spot. Adrenaline rushed through you as you picked up the gun, staring at it in awe.

You bit your lip, silently praying to whatever deity may have been out there that if they could give you one thing, it’d be to not accidentally set off the gun while you tried to figure out whether or not it even had any bullets in it. Of course, as soon as it made some kind of clicking noise, you shoved it back in the box. Vincent was more than likely in his studio, but with how he’d spontaneously make appearances in the house, you didn’t want to take a chance.

As you went back to cleaning Lester’s old room, you tried not to let your discovery burn through your mind. It was so hard not to, though, not when for the first time in months you actually had a chance. You had to plan, knowing better than to be sloppy and impulsive when it came to Bo and Vincent. 

While Bo liked to have his routine, his schedule could be unpredictable, especially if tourists came into town. You avoided Vincent’s studio, but knew it connected to other parts of town through a tunnel system. Both brothers were capable of ending you in an instant. They knew Ambrose’s layout by heart whereas you’d only actually seen the town on a handful of occasions, and very briefly at that.

Noticing the sky getting dark through the window, you set your racing thoughts aside to focus on cleaning. Easier said than done since you dreaded nighttime, the sunset marking the end of the day, when you’d have Bo’s undivided attention. The evening was routine, as he expected you to wait by the door for him with a cold beer and a warm kiss when you heard his truck pull up outside. The two of you would eat while he talked about his day, but from there, it was a crapshoot. It didn’t matter whether his mood was good or bad, you inevitably ended up manhandled into bed at some point in the night to scratch whatever itch he had. 

Bo wouldn’t be back until late, but you weren’t sure what to make for dinner. Sometimes he’d request certain dishes, and others you’d just have to hope he liked whatever you cooked. Even if he complained, he still ate what you served him. 

You headed downstairs, dragging the garbage bags filled with junk behind you. While you still had a ways to go before you’d consider Lester’s old room clean, it was nice seeing evidence of your hard work. Calling out to Vincent, you let him know that you were going to bring the trash out. He’d hear you go out there anyway, but you quickly learned it was a lot less trouble if you let him know beforehand.

The night air was cool as you threw bag after bag into the garbage cans outside the house. You weren’t sure where Bo took everything when he’d load up the back of his truck every week. Out of sight, out of mind, you supposed. 

Rushing back into the house and out of the cold, you quickly decided to make some kind of soup, hoping there’d be adequate ingredients for it in the fridge. A major downfall of not being able to get your own groceries meant having to rely on Bo to grab the food you requested and not whatever he felt like throwing into the cart.

Just about everything you needed was in the kitchen, and oddly enough, you felt excited for Bo to come home for dinner, trying to ignore the sense of foreboding that loomed over you as you chopped and sautéed vegetables. Things always seemed to balance in Ambrose. Bo’s unusually good mood earlier in the afternoon would be matched with a horrific one when he got home.

You unfortunately experienced such in your stint in the basement dungeon below the gas station, the fresh scars on your body evidence of this. As much as you used to pray for predictability, you hated knowing something horrible was about to happen next. 

The soup was almost to your taste when you heard Bo’s truck pull up outside. Grabbing a can of beer from the fridge, you tried to hold out hope, you’d go crazy if you didn’t. 

As soon as you heard the way he stomped up the front steps, you could feel all of the butterflies in your stomach die one by one. The door swung open to reveal Bo, covered in blood and sweat. Whatever victims had come into Ambrose put up a fight he clearly wasn't expecting.

He grabbed the can of beer from you, throwing it across the room, leaving a fresh hole in the drywall. You ran into the bathroom to grab the first aid kit and rushed back into the living room, only to find him sitting at the kitchen table.

You pulled up a chair close to him, setting out the first aid kit on the table. At a glance, it seemed like his wounds were mostly superficial, so you assumed most of the blood wasn’t his. Still, there was a decent looking cut on his forehead above his left eye.

“I swear to god this shit’s more trouble than it’s worth sometimes,” he mumbled. 

You didn’t respond, trying to carefully pour peroxide onto a cotton ball, only for some of it to spill onto the kitchen floor. 

He grabbed the cotton ball from your hand, pressing it against his forehead as he hissed out, “You sure are too, when all you’re good for is gettin’ fucked. Mama would be rollin’ if she knew a slut like you was in her house.”

Your jaw clenched. You wouldn’t even be in the damn house if it weren’t for him. It wasn’t like you’d invited yourself. He was trying to get a rise out of you, make you feel as awful as he was feeling. That was his M.O. when he was feeling down, drag everyone down with him.

“What? You got somethin’ to say?”

The clock read 13:77 when you reached for the gun you hid in your pocket. Since when did this dress have pockets? Wordlessly, you stood up, firing three shots into Bo’s chest. His expression was almost cartoonish as the chair tilted back and crashed onto the floor, his head rolling away from his body like a bowling ball.

You awoke with a start. The dream seemed so real up until the end. You almost went upstairs to see if Bo was still alive. You had patched him up, and he had made his cruel comments toward you. In reality, the interaction ended with his demanding you sleep on the couch as he wasn’t in the mood to fuck you, and that was the only reason he let you in his bed in the first place. You were nothing short of humiliated and furious when you laid on the couch with a worn out blanket, crying yourself to sleep into one of the smelly throw pillows.

As you shifted, you noticed another blanket in much better condition was on top of you. It felt like some kind of quilt, not that you could tell in the dark. You hated that your broken ass brain made you love Bo regardless of everything he did to you, when clearly Vincent was considerate enough to cover you with a real blanket.

After about an hour or so of tossing and turning, you fell back asleep. With no alarm around, you could only hope to wake up in time to make breakfast for Bo. There were no dreams of gunshots or decapitated heads this time.

A little after six in the morning, you woke up to the sound of Vincent rifling through a drawer in the kitchen. You sighed in relief. Sure, it was earlier than you were used to getting up, but you could possibly sneak a nap in during the afternoon if Bo was out for the day. You hoped he would be. 

You looked at the thick quilt that was covering you, noticing dried bloodstains on it. Other than that, it was in pretty good condition and appeared to be handmade. You wondered who made it, and when. Right away you knew it wasn’t Trudy’s work, all she seemed to have cared about when she was alive was wax sculptures and terrorizing her children. It probably came from a victim, a family heirloom they had brought along with them when their trip ended prematurely in Ambrose. The thought made you push the quilt off of your body.

Shuffling into the kitchen, you were surprised to see Vincent still there. He always made his trips upstairs short and scarce. 

“Thanks for the blanket,” you said.

He hesitated before nodding. 

“Is there anything special you want for breakfast?” 

You watched as he opened one of the cabinets, grabbing a box of Lucky Charms. 

“I figured you must be the one eating the cereal. Bo got so mad when I tried giving him Froot Loops one morning, I just gave up on it,” you said.

Vincent shrugged as he poured the cereal into a bowl with a worn out Snoopy design on it.

“Sorry if I’m bothering you.”

His head shot up in your direction, so quickly it nearly startled you. You recognized him signing ‘No.’

“Well, let me know if I am, okay?” you said. “I–um–I can go, if you want to eat in here.”

He motioned with his thumb toward the basement. Right. Two new victims needed his attention. Still, you found it odd he even ventured upstairs. Usually he’d have to be torn away from his work by Bo, insisting he needed to take a break. Even then, he’d do so quickly and reluctantly until his sculptures were finished. 

You took your time making breakfast but weren’t sure what to expect when you heard Bo coming down the stairs. You’d been on the receiving end of his wrath plenty of times, from blunt knives to bloody fists, you’d taken it all from him–as if you had a choice. Still, he’d never cast you out like that before.

He stood in the doorway almost awkwardly, and you acknowledged his presence with a slight nod. With this, he closed the distance between the two of you, and you tensed up.

“Missed you last night,” Bo said, leaning against the counter as if he hadn’t banished you to the couch.

Those words were the closest to an apology you were going to get. You weren’t sure if you ever wanted to hear him say ‘I’m sorry’. If he ever uttered that phrase, something would have to be terribly wrong. Everything was your fault anyway. It always was.

You shook your head, giving him a forced smile. “I’m sorry. I should have been more careful.”

That was it. Your apology and admission of wrongdoing tied up neat in a bow for him. Unfortunately, his expression fell, and you wracked your brain for what you left out of your statement. Clean, crisp, and concise, there was nothing wrong with it. Why wasn’t he happy with you doing what was expected? 

He didn’t respond after that, and breakfast was mostly silent. You sure as hell weren’t going to initiate conversation with the man who made what he thought about you more than clear the night before, ruining what had been such a good afternoon that you had been looking forward to him getting home. Trying to pretend with Bo was pointless. He always ran his mouth and ruined it. 

You were relieved when he left for the day and didn’t return until late in the evening. Though you did what was expected, as always, there was a coldness to your actions. In your heart, you’d forgiven him for so much despite him not deserving any of it, but the way he treated you the night before stuck with you more than anything else he’d done. 

Your cool attitude toward him thawed over the next few days, getting into the normal routine as he graciously allowed you to share a bed with him again after three nights of roughing it alone, him in his bed and you on the old couch that made your back hurt. Three nights wasn’t even that long, but somehow the separation had made him insatiable, as he practically devoured you as soon as you stepped foot in his room. Hours had passed by the time he finally stopped–your wrists were bruised, lip bleeding profusely, salty tear tracks drying out the delicate skin on your face. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Even though there weren’t as many tourists coming through Ambrose, and even during the “busy season” they were few and far between, Bo almost always had something to do in the wax town or errands to run in the next town over. Lester had come by to visit more often, which lifted your mood. Conversations with him tended to be on the lighter side.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna take a look at your old room? There’s still a lot of stuff in there,” you said.

“Most of it ain’t mine. I’ve lived on my own for a long time now,” he answered.

“How far is your place from here?”

“Few miles. Maybe you can visit soon.”

What you wouldn’t give to spend a few hours outside Ambrose, even if it was at Lester’s house. You were dying for a change of scenery. “Yeah, I’d like that a lot. I’ll have to ask Bo.”

“I can’t see him sayin’ no. He’s got a real soft spot for ya.”

You didn’t know how to respond, so you gave Lester a smile before letting him steer the conversation elsewhere. What the fuck about your split lip indicated anything soft was going on with Bo? You didn’t want to begin thinking about how he treated his other partners. You nearly laughed at yourself–as if Bo considered you remotely equal to him. Besides, your affection had shifted toward his twin not long after the blanket incident.

When you weren’t cleaning Lester’s old room or doing routine chores around the house, you’d hang out downstairs with Vincent. You asked him several times if you were bothering him, but as no victims had come through Ambrose in a few weeks, he wasn’t as busy. He worked on projects that had fallen to the wayside in the urgency of creating with his living subjects. 

The studio was silent, save for the opera music, but sometimes you’d have long, rambling, mostly one-sided conversations. After months of giving short answers to Bo in fear of his temper, it was nice to vocalize what you were thinking, mundane observations and surface-level feelings. 

You knew what Vincent had done, what he was capable of, but when you’d watch him work, shaping and molding the wax like it was second nature, you couldn’t help but admire his artistry. His hands were big and strong like Bo’s, but there was a softness to them. You wondered what they’d feel like on your skin, if he’d hold you, caress you with the gentleness that Bo was deeply lacking. 

If Bo was aware you had been spending your free time with Vincent, he didn’t say anything about it. Sometimes you’d look at Bo, trying to imagine his face on Vincent’s body. You’d only ever seen Vincent with his mask on, and there were no photos of him maskless anywhere in the house. You wondered if his expressions would be like Bo’s, if he could channel the same meanness his twin did. In the part of your mind that was still a hopeless romantic, you pictured him looking at you fondly. 

To your dismay, a victim had come to Ambrose, which meant you wouldn’t see Vincent for some time. As much as you allowed yourself the silly fantasies in your head and tried to romanticize him as an artist, you knew you’d never be able to stomach that overwhelming aspect of his craft. He was just as much of a killer as Bo, but you never had to witness such.

It was only a matter of time. You knew that, but you didn’t expect it to happen as soon as it did. 

You decided to make shrimp fried rice for dinner, having a craving for Chinese food and finding a promising recipe in a magazine Bo had given you. The dish was almost done when you heard an unusual noise coming from the basement. Victims usually struggled before Vincent subdued them, but this sounded different. 

As you considered whether or not to investigate, a frantic footfall that definitely wasn’t Vincent’s became louder as they ascended the stairs. Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest. 

The person before you hardly looked human, and you froze at the sight of him until he uttered a garbled “Help!”

Immobilized by fear, you couldn’t do anything but scream at the sight of the grotesque man before you. Nude and completely hairless, his body was littered with fresh wounds that had been inflicted and stitched up by Vincent. 

You scrambled backward, falling on your ass as you heard Vincent storming up the stairs. He grabbed the pan that was on the stove and followed the man into the living room. You could hear their struggle from your spot on the floor until there was a clang and a disgusting gurgling noise. The sound of the pan crashing to the ground made you jump. 

Vincent grunted, not sparing you so much as a glance while he dragged the man back downstairs. You tried not to throw up at the sight of the raw, burnt skin on the man’s head. 

It took you a few minutes to pull yourself together enough to stand up. Cautiously, you walked over to the door frame, feeling your stomach churn at the mess on the floor. At a loss for how to begin cleaning it up, you grabbed your tub of cleaning supplies from under the kitchen sink and hoped they’d do the job. 

Your hands shook as you put on the yellow rubber gloves. You tried to use the broom and dustpan to sweep up the fried rice on the floor, only finding it stuck to the bristles because of the blood it had been mixed with in the scuffle. Gagging, you pulled the clump off and threw it into the dust pan. A combination of cleaning sprays at least masked the rancid smell with bleach and lemon, and you coughed every few minutes as you used sponges and paper towels to clean the floor.

Besides yours and your friends’ victimization in Ambrose, you’d never been directly confronted with what the Sinclair brothers did. Bo rarely allowed you to leave the house, and Vincent’s subjects were brought to his studio through the various trap doors and tunnels beneath the town. You’d certainly heard things, but seeing the worst of it for yourself was harrowing. 

You scrubbed the floor frantically as you heard Bo’s truck pull up, trying to think of how you were going to explain what had happened in his absence, the snafu in the dinner he expected when he’d come home. Your brain seemed to short circuit as you tried to decide whether to keep cleaning or make a run to the fridge and grab him a beer. 

The front door swung open, and Bo’s rare good mood collapsed at the scene before him. You didn’t dare acknowledge his presence, too afraid to speak. You weren’t even sure if you could.

“What the fuck happened here?” Bo asked, observing you cleaning the mess of blood and fried rice on the floor.

“I—I don’t know,” you whispered, your hand shaking as you pointed toward the kitchen. “Vincent—“

“Darlin’, go upstairs,” Bo said. 

You looked at the floor and then back up to him. 

He grabbed your arm and helped you onto your feet. “Y/N, I want you to go upstairs. Now.”

His rare use of your name caught your attention, and something in you snapped. Calling you by your name as if he knew you, as if he hadn’t made sure Y/N was long dead by the time he let you out of that basement. You wrenched yourself from his grasp and ran upstairs, not bothering to shut the door behind you as you curled up on his bed and began sobbing.

Sure, the incident scared you, and you felt guilty for not doing more to help the man. The feeling that most overwhelmed you, however, was heartbreak. It was stupid to have conjured up a romanticized version of Vincent in your mind, yet it was alarmingly easy to do so when you never witnessed any of his brutality firsthand. He was as violent as Bo, cruel too, but it manifested differently. You wailed at the crushing weight of the realization that you wouldn’t have been better off if he found you first. You would have ended up just like the man in the kitchen, your former friends, everyone else in Ambrose. He wouldn’t have saved you. He wouldn’t have given you a second thought. 

As much as Bo made your life hell, at least you were still alive. After years of feeling average and overlooked, he saw something worthwhile in you, worth keeping around—or maybe you were just desperate and weak enough for him to break you so easily. You wanted to claw your insides out for loving him anyway. 

“Doll?” Bo asked tentatively by the doorframe, the first time he ever seemed remotely nervous around you. 

You quickly gave up trying to respond coherently, rolling over and screaming into his pillow until your throat hurt and your head ached. It wasn’t fair. You tried so hard to show him you deserved to be in his house, in his bed, and it never seemed like enough. 

When you looked at him through hazy, tear-filled eyes, you expected to see that all too familiar smug expression on his face whenever you cried. Instead, he was sending next to the bed, his eyebrows furrowed in the closest thing to concern you figured he could manage. 

“You got spooked, huh?” he asked softly.

A pained noise came from your throat in response. No shit. You wished he would take the initiative to hold you, to comfort you. You knew better than to hope he cared about you, but at least he could pretend. Instead, to your further disappointment, you had to be the one to initiate any kind of tenderness.

Feeling pathetic as ever, you uttered, “Will you just hold me?” 

He sighed, his heavy footfall punctuating his reluctant non-answer. The mattress dipped as he got onto it, wrapping his strong arms around you as he gave you an imitation of the comfort you craved. You buried your face in his chest. His emotional constipation wasn’t entirely his fault. The affection and care that most people grew up with in one way or another had almost no presence in Bo’s upbringing, his wrists and ankles were evidence of that. 

Speculation and “what if’s” did you no good, though. No amount of empathizing with him could ever undo a fraction of what he’d done to you, not to mention the dozens of other people who met their end in Ambrose. Suddenly, you felt disgusted by his touch, regretting your request for it in the first place. It was insincere, disingenuous, a way to placate you until next time, and the time after that, and after that, too. Sobs wracked through your body again as you considered going through this song and dance again for the rest of your life, however short or long that would be. To your dismay, he held you closer.

You cried yourself to sleep in his arms. The room was pitch black when Bo shook you awake, claiming you started screaming. You had no reason to doubt him. Despite the darkness and false sense of calm, you had trouble falling back asleep.

The following morning, panic rushed through you when you awoke late in the day, Bo nowhere in sight. All you could think about was how pissed he’d be that you hadn’t started breakfast for him yet. You practically sprinted out the bedroom door and almost fell down the stairs in your rush to the kitchen. 

He was already leaning against the messy counter, eating some concoction he’d made for breakfast directly from the frying pan. It was the first time you’d ever seen him attempt to cook. By the looks of it, you could understand why he left that to you.

“Bo, I’m so sorry. I overslept—“

“Don’t worry about it, darl’,” he said nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t made it clear in the past that this was one of the few tasks your survival hinged on. “Why don’t you take it easy today. I’ll even bring home somethin’ so you don’t have to cook dinner.”

“Thank you,” you uttered in disbelief.

He glanced at the kitchen clock, setting down the frying pan as if he had a boss who’d chew him out if he was late for work. “I gotta get goin’. I’ll check on ya later.”

You nodded, pressing your lips to his—chaste, routine, robotic. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” he said quickly.

Just like that, he left without incident. Reluctantly, you grabbed the frying pan—a different one from the night before, thankfully—he’d just set down, regarding the slop he’d cooked for himself with apprehension. You weren’t sure if it was edible enough for Jonesy to finish. Deciding to spare the dog from Bo’s attempt at cooking, you dumped what was left of the food in the garbage and while washing the pan, considered what to make yourself for breakfast. You ended up making plain toast before trudging your way back upstairs to yours and Bo’s shared bedroom. 

Shutting the door behind you, you dug your shoebox out of the closet and opened it, staring at the pistol that was nestled between your heels. The damn thing had been burning a hole in your conscience for weeks. It kept you on edge, yet was a source of comfort. You knew it wouldn’t last. It’d only be a matter of time before Bo found it, and you tried not to think about what he’d do to you then. 

After all, anyone else in your situation would have acted as soon as they found the gun. Instead you sat on it, telling yourself it wasn’t the right time, that you needed to plan more. It was all lies. Bo’s undivided attention was torture, but it was all yours. 

Besides, going back to a “normal” life after your months in Ambrose would be a struggle in itself. After the pity wore off, people would regard you with frustration for not getting over it fast enough. You’d seen as much with acquaintances who’d gone through traumatic events. The rest of your life would be punctuated with regular therapy sessions and taking a cocktail of medications to curb the nightmares and PTSD from your experiences. It sounded exhausting, and you were already so tired. You’d rather be broken with Bo than broken on your own.

You spent the next few hours lying in bed, considering where to go from there. Having been confronted with the worst of the Sinclair family, brutal and cruel and ruthless, it was only a matter of time before it consumed you too. 

As much as you wanted to sleep, you were afraid to, unsure of what nightmares await if you closed your eyes for too long. Instead, you stared at the wall and thought over everything that happened in the past 24 hours, replaying the incident over in your mind.

Rage filled your chest at the thought of Vincent, who hadn’t paid you any mind since the previous night, not even to check on you. He never did. At least Bo felt bad enough to give you the day off, even though he had no involvement in the incident. You couldn’t believe you had convinced yourself Vincent cared about you. It was always you initiating conversations, making yourself at home in his studio, thinking he might enjoy the company. He was only tolerating you for Bo’s sake.

Your lip trembled as you considered how lonely you felt. If one of them didn’t kill you, loneliness would do it eventually. After all, if you were going to be in such a fucked up situation, couldn’t you have the slightest bit of happiness to make your survival worth it.

Bo returned home not long after the sky became dark. While you went downstairs to meet him, you didn’t rush. You half expected him to be annoyed with you for not having a beer in hand for him, but instead, his expression lit up when he walked back into the living room from the kitchen. 

“Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Bo said with a smile as he put his arm around your waist. 

“Thank you,” you said softly.

He looked at you with a gleam in his eye that you hesitated to identify as adoration. You assumed too much of Vincent and found out the hard way that you were wrong. In your hours of wallowing, you came to the conclusion that if Bo didn’t love you, you’d rather be dead. 

“I wasn’t sure what ya wanted, so I went a little crazy,” he said, gesturing to the three Olive Garden takeout bags on the counter. “Figured you probably haven’t eaten today.”

“I need to get something from upstairs first,” you said. “Is that okay?”

He nodded. “‘Course, just be quick. Food’ll get cold before ya know it.”

You gave him a kiss on the cheek before making your ascent upstairs. As soon as you walked back into the bedroom, you exhaled, trying to ground yourself despite your thoughts doing laps around your brain. No more talking yourself out of it. If you were going to stay with Bo, you needed him to know you were serious, that you couldn’t take the hot and cold attitude anymore. Either he wanted you, or he didn’t.

Opening the shoe box, you stared at the gun for what must have been a few minutes too long, because you flinched in shock when you heard Bo calling for you from downstairs. Grabbing the gun, you felt adrenaline rush through you as you went back downstairs with it in your hand. You almost wanted to go ahead and fire it just to see what would happen. 

His eyes widened, jaw clenched upon seeing you holding the gun. “Where’d you get that?”

“Found it while I was cleaning.”

You cocked the gun, and his chair scraped against the linoleum floor as he got up from the table, lip curled in a sneer. When you lifted the gun to your temple, however, determination seemed to leave his body as he froze in place.

“Do you love me?” you asked.

“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath. “Put the fuckin’ gun down, and we can talk.”

Your voice was loud and uneven as you demanded an answer. “Do you love me?”

“I—what is this about?”

“I can’t go back to a normal life now. I can’t fucking leave here, but I can’t keep saying ‘I love you’ to a man who doesn’t mean it when he says it back,” you said. 

It was the most you’d spoken to him since he brought you down to that basement all those months ago. Used to brief answers from you, the severity of the situation finally seemed to dawn on him. His hands were half raised as he inched toward you, the handler shit out of luck without a taser or tranquilizer to subdue the lion that had escaped its cage.

“I don’t want you to blow your brains out in our kitchen, doll. I ain’t gonna do nothin’ to ya, just put the gun down,” he said, trying not to raise his voice despite the bulging veins in his neck indicating how bad he wanted to scream at you.

Our kitchen. You were holding a gun to your own head and that was the best he could do. Then again, if he really didn’t give a shit, he could have called Vincent up to help, though you’d be dead by the time his twin reached the kitchen. Perhaps he wanted to do it himself, already having your death elaborately planned out and unwilling for you to take that from him. You closed your eyes, letting out a shaky sigh. Our kitchen would do.

He jolted as you slammed the gun down on the table, rattling the silverware. His eyes widened as he looked from it to you. Holding his gaze, you lifted your hand from the weapon and took a step back. 

He wasted no time grabbing it, nostrils flaring as he pushed you back into the counter. The cold barrel of the gun pressed beneath your chin so you held eye contact with him. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he yelled, a scowl on his handsome face, chest heaving as he came down from the adrenaline rush. “Givin’ me half a fuckin’ heart attack while I’m tryin’ to eat my goddamn dinner. I wouldn’t go to none ‘a this trouble if I didn’t love you—“

His rant was muffled by your mouth on his, your hand on the side of his neck, thumb brushing his Adam’s apple. He growled into your mouth, setting the gun down on the counter to pull you closer in what was more teeth and tongue to be considered a kiss. 

“You don’t got any other secrets you’re keepin’ from me, do ya?” he asked almost breathlessly as he pulled away from your lips far too soon for your liking.

You shook your head. “That was it.”

“Where’d you hide it?”

“Shoebox in the closet.”

His eyes widened at your response. He hadn’t expected you to have it in the first place, but especially not under his nose the whole time. You were either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid, probably a mix of both. Yet the fact that you had plenty of chances to use it and never so much as pointed it at him spoke to the desperate devotion you had for him. God, you might as well have just recited your wedding vows.

He licked his lips, “Maybe I can let ya help me out in town sometimes.”

“You mean it?”

“‘S long as you’re willin’ to do what it takes.”

You knew what he meant. Being in the house meant you wouldn’t have to deal with victims directly. He hadn’t brought any up to the house for as long as you’d been there. The last you knew of was your friend who had disappeared with him to pick up a part he claimed was delivered there instead of the gas station. This was always coming, your complicit involvement in the Sinclairs’ disturbing cruelty in the name of art or legacy or something.

“Don’t make me kill anyone, please,” you implored, eyes glassy as you teared up.

“It ain’t as bad as people say. The first time makes you feel like you’re on top of the world.”

“Like when you killed her?”

He grinned, giving you a kiss. “Remember what I said when I first brought you up here? I knew I got lucky with you.”

He knew what you were thinking. It wasn’t the act itself that scared you, but rather the possibility that you would like it, that just like him it would be something you did with no remorse. 

“One day,” he whispered, voice husky as his blue eyes bore deep into yours, “one day you’re gonna do it too. You’re gonna wanna do it.”

Your voice was barely audible as you answered, “I know.”

“It’ll be the best feelin’ you’ve ever had in your life, doll. I promise.”

[beauregardlionett]

there’s acrylic under my nails (and divots in your palms)

AO3 Link

The quiet rattle of Shen Yi’s keys in Du Cheng’s hand shook Shen Yi from his stupor. They loitered in front of Shen Yi’s door, drenched in shadows in the alley connected to the main road. Du Cheng stood in front of him, picking the front door key blindly from the assortment of Shen Yi’s key ring. His satchel strap slung over Du Cheng’s shoulder looked comically out of place against the breadth of his back.

Briefly confused how they got here, Shen Yi cast his thoughts back to earlier in the evening. He found a brief recollection of an intense conversation at the station—something about Shen Yi needing to go home and rest for once. He was fine, though. Sure, remaining upright left him winded, but they were all tired. Their current case was dragging on, so they worked overtime most days and strung themselves out on coffee and takeout boxes.

Shen Yi had experienced worse.

Du Cheng pushed Shen Yi’s door open, reaching in to flick on the foyer light. He turned and wrapped a large, warm hand around Shen Yi’s elbow, guiding him inside in silence.

Weary down to his bone marrow, it took Shen Yi until they were standing in his kitchen to find his indignation. Du Cheng appeared unfazed when Shen Yi shrugged his arm free to glare up at him.

“You didn’t have to drive me home,” Shen Yi said.

“You stopped responding to me,” Du Cheng stated, a simple fact. “I wasn’t about to let you anywhere near your bike or a taxi.”

“I’m not a child,” Shen Yi spat, losing composure as he twisted his fatigue into anger, just so he could keep himself running. “You don’t need to look after me.”

Du Cheng raised a brow, mouth twisting and hands twitching.

“I didn’t say you were a child.”

“You’re treating me like one.”

“Because I drove you home?” Du Cheng scoffed, shrugging Shen Yi’s satchel off his shoulder and setting it on the counter with jerky movements. “Making sure you get home safe when you’re clearly exhausted is treating you like a child? I’m sorry me giving a damn about you makes you so uncomfortable.”

The rational part of Shen Yi’s brain screamed at him from beneath the haze of baseless resentment. It begged him to stop, to let it go, to not fuck up here.

“I don’t need you to care about me,” Shen Yi’s furious exhaustion won the internal battle, speaking for him. “I did just fine before, remember? When you hated the sight of me? I didn’t need you to care then, so I don’t now.”

Du Cheng couldn’t smother the flash of hurt in his eyes fast enough. It only appeared for a moment before Du Cheng’s mask returned—but Shen Yi caught it. Shen Yi had never hated himself more than he did in that moment—and that bar was already pretty fucking high. He was good at exceeding expectations like that.

Shen Yi shouldered roughly past a stunned Du Cheng, snatching his satchel from the counter as he did. He didn’t want to kick Du Cheng out of his house. Shen Yi wanted to be useful; he wanted to make up for being a tired jerk—and he wanted to take back everything he just said. Most of all, Shen Yi wanted to rewind time and tell M to go fuck herself.

“I have work to do,” Shen Yi said, voice choked and quiet. “If I don’t finish those portraits, the rest of you can’t do your job to the best of your ability.”

Du Cheng’s warm hand on Shen Yi’s arm stopped him, the fight draining out of Shen Yi abruptly.

“Why are you acting like this?” Du Cheng asked. Shen Yi heard how much restraint Du Cheng was exercising. He knew Du Cheng wanted to raise his voice and demand answers—and he deserved to. Shen Yi didn’t deserve this gentle patience and space to explain himself.

“You know we don’t have to rush this case—it’s gone on this long,” Du Cheng continued when Shen Yi said nothing. “It can wait for you to get some sleep.”

“We don’t know that,” Shen Yi said, trying to snap and falling flat well before he got there. He sounded weary and petulant, even to his own ears.

“Shen Yi,” Du Cheng said. He enunciated his name like a plea, voice gone soft with it as he stepped closer. Shen Yi had a fleeting thought amongst the slew of self-deprecation—no one had ever said his name like that before. No one spoke his name like it held personal weight, as if they searched earnestly for each syllable in the space between candlelight.

Shen Yi’s shoulders sagged, and he pressed his free hand to his head, wishing he could lie down. Du Cheng’s hand kept him resolutely upright, an unconditional support.

“I don’t want to fail again,” Shen Yi confessed in a voice that sounded nothing like himself. “I don’t want to fail you again.”

Du Cheng went still in Shen Yi’s periphery. Shen Yi cursed himself for carrying dead weight, for being unable and unwilling to shake off the lingering dregs of their past.

The hand on Shen Yi’s arm tugged him around to face Du Cheng, but he couldn’t meet his eye. Shame curled through Shen Yi’s gut like an infection, hot and consuming. He had not done near enough to earn this devotion Du Cheng so readily greeted him with. Du Cheng’s other hand cupped Shen Yi’s jawline, leaving him no choice but to meet his gaze.

“You are more than your sketches,” Du Cheng whispered, tone insistent. He let go of Shen Yi’s arm to slip his fingers under the strap of Shen Yi’s satchel. The weight vanished from Shen Yi’s shoulder as his bag hit the floor, the coiling burn of despair receding with it.

“You are more than your job,” Du Cheng said, his voice still a quiet thing between them. His gaze pinned Shen Yi in place as he used both hands to tuck under the hem of Shen Yi’s sweater. He helped Shen Yi shed the garment, guiding tired limbs free and holding fast to Shen Yi’s hands when the sweater pooled at their feet.

“You are more than your past and your mistakes.” Shen Yi’s breath hitched in his throat as Du Cheng’s thumbs smoothed over Shen Yi’s knuckles. Their line of work rarely afforded them any tenderness. Every instance left Shen Yi floored and uncertain how to proceed—especially when it came from Du Cheng.

“More importantly,” Du Cheng murmured, releasing Shen Yi’s hands again to cradle his jaw in careful palms. Shen Yi blinked rapidly against the swelling sting behind his eyes.

“You don’t have to prove your worth, not to the team, and not to me. I care far more about you as an individual than anything else you could be.”

Shen Yi trembled in Du Cheng’s hold, weak beneath his heavy gaze.

“Please,” Du Cheng whispered, pressing their foreheads together with slow, careful intention. “Let me take care of you.”

Shen Yi felt on the verge of shattering, but he gathered enough of himself up to speak. He tried to sound unaffected and failed miserably.

“I thought you were going to ask me to let you care about me.”

Du Cheng breathed a short huff of a laugh, pulling back enough to stare down at Shen Yi. He somehow looked both fond and exasperated in equal measures.

“I already care about you,” Du Cheng said in that easy, blunt way of his. “You can’t stop me from doing that.”

Shen Yi lasted all of two seconds in the direct line of stunning honesty Du Cheng so casually offered before he broke. Ducking his head as much as was possible in Du Cheng’s hands, Shen Yi made a choked sound in the back of his throat. He clung to Du Cheng’s wrists and shuddered through a bone-tired sob.

If Shen Yi’s reaction baffled Du Cheng, he didn’t show it. He gathered Shen Yi close, gently shaking off Shen Yi’s grip so he could wrap him up in a hug and press his face into Du Cheng’s chest. Shen Yi’s trembling fingers twisted into the fabric of Du Cheng’s shirt. He desperately tried to hold himself up as he cried quietly, wrung out beyond his limits.

“Bed?” Du Cheng ask, the word a soft press of lips against the top of Shen Yi’s head. Shen Yi didn’t bother attempting to speak, nodding in response instead. Du Cheng wrangled Shen Yi through the house to his bedroom, keeping him upright the whole time. When he had Shen Yi sitting off the edge of the bed, Du Cheng paused.

Shen Yi blinked, eyes bleary, reaching out to snag the hem of Du Cheng’s shirt.

“Shen Yi?”

“Thank you.” A pause. “For caring.”

Du Cheng bent to press his lips against the center of Shen Yi’s forehead, lingering. Shen Yi leaned into the contact, exhaling a shaky breath. Du Cheng pulled back and reached out to smooth his thumb over Shen Yi’s cheek.

“It’s easy when it’s you.”

Shen Yi blinked, stunned into silence. He watched as Du Cheng turned away a moment later to dig through his dresser, producing a set of pajamas. He set them in Shen Yi’s lap and moved toward the door like he hadn’t just said the most cheesy, romantic thing Shen Yi had ever heard.

“Get changed so we can get some sleep,” Du Cheng said over his shoulder.

The door shut behind Du Cheng and Shen Yi stared at it in stunned silence. He looked down at the pajamas and snorted a sudden laugh. Shen Yi realized that Du Cheng had all but run away because he embarrassed himself by being romantic. Shen Yi changed quickly and tugged open his bedroom door.

“Du Cheng,” Shen Yi called, grinning. “Come back here. I want to hear what other romantic lines you came up with.”

“Shut up!” Du Cheng’s voice echoed from somewhere else in the house. “Don’t tease me, you menace!”

Shen Yi went after his voice, cackling. It felt good to be cared for.

[total-drama-takes-takes-2]

tti episode 14

“Last time, on Total Takes Island: the teams were dissolved and briefly reformed into two separate, temporary groups which competed in a lovely brunch of disgustingness. Julia laid the sugar on thick with Scruffy, shunning Michael once again- if that even is her real name. Bonnie had a hard time adjusting to the hostility of the Anon girls, and Courtney to the hostility of Max. Ultimately, Scruffy led their team to victory, and secured them all a weekend getaway from the island. Who will go home today? Who will barf? Find out now, on Total! Takes! Island!”

Courtney and McLovin sit on the docks around noon, both anxiously awaiting the challenge to begin as they have been for the past few hours. 

“What do you think about Staci, then?” Courtney asks, flicking a pebble off their pants as they dip their toes in the cold water. 

“I like Staci. She’s sweet,” he responds. He fishes around a bag of gummy worms he found under the other team’s porch earlier that morning. “And she’s smart, too, I mean- with a family that big you gotta be, right?”

“Um… maybe. What about Max?”

McLovin swallows another mouthful of sour gummy worm. “He seems kinda mean. And scary,”

 “Yeah, kinda. How about Michael?”

“Definitely not,” he snaps, eyes narrowing at the water as he looks down. “Staci is a better bet.”

“Fine, Staci. But… shouldn’t we consider the more adept players-?” Courtney asks cautiously, taking note of his expression. 

“I dunno. Maybe. Let’s talk about it later,” McLovin stands, abandoning the candy and walking off. Courtney sighs. 

The cruise that had disappeared three days prior with the first team on board rolls up, dropping everyone off as they smile brightly. Kelly’s tan is refreshed, their skin glowing and nails newly manicured in pink polish. 

Bonnie looks less tired, carrying their tablet as they talk about the amazing wifi connection on board with Scary, who’s hair looks more washed than usual. 

Scruffy and Julia are last, arm-in-arm as Julia goes on and on about the sushi on board with a smile, waving around her newly-manicured and exfoliated hand. Courtney rolls their eyes. 

---

SCRUFFY: “Listen, I know Julia’s sucking up to me extra hard to get my vote when it comes to the next few elimination ceremonies, but, I’ll admit: I kinda like the attention.”

---

“And then he rolled it right in front of us, it was like, amazing!” Julia goes on, waggling her new acrylics around. 

“Yeah, I was there,” Scruffy responds. “But it was pretty cool.”

Courtney begins walking off as the two finally step off the ramp and onto the docks, just in time for Chris’ voice to blare over the loudspeakers. 

“Attention, campers! As of now, it’s every sucker for themselves!”

Scruffy turns around immediately, almost throwing Julia into the lake with their movement. “It’s the-”

“It’s the merge!” Chris yells. “Very good memory, Scruffy! At least, I assume you’re explaining it now. And of course, that means…”

The sound of the arrival boat horn off in the distance grabs the attention of every camper down by the docks. Scruffy looks nervous, holding onto Julia’s shoulders in anticipation. 

“Back by popular audience demand, it’s… Patrick!”

The campers watch in terror as the boat arrives and the man steps off, eyes as cold as ever. He stares down Courtney and McLovin in the distance. “Told you,”

“You’ll be back,” they murmur quietly as he shoves them out of their way and begins walking down the docks up to the cabins. 

“Additionally, since the original Flying Fujoshis are still low on players, we brought back my favorite- Ass!”

Courtney’s jaw drops. They're frozen for a moment before turning and jogging off to hide in the cabins as another player steps off, this one wearing a pair of thick sunglasses and a deep frown. They take them off and survey the players remaining. “Hey,”

Bonnie glares from a few feet ahead. “Hey,”

Chris chuckles over the intercom. “Yeah, good luck with that! And come to the amphitheater for your next challenge in five!”

The loudspeaker crackles off. Scruffy shakes their head, and turns to Julia. “Well… could’ve been worse, right?”

“Not really. All my enemies never left,” she says, walking off with them in her arm. 

---

BONNIE: “Great. Juuust great. Psycho guy and that backstabbing, conceited, apathetic little slug! Why couldn’t it have been someone nice? Easy? Like… what was that guy’s name again…? Finn?”

---

“Welcome to your next challenge- torture!”

Staci rolls their eyes. “Here we go,”

“Isn’t all of this torture?” Julia snaps. Chris chuckles. 

“Oh, no, this is the real deal,” he explains. “These are endurance tests- if you back out from a challenge or do not last the required ten seconds, you’re out! The winner will enjoy this luxury trailer, and the losers will be up for elimination. Ready?”

---

SCRUFFY: “Yeah, I’m not too afraid. I’ve got some weaknesses, but I’ve been training!”

---

JULIA: “As long as I keep Scruffy around, I should be fine, right? I mean- look at the current players. So, until someone better comes along... I'm with Scruffy,”

---

The peanut gallery (set up for each contestant to sit and watch the spectacle) is tense. Max sits between Michael and Julia, who’s next to Scruffy. The next row down consists of Kelly, Staci, and Scary. And the final one includes McLovin, Bonnie, Courtney, Patrick, and Ass- all of which staring at each other intensely. 

“Any volunteers?” Chris grins. No one responds. “No? Alright- let’s see… Patrick, you’re up!”

Patrick stands without complaint and hovers around Chris menacingly as he spins the wheel of torture. It lands on a wedge with a tiny printed out picture of a jalapeno pepper. “Ghost Pepper Taste Test! The victim must chew and swallow a ghost pepper!”

Patrick scoffs, crossing his arms. “Whatever,”

He takes a seat in the designated torture chair and watches as Chef sets down a single tiny ghost pepper on a plate in front of him. He smirks, giving the rest of his former team a smug, self-assured look and takes one bite of the pepper- 

-just to immediately turn bright red and fall to his hands and knees, coughing like a cat with a hairball in its throat until the tiny piece of pepper comes flying out of his mouth. His eyes are watering. 

Chef lifts him by the shoulders and sets him back in his seat, where a pair of wooden stocks pop up and clamp around his neck and wrists. He whimpers weakly.

“Oookay. Disqualified!” Chris smiles. “Ass, care to formally rejoin the show?”

Ass stands, crossing their arms and walking over to Chris as he spins the wheel. It lands on an image of a woodpecker. “Wooden Shorts!”

Chef walks over, holding a finely-crafted pair of wooden briefs and handing them to Ass, who looks at them with a slightly uncomfortable expression. 

“The camper must wear a pair of wooden shorts while a woodpecker pecks away at them,” Chris reads his cue card. 

Ass’ face suddenly twists into a look of cold apathy, and they put the shorts on, standing still and keeping their arms crossed for the duration of the time without a hitch. At a certain point, they complain about how long it’s taking, but don't move a muscle. 

“And that’s a pass!”

---

ASS: “Okay, listen. I tried things the easy way. I tried making friends instead of enemies. I tried to do what I always do and turn the other cheek- um, somewhat. But I’m not in this because I might have a chance. I’m in this because I’m going to win- whether they like it or not.”

---

“Okayyy, let’s see- Max!” 

Max looks nervous for a split-second, and then that familiar look of angry determination appears on his face again. He stands and spins the wheel. 

Chris grins. “Kanga-Roo. The camper must sit in the pouch of a mother kangaroo,”

No one in the crowd seems entirely bothered by this. Julia rolls her eyes as Max sighs. “Well, okay, but I probably won’t even fit!”

Chef drags out an angry-looking kangaroo and leaves it on stage. Max walks over and looks at her before hesitantly climbing into her pouch, where he sits comfortably. Most people in the audience let out an aw. Michael chuckles. 

“It’s really cramped in here!” he complains. “Like I’m barely fitting in!”

Julia rolls her eyes. “Shut it, shortie!” 

He glares as the time runs out and then delicately steps out without a problem, returning to his seat. Michael- still giggling, looks at him. “Comfortable?” Max flips her off. 

“Oh, and- I forgot to mention, but if you pass your endurance test without complaining, you get to choose another player to go at whichever torture you’d like!” Chris says, smiling and winking. “Just… uh, keep that in mind for later.”

Max grins wickedly, earning nervous looks from both Julia and Michael. 

“Staci!” Chris says, holding his arms out for emphasis while Chef drags a spa chair on stage. “You’re up!”

Staci steps down with a look of utter confidence, hands on their hips. 

---

STACI: “Oh, I’m not worried. On the contrary, this is my chance to finally live out one of my most important kin memories- going bald!”

---

“Looks liiiike-” Chris squints as the wheel lands on the image of a nose. “Nose Hair Pull!”

Their face goes white. “Um- my nose hairs?”

“Yep, and all at once! Chef?” 

Chef grins wickedly, patting the salon chair with one hand and pulling out a pair of tweezers in the other. Staci smiles nervously. 

“You don’t mind if you go just a little higher?” 

Chef nods his head. 

“Is this a forfeit I smell?” Chris asks, popping between the two. 

Staci sighs and nods sadly. “It’s not meant to be,” and she returns to her seat, sulking as Kelly attempts to comfort her. 

---

STACI: "I don't get it. How am I not myself?"

---

“Alright, next up- Michael!” 

Michael stands, looking to Julia for any sliver of support, but she's too busy filing Scruffy’s nails to notice. She rolls her eyes and steps onto the stage, spinning the wheel onto an icon of Chef. 

“Beratement! The camper must listen to Chef berate them!”

Michael winces as Chef steps forward. 

---

MICHAEL: “I know how ridiculous it sounds, but I really did just come here hoping to make friends. All I’ve made so far are bad impressions. If this doesn’t kill me, I hope I drown in the lake or Chris explodes the cabins in my sleep or something.”

---

Chris stops his watch and looks over. “Impressive. Not a peep,”

Michael is quivering, pupils dilated as they clutch their arms over their chest like they’ve been shot. Chef takes a long drink of water. 

From the peanut gallery, Max laughs. She shoots him an icy glare. 

“And, since you didn’t complain during your challenge, you get to choose the next victim and torture!”

Michael turns back to Chris. “Max. Water balloon headshots,” she looks at Chef. “And make it hurt.”

He salutes her as she returns to the stands, Max taking her place on stage. A few interns line him up against a brown backdrop with a huge red target painted on it, and Chef grins while bouncing a balloon in his hand. 

He throws the first one and it explodes, dousing Max in a sticky red substance. “THIS ISN’T WATER!”

“Oh…” Chris says, looking to Chef with a smile. “I guess someone filled the balloons with hot sauce by mistake. Our bad!”

Chef throws another, hitting Max in the face. He lurches backward, slipping on the sauce at his feet and falling backwards. He hits his head on the floor and is out cold. 

“Three out- nine remaining,” Chris chuckles. “Nice one, Michael.”

Michael smiles and shrugs. 

“Next up- Scary! Turtle Snapshots! We chose for you, didn’t want to make it too easy,”

Scruffy raises an eyebrow as Scary backflips off the peanut gallery and onto the floor in front of Chris, where Chef is gearing up to launch a few snapping turtles at her. She smiles, turning back to the crowd. “Easy pe-”

The first turtle collides with their stomach, sending him backwards and creating a Scary-shaped hole in the middle of the gallery. The campers wince. 

---

SCRUFFY: “Curious. That’s the first time I’ve ever seen Scary get taken down so easily. It couldn’t have been intentional, right? Unless…?”

---

Scruffy looks down to the stocks where Scary was put after failing and sees she's disappeared once again. They raise an eyebrow and purse their lips, completely confused. 

Julia takes on the next test- sticking their head inside the kitchen garbage- and fails. Kelly follows suit with marshmallow waxing. Bonnie comes up next. 

“Hair Plucking!” Chris announces. Bonnie rolls their eyes, sitting in the salon chair and staring apathetically ahead as Chef plucks thick strands of hair from their head, only grimacing occasionally. Courtney watches nervously.

They, however, just keep their eyes on Ass, who can’t even be bothered to watch as they leaf through a book. Bonnie glares, gritting their teeth. 

---

BONNIE: “That little worm got Caesar eliminated, and they’re coming for me next, so I gotta be on top of things. From now on, it’s me only. I’m all on my own,” they pause to frown, their angry expression dropping. “Just me.”

---

COURTNEY: “I just know that Ass is going to get me eliminated next. After everything? I mean- Yes, I proved myself and yes I survived Mal, I got much further than even I expected, but I can’t lose because of them! I gotta be at the top of my game, so- no more friends, no more distractions!”

---

Bonnie’s time runs up and they return to their seat as Scruffy comes down. 

“Scruffy, my guy- I’m sure you’re prepared for this,” Chris smiles. 

They shrug. “I’ve practiced,”

Ass looks up from their book with a frown, surveying the game with a curious, but distasteful expression. 

Scruffy’s challenge is to jump over a series of rocks without disturbing the array of skunks below, which they do with ease, delicately leaping from one stone to another like a graceful ballerina, and landing on the other side. 

---

ASS: “My original mistake was believing that I’d get by just based on what I know about drama. This time, I’m coming with knowledge about the game,” Ass holds up the book they’ve been reading: The Art of War.  

---

Courtney performs the grizzly bear log roll and passes, leaving McLovin to the next challenge, which goes by without a hitch, despite the massive anaconda crushing his lungs. 

Chef wrangles the snake off and McLovin spins out of the coil, dizzy but alive and well. 

“Impressive,” Chris says. “How’d you breathe in there, dude?”

“I don’t mind being tied up. Wait- no-”

“Um…. okayyyy. Well, nonetheless, you passed without a hitch, so you get to choose the next player!”

McLovin surveys the crowd with a contemplative- almost guilty look before his face twists into a grin. “Michael. And, um… Yellow Jackets!”

Michael’s face goes pale- even Max (now conscious in his stocks) looks surprised. 

“Well- you heard him. Get on down here, Michael!” Chris grins, waving her down. 

She slowly walks to the stage, shaking a little as Chef wheels out a cart full of bee hives.

---

MICHAEL: “This is what you get for trusting people, huh?” she pauses for a long moment, her expression turning to one of surprising discomfort. “There was a reason I wanted new friends.”

---

“No,” she finally says, shaking her head. “I can’t. I’m allergic.”

“Do ya forfeit?”

“Yeah,” she walks back up to the seat, putting her stocks on herself and sighing. Max looks at her for a moment, a little guilty, and then back up as Ass stands for the next challenge. 

They pass without complaint and stand in front of the crowd, tapping their chin as if considering who to choose for the next round. Both Courtney and Bonnie suddenly look extremely nervous, trying to avoid their gaze by looking around the room. 

“Hm… I dunno… I mean, who to choose, who to choose?” Ass says. “How about… Scruffy?”

“What?” Courtney and Bonnie ask in unison. 

Scruffy’s eyes widen in relative surprise. They look between Julia and Ass, and then finally come down. “Manure Face Mask!”

---

ASS: “Why would I go out of my way to torture someone who was petty to me when I should be targeting the strongest players first? Scruffy has everything- the know-how, a solid alliance with that blonde chick, and experience. I can’t let that slide to get back at some drama. No- I’m different now. I’m better,”

---

After the ten seconds have passed, Chef sprays Scruffy’s face with a hose, washing off the cow dung and mud. They smile confidently. “Refreshing!”

Ass rolls their eyes and sits in their stocks. 

The cycle continues- Bonnie passes, Courtney passes, Scruffy fails at ice cream eating when Michael and Max yell something about vomit. McLovin passes, Bonnie passes, Courtney passes. 

“Looks like the Fujoshis have finally started winning. Too bad about the merge, huh?” Chris chuckles.  “McLovin, you’re up next.”

McLovin walks on stage calmly, even with some swagger, and spins the wheel. 

---

MCLOVIN: “I’ve made it this far, right? What’s the worst that can happen?”

---

Chris beams at the landing. “Wawanakwa Hair Salon!”

“Wawa- what now?” McLovin blinks as Chef comes on stage with a chainsaw. 

“The camper must receive a haircut- from Chef. And it looks like you don’t have much left, dude,” he chuckles, making note of McLovin’s choppy, short hair from the gum Michael cut out of it a few challenges prior. 

McLovin shivers, but sits in the salon chair anyway, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth as Chef revs up the chainsaw, lowering closer and closer. The entire crowd watches in anticipation as it buzzes off a huge chunk of remaining hair. 

The cut goes on- Chef shaves him bald as he quivers and tries to remain silent. With just one second left, McLovin feels the cold blade of the chainsaw lightly brush against his neck, causing him to scream in terror and cry uncle. He dashes up to the peanut gallery and accepts his stocks as Michael laughs.

“HAH!”

“Alright- Bonnie- Courtney- you’re all that’s left. Bonnie, if you can pass this last round, you’ll win invincibility. Ready?”

Bonnie nods, leaning back in the salon chair. “Bring it on! What is it- eyebrow waxing? Electrocution?”

“Even better. New age music!” Chris grins as he sets a pair of headphones over their ears. Bonnie suddenly looks panicked. “You’re real into music, right?”

“NO!”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Chef?” 

Chef turns up the volume on the phone and plays the odd, discoordinated, uncomfortable music at an impossible-to-avoid level. Bonnie lasts two seconds, suddenly reminded of the terrible phobia factor experience, and throws off the headphones. 

“And we have our winner!” Chris shouts, pointing to a beaming Courtney. “The rest of you I’ll see at the campfire ceremony tonight. Enjoy your trailer, Court!”

The stocks release the failed contestants and they rub their necks, dizzy as they stand and begin walking to the showers, the mess hall, or the cabins (depending on the day’s torture). Ass catches up to Patrick and Max, who are walking at the same insanely fast pace, and they grin. 

“So… votesies tonight?” they say in their usual half-sarcastic tone. “I’m thinking Scruffy’s a real threat, huh?”

“I don’t take orders, especially not from you,” Max says, crossing his arms and walking faster. 

Patrick turns in the opposite direction. “What he said,”

Ass sighs, but perks up as they see more people approaching. “Julia, right?” they smile. “I’m Ass. I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced,”

---

Courtney sits outside their trailer, soaking in the sun and smiling as they watch a few interns lug their bags up the hill it’s situated on. They look up as a menacing shadow is casted over them, but sigh in relief upon seeing it's just McLovin. 

“Hey, MC,” they smile, patting the grass next to them before he accepts the invite and sits. 

“Hey, Court! Really nice place you got here,” he admires the shiny, brand-new trailer. “Hey, would you mind if I-”

“I know what you’re going to say, and I'm really sorry, but the answer is no. I need to focus on myself right now,”

“Oh,” McLovin says, bald head hanging. Courtney feels a twinge of guilt, but sticks to their guns. “Um… I was actually going to ask you about something.”

“What is it?”

“Ass has a proposition…”

---

Bonnie continues glaring at Ass from behind them as the remaining campers sit together at the fire pit, the dark night consuming them despite the warm light of the fire. 

Patrick sits, still coughing every few seconds as Max rolls his eyes and turns to glare at Michael, who glares at McLovin, who’s busy making friends with a beetle he found on the ground. Kelly is attempting to comfort Staci, who watches McLovin with a dejected jealousy in their eyes. Julia looks nervous. Just nervous. 

“Okay, so, first thing’s first, we ran out of marshmallows. And by “ran out” I mean used them all for the facials. And then threw the rest away. Luckily, I can just do this!” Chris beams, watching as a few interns roll over a TV on a cart. The TV crackles to life, static playing over the screen for a few moments before the image focuses on Ass. 

---

ASS: “The egghead has to go,”

---

Courtney sits in silence, looking utterly guilty as they cast their vote on the designated paper slip. 

---

BONNIE: “I know what everyone else is doing, and I’m not falling for it. That two-faced schemer-wannabe isn’t getting my vote. I like Scary, but if anyone else is up for elimination, it’s her.”

---

Julia sits in the booth, frowning deeply while looking at her slip. She says nothing, hiding the paper away from the camera. 

---

KELLY: “I have to admit… Ass did make a compelling argument,”

---

MAX: “What am I, stupid?” 

---

McLovin scribbles down the vote in the designated box and puts the paper away with an ignorant smile before turning his back to the camera and unzipping his pants over the outhouse toilet.

---

MICHAEL: “I’m not voting for them ‘cause everyone else is. I’m voting for them cause they ruined the only chance I had at making a friend on this island. Good. Riddance,”

---

PATRICK: “Ugh. Who even cares,” he covers his eyes and fills in the blank randomly. 

---

Scary bounces around the confessional on all fours. 

---

Staci scribbles furiously. 

STACI: “Let’s see what’s a game now, Michael!”

---

The campers blink in silence as the confessionals air. 

Chris chuckles. “Scruffy. Sorry, my dude. That’s 7 to 5,” 

Scruffy sulks, but stands. They turn to the remaining campers with a smile. “It’s been fun, guys. Oh, and Julia-”

Julia looks up with a guilty expression. 

“Don’t forget what we started,” they say, eyes pointing towards Scary. Julia sighs, but nods. 

“Wow. Weird!” Chris chuckles. “Will the campers ever recover? Will Patrick finally manage to stomach anything besides plain toast?”

“HEY!”

“Find out next time, on Total! Takes! Island!”

[aesthetic-empathies]

Loie Hollowell, Expanding Figure, 2020, oil, acrylic medium, sawdust, and high-density foam on linen mounted on panel, 72" × 54" × 3.75" (182.9 cm × 137.2 cm × 9.5 cm)

Loie Hollowell’s Being Claiming Their Space

You imagine finding yourself in Zwolle. You stand face to face with De Fundatie’s anachronistic façade. Its neoclassical temple supports the weight of a glistening metallic egg, flattened and futuristic. Gavels and powdered wigs flood your imagination as its pediment and pillars remind you of its former function as the Palace of Justice, but one look at that squished oval pulls you out of your reverie. You enter, unprepared for what is awaiting you. Ambling through the museum’s quiet, clean hallways, their soothing sonoric and spatial emptiness suddenly dissipates. Like a held breath that finally finds its release, a deluge of visitors renders the space a claustrophobic nightmare. It is 5 PM, time for the official opening of Brave New World, the museum’s newest exhibition, curated by Hans Den Hartog Jager. 

You imagine standing in front of an artwork. It is titled Expanding Figure (2020) and attributed to Loie Hollowell. She is one of sixteen young (read ‘under 40’) contemporary painters featured in the exhibition. The catalog, the one you had obediently accepted and clench tightly in your left hand, tells you this. It also tells you how these brave artists create to counteract the death of painting (a cliche, you must admit). Immediately, you can’t help but notice the figure’s humanoid features. From top to bottom, you recognize a head, breasts, belly, and vulva. Surely, this says something about womanhood and fertility. You are briefly overtaken by a disturbing guilt (am I objectifying the female body?) until you realize the artist is a woman. What a relief — onto the next one. Turning your back to the artwork, you leave the room.

You don’t have to imagine being the work of art. You hang or you stand, whatever the bipedal creature deems appropriate. You’re not sure if it’s right for you, but you are used to being handled. Against a white wall, you are static and three-dimensional. The critics love to remind you of the matter that constitutes you: paint, sawdust, foam. If you could use words, you would say that they are made of flesh and bone too! But you know it’s no use — they can’t hear you anyway. You don’t worry much about the words those walking meat sacks use to describe you anymore. 

You are framed twice: physically and theoretically. Often described as an exploration of relevant themes, you will always carry your creator’s story with you. Perpetually demoted to representation: of the artist’s body, her vulnerability, or her virtuosity. It makes more sense in context, you see! Simple symbolism is what makes your visual lexicon consumable to them. Your shapes are round and bulbous (reminiscent of femininity), your colors are earthy and muted (reminiscent of nature), and your corporeal features are familiar (reminiscent of humanity). Through words, they try to absorb you into their world, not realizing the indescribable is just as emphatically you. 

But isn’t this your space? Isn’t it you, whose figure expands in multiple dimensions here? You doubt your creator will ever set foot in this room. It is not language, but sensation that legitimizes your value. Upon entering, the visitor must reckon with your dominating presence. You hang large and challenging. Through the sharp movement of convex bulges and concave calderas, your body tricks the eye. In rippling cross sections of a three-dimensional whole, you resemble an echo, fading but constrained to canvas. Resonance is not only visually depicted, but palpably felt, like a comforting harmony. This immateriality is your true medium, affective waves radiate the room in an attempt to move the visitor. You are a being of sensation.

You are the work of art looking at the visitor looking at you. When you see fear cross their face, you finally feel acknowledged.

[doweirdthings]

There are No Curses, Only Mirrors - Chapter 1, Part 2 [End of Chapter]

A WLW horror romance

Chapter 1, Part 1

Alice knew that stare meant “Please leave. I’m not sure at all, but I need you to do this. For me.”

David - oblivious to their conversation - reached up to stroke Maya’s cheek and leaned in towards her again. Without breaking eye contact, Alice nodded slowly and crept around the corner out of sight, worried she was about to see something more intimate than she should be a part of. She glanced up at Maya’s clock in the kitchen. It was a birthday gift Alice had given Maya last year. The little wooden clock was shaped like a cat, its tail swinging back and forth with the seconds and the front paws indicating the hour and minute. She’d gotten it online from an artist that let her customize it, so it was painted to mimic Mr. Man’s tabby gray coat and white belly. His acrylic white paws showed it was 5:11.

Alice could hear the two of them breathing heavily. She briefly considered calling 911, but what would she say? “Hi, yes, I’m in an uncomfortable social situation, so I think my friend might be in danger”?

She unwillingly relaxed as the time passed with no further hiccups. There was intermittent rustling sounds, like clothes brushing against each other, and they’d occasionally say something to one another. But it was always too low for Alice to hear.

Not that she was trying to eavesdrop anyways.

After a while, her concern morphed into embarrassment and then finally landed on annoyance.

Why would Maya invite me to be here for something like this? Something that I very obviously should not be here for? To taunt me?

Alice distracted herself on her phone, checking emails, Instagram, Reddit, but couldn’t stop herself from continuing to glance at the time every so often.

At 5:25, Alice was pulled out of her scrolling by a muffled cry. It was definitely Maya. She sounded strained, like she had to force or choke the sound out. Alice felt her hair stand up as she was doused with cold fear, followed by a wave of guilt. Guilt for her annoyance with Maya, guilt for agreeing to leave the room in the first place.

You stupid, stupid motherfu-

She rounded the corner of the kitchen, expecting the worst. Perhaps Maya pinned on the couch by this man with his hand over her mouth to stop her from crying out again.

But it was just... Maya. Alone on the couch. Calm. Content. There was no sign of a struggle, no indication that she had yelled out. Just Maya sitting on the edge of the cushion, back straight and staring at that same watercolor painting that had captivated David’s attention earlier. 

David, on the other hand, was gone.

“Oh… did he leave?”

Maya looked up with a start, like she’d forgotten Alice had been here the whole time.

“Hm? Oh, yes, ha! You just missed him.” She touched her lips absentmindedly. “I’m really sorry about all that. I know this was probably kind of weird for you, but sh- I appreciate you being here.”

“Yeah… no problem…” Maya seemed better than before. Not on the verge of tears anymore at least, and calmer than Alice had seen her since Maya had found out that David was in town days ago. But Alice hadn't missed the odd slip between ‘she’ and ‘I’. It made her uneasy. 

“So, he’s gone? That’s it?” Alice asked again, not believing that that was it. There had to be something more. There was something more.

Maya rolled her eyes and huffed as if she couldn’t even be bothered to grace Alice’s question with an answer. 

“Yeah, yeah he’s gone, stop worrying about it, jeez!” She waved her hand, annoyed.

Alice’s mouth dropped open - nothing came out. This wasn’t how Maya talked to her. Ever. In every variation of their relationship, this was never how Maya talked to her.

Maya looked up at her face and realized that she had crossed a line. Given something away perhaps. She swallowed her annoyed, impatient expression and replaced it with a strained, sickly sweet smile.

 “Actually… would you mind finishing that tea for me?” Maya asked, like an annoyed mother trying to get rid of her kid without yelling at them. “I’m just a little thirsty.” She laughed - not the high, clear, full throated laugh that Alice knew and loved and fell in love, having heard it so many times over the years.

But in that sniffing, animalistic way. Like David.

Alice checked her phone. It was 5:33. She looked back at Maya. 

“Well, I have a thing at six you know.” This was a lie. She knew it and she knew Maya knew it, but she didn’t want to stay longer than she already had.

Maya’s eyebrows knit together. “What thing at six? What are you talking about?” The questions came out fast and angry. Alice couldn’t tell if the anger was from the lie, from her trying to leave, or merely the natural result of Alice staying in this conversation longer than Maya had wanted her to.

Alice rocked back and forth, unable to meet Maya's unusually intense stare. She’s bad at lying and even worse when it’s about something so obviously untrue.

“Yeah, you know. Just a friend that I promised I’d meet up with for dinner. You don’t know them…

I should probably get going so I’m not late.”

Maya laughed again, but this time it was performative. A loud cackle that drove home the point of what she said next straight into Alice’s chest. 

“Oh fuck off, Alice. You and I both know you don't have any friends - at least none that you didn’t meet because of me.”

Maya had never said that before. It was true - of course it was true - but she would never say that. Alice felt her stomach drop. Her blood thundered in her ears. The person sitting in front of her was so far from the person she knew and loved. The person that had helped build her up when she was alone and desperate, who invited her to parties and lunches with Maya’s wide network of never-ending new acquaintances so that she would have people to talk and laugh with as well. The person who, when she smiled at a group of her adoring fans (or friends you could call them, but those terms felt interchangeable when it came to Maya), locked eyes with Alice for just a few seconds as if to let her know, Yes, these people are my friends and I like them, but you’re the one that knows me best. You’re the one that all this is for.

Alice couldn’t come up with any articulate response, because how do you respond to the person you trusted the most pulling at your biggest insecurity?

The best she could do was mumble, “Go fuck yourself, Maya,” as she pushed past her, out the door, into the street, flinging herself into her car. Her only saving grace was that she managed to close the door before bursting into tears behind her tinted windows.

[mokshabongs]

What is Acrylic Bong?

Acrylic bong is a straightforward plastic otherwise called plexiglass. It is like polycarbonate, yet it's accepted it's less poisonous, subsequently more suitable for things like bongs or containers. The intriguing thing about this kind of plastic is that it has comparative characteristics to glass.It's one of the most clear plastics accessible, so it was much of the time used for submarine periscopes and plane windows already. Acrylic additionally shows great strength and solidness.It has about the piece of the weight of glass, yet extensively more impact impediment. Acrylic sheets are likewise simple to create and variety, which makes them reasonable and fitting for many items, including bongs.

Are Acrylic Bongs Better contrasted with Glass and Silicone?

It's hard to say which material is awesome concerning bongs. Indeed, most old fashioned stoners will let you know there's basically nothing better compared to glass. Be that as it may, imagine a scenario in which you need to go with your bong or convey it near the ocean where you'll most likely offer it with outsiders. There we would favor bringing out acrylic bong as opposed to glass.

There are two purposes behind that: acrylic bongs are a lot less expensive, and they don't break as effectively as glass.

Acrylic bongs are, accordingly, better in the sturdiness/cost classification, while glass wins in the smoking experience segment. Acrylic bongs will generally have metal downstems and bowls, which can't convey anywhere near a similar degree of perfection or flavor like glass.

Silicone pieces, of course, stand some place near the two. Acrylic bongs actually beat them in the cost classification, yet silicone water pipes frequently have a glass bowl, so you'll for the most part feel a comparable smoking encounter similarly as with a glass bong. They're likewise similarly as sturdy as acrylic, so individuals frequently pick them in the event that they can bear the cost of something pricier.

Every one of the three materials offer lots of assortment in the plan and variety division (chillum).

Why You Ought to Purchase an Acrylic Bong

Acrylic bongs come in numerous tomfoolery plans and tones all while being really reasonable and known for their toughness. They're a wonderful decision for amateurs, explorers, and your insane party meetings. So let’s dive a bit deeper to see what acrylic bongs are, how they compare to silicone and glass, and how to keep them squeaky clean with no effort (shisha hookah).

How Would You Clean an Acrylic Bong?

Acrylic bongs have a removable downstem and bowl, and frequently likewise highlight a removable stand, bowl cap or mouthpiece. In this way, to clean it you initially need to dismantle this multitude of parts (bongs).

To clean your downstem and bowl, you can essentially place them in a zip lock baggie or a bowl, add liquor and salt and shake it briefly. Then wash it with some water (hookah online).

For the acrylic part, it's most secure to utilize just water or a bong cleaner devoted to plastic, since it won't harm the plastic as glass cleaners would.

You could likewise utilize the standard ocean salt/50-70% scouring liquor technique where you add these two into your bong, whirl and shake until all the development lifts, and lastly wash everything off with heated water. In any case, this strategy could somewhat harm your bong sooner or later. To scratch the buildup from edges, you can get a committed bong brush or simply a container brush you can find at essentially any store. Also, make a point to change your bong water consistently to keep your piece clean for longer.

Conclusion

Acrylic bongs are one of the most mind-blowing picks for novices who need to have a go at utilizing water pipes interestingly. They're truly reasonable, as a rule costing around. They arrive in different shapes and sizes, so you can undoubtedly figure out what plan you like the most, without spending 100 bucks on a glass or silicone pipe (moke shop).

Acrylic bongs are likewise perfect for voyaging, setting up camp outings, bunch meetings and celebrations.The chief explanation is in like manner the minimal expense, as you won't have to push unnecessarily if someone will take or break your line. Nonetheless, they likewise have the best harmony between a light weight and noteworthy toughness, which are typically the main variables you want in your movement piece.

[arrowflier]

Prompt: Mickey apologizes to one of their neighbours for something that clearly wasn't his fault just to make Ian(who's in his people pleaser mode) happy. Later, Ian realises how Mickey was right all along and feels bad about the whole thing and they talk. Basically them having a mature convo at the end

Ian heard the shouting as soon as he stepped out into the courtyard. Mickey had come down earlier to take a quick dip, and Ian was hoping to join him and relax together for a while.

But based on the way his husband and one of their neighbors were yelling right then, that clearly wasn't in the cards.

Ian sighed, and closed his eyes briefly. Was it really too much to ask that Mickey get along with the people in their building? He didn't even have to make friends, he just had to not be an asshole to everyone he met.

A particularly loud shout--something about children, and language, and have some common decency--forced Ian out of his reflections and toward the apparent catastrophe that was Mickey in public.

“Dammit, Mickey,” he muttered under his breath as he rounded the last corner and brought the pool into view.

Sure enough, Mickey was there.  He stood at the edge of the shallow end of the pool, like he had just hoisted himself out, water droplets still lingering on his sculpted arms and chest.  His arms were raised and held out to the side in challenge as he blustered on about public space, and freedom of speech, and I’ll do you one worse lady, just you watch just inches away from a middle-aged woman that looked like she had stepped out of a lululemon ad.

Ian was pretty sure it was the same woman who had stopped him at the elevators last week to ask him to “keep it down up there”.  They really didn’t need to cause more trouble with her; Mickey had them on thin ice already when his response to Ian relaying that request was to play loud, bass-thumping music while riding Ian into the floor for effect.

She hadn't met his eyes since.

"What's going on here?" Ian interrupted, coming up behind Mickey and settling a hand on the back of his husband's neck.

"This lady was tryin to--" Mickey cut off when Ian squeezed and released that hand in warning. Mickey glowered at him, but shut his mouth.

"Your husband," the woman said with a glare at Mickey, "was setting a bad example for my nephew."

Looking around for the aforementioned child, Ian sighed when he saw a little boy staring at them all from a pool lounger with wide eyes.

"We're sorry, Mrs...," he trailed off, but she didn't bother to fill in the blank for him, instead just raising her eyebrows and tapping her sandaled foot expectantly.

"Uh, anyway, it won't happen again," Ian finished awkwardly. "Right, Mick?"

"Are you kidding me, Gallagher?" Mickey asked, incredulous.

"I expect a direct apology from your husband," the woman demanded at the same time.

Ian raised his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, and gave Mickey a little shake when the other man didn't speak up.

"Come on, Mick, just do it," Ian muttered.

After a tense moment, Mickey did.

"Fucking fine," he hissed at Ian, ignoring their neighbor's sharp intake of breath at the curse. "I'm fucking sorry, alright?," he directed at her, before pulling out of Ian's hold to face him.

"You happy now?" he asked, before turning and stomping off to go inside.

The effect was dampened by the soft slapping sound of his bare feet hitting the pavement, leaving behind wet marks on the concrete. Ian and the woman watched him go with drastically different expressions: one with disgust, and one with concern.

"I do hope you'll keep your man in line better in the future," the woman groused at Ian, but he wasn't really listening.

"Yeah, sure," he answered absently. "Excuse me, I just gotta..."

And then he was scooping up the towel and shoes Mickey had left behind, and hurrying after his husband.

---

"Mickey?" Ian called out hesitantly as he entered their apartment. Other than a couple of damp patches on the floor, there was no sign of Mickey anywhere.

Then Ian heard the shower start, and set Mickey's things down next the door to follow the sound.

Mickey's wet trunks were pooled on the cold tile floor, the shower curtain pulled tight from wall to wall. The splash of water bouncing from flesh to the acrylic tub echoed through the room.

"Mickey?" Ian asked softly, taking a step past the open door. "Mick, you in here?"

He heard a snort over the sound of the water, the curtain moving as Mickey's arm jostled it from inside.

"No, it's your other husband, Sherlock," Mickey answered, an odd tone in his voice. "You know, the one you listen to before you take some random bitch's side."

Ian winced. Okay, Mickey was mad, then.

Moving further into the room, Ian closed the lid of the toilet and turned to sit on it, elbows on knees.

"Sorry," he offered briefly. "But she had a point Mick, there are kids here--"

The water stopped abruptly, and the curtain pulled back to reveal Mickey’s face.  His hair flopped wetly over his forehead, water still sluicing down the middle of his face, and he scowled as he brushed it away with the back of a dripping hand.

“Kid, huh?” he questioned  “So I need to go get my fucking tattoos removed because some random kid might see ‘em?”

Ian blinked.

“Wait,” he said slowly, mind trying to figure out what he was missing.  “What?” then scoffed when Ian just watched him.

Mickey just scoffed.  

“You don’t even know what she was yellin’ about, do you?” he asked rhetorically. “I didn’t say a damn word to her or that sniveling brat she brought with her,” he revealed.  “They took one fucking look at me, saw the words on my knuckles, and off she went on her little fucking tirade.”

“Shit, Mickey,” Ian started, but Mickey wasn’t done.

“Don’t you act like it matters,” he growled.  “You care more about playing nice than payin’ attention, and don’t pretend that after all these years you don’t still assume I’m always the fuckin’ problem.”

Fuck.  Ian had really screwed this one up.

“Mickey,” he repeated, more firmly, standing and stepping closer to the shower.  Ian took the shower curtain in one hand and tugged it further to the side.  Mickey shivered in the influx of cool air, looking more like a disgruntled cat mid-bath than an angry man.

“Mickey,” Ian said again, softer, and stepped over the lip of the tub so that nothing was between them.  He took Mickey into his arms, his husband putting up a token resistance before settling against him with a sigh.

“I’m sorry,” Ian whispered into his wet hair, ignoring the patches of water soaking through his clothes.  “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

Mickey hummed into his chest, not looking up.  “You kind of did, though,” he mutters.  “Every time somebody’s got a problem with me, you act like it’s my fault.”

Silence, for just a moment.

“Yeah,” Ian finally agreed, stroking a hand down Mickey’s bare back.  “Yeah, I need to work on that.”

He pulled back, made Mickey meet his eyes.  Mickey was no longer glaring, and his eyes were dry, but there was still something off about the way he met Ian’s gaze.

“You know I don’t really think that, though, right?” Ian asked, disheartened when Mickey didn’t offer a response.

“I don’t, Mickey,” he said earnestly.  “I love you, and you’ve been trying so hard--”

“Shouldn’t fuckin’ have to try,” Mickey murmured, and oh.

“No, you shouldn’t,” Ian rephrased.  “And I’m sorry I’m always making you feel like you do, too.”

Mickey moved back farther, and Ian’s arms dropped loosely back to his sides.  His fingers itched to reach out again, but he got the feeling Mickey needed some space.

“Okay,” Mickey said.  “Get outa here so I can finish.”

Ina obeyed, stepping out of the tub and moving toward the door, but he turned back before he left the room.

“When you’re done, come into the bedroom, alright?” he asked quietly.  “I’ve got an idea to get back at that asshole woman.”

“Apology or not,” Mickey said wryly, “I don’t think I’m on the mood to fuck you right now, Ian.”

Ian just smirked. 

“Not what I had in mind,” he said.  “Now hurry it up, I think you’re gonna like my plan.”

---

About twenty minutes later, after the shower had started and stopped again and Mickey had had a moment to gather himself and get dressed, Mickey walked into the bedroom and stopped still.

Ian was sitting on their bed, fully dressed, but that wasn’t what had Mickey startled.  No, it was the fact that right in front of him was a huge stereo with old school speakers, the ones that used to be downstairs in the communal lounge area, with Ian’s phone sitting right on top.

“What’s all this?” Mickey asked, and Ian grinned.

“So she doesn’t like profanity, huh?” he said.  “Well I found a favorite new song.”

Mickey started to grin himself as he caught on to the plan.  Ian stood and pushed one of the speakers a little closer to the vents in their floor, angling it so the sound would bounce right down into the apartment below.  Then he tapped a few things on his phone, cranked the volume, and let harsh base and more expletives than Mickey had ever heard in a piece of music fill the room.

Mickey laughed.  Ian held out a hand, like he was asking for a dance, and turned the music up even louder.

Shaking his head at his husband’s antics, Mickey took the proffered hand, and let Ian spin him to the sound of their bitchy neighbor losing her mind below them.

[jjaspr]

status: closed ( @deandrethompsonjr​ ) location: opus art supplies in gastown

Loaded down with an armful of new acrylic paints and his head a few miles away back at the apartment where his latest project is waiting to be finished, Jasper almost walks right past him. It’s only his back, which is maybe why it takes Jasper about two seconds to stop walking, blink owlishly, and then feel his stomach drop as he turns around and stares at the back of DJ’s head. That’s all he does for a minute, and in the end it’s less shock at his appearance — because he knows DJ has been back for about six months now — and more shock at the circumstance. Of all places, for it to be Opus feels almost like a cosmic joke.

The idea of leaving it be crosses Jasper’s mind, but not seriously. He’s thought of this too many times, imagined what he’d say, what DJ might say, how it would feel to stand there and look at each other on the other side of everything, now especially with that drunken New Year’s Eve FaceTime sitting heavy between them (on his end, at least), unacknowledged for almost three years. So he sets the paints down on a shelf and, looking around briefly, grabs a styrofoam ball out of a bin of them and chucks it at the back DJ’s head.

“Hi,” he says when DJ turns around, hands shoved into his pockets.

[babbushka]

omg!!! 'taking a painting class and gifting each other the painting they made' w/ young flip as a cute date for the two lovebirds

A/N: Thank you so much for this request! It was so sweet and soft! I took a slightly different direction with this prompt only because painting classes for date night really weren't a thing in the 1960s like they are today, but I hope that you enjoy this little something that I've written up :)

1k, no warnings, just fluff! (set in the Flip & His Darling Jewish Wife AU)

Sometimes, Flip thinks, he’s really annoyed by himself. Because really, this whole thing was his idea, and therefore his own fault, and that meant he had no one to blame but himself, which is the worst place to be. He meant it as a joke, really, this idea of going on a date to the park where the two of you decided to paint each other a picture.

It was supposed to have been taken as the sarcastic comment that he intended it to be, last weekend when you asked if he would go with you to the new art museum exhibit. But here he is, sitting in the fucking park, with you hidden behind a stretched canvas that you picked up from the art supply store.

“Okay, are you ready?” You ask him, peeking your head out from around the canvas, immediately sending alarm bells to go off in his head.

“What? No -- not yet, is time really over?” Scrambling, he looks at his canvas and the shitty sorry state it was in, and tries to find a plan to stall.

“Flip we’ve been at this for three hours, the sun is starting to set, yes time is up.” You roll your eyes at him, always stubborn your boyfriend was. “I’ll count to three and then we’ll show -- ”

“I just need another uhh,” He interrupts you, because he absolutely positively cannot have you seeing this thing that is supposed to be a present for you, but is nearly guaranteed to make you dump him on the spot, “Another hour.”

“But then it’ll be completely dark outside!” You laugh, shaking your head .

“Yes, exactly.” He points out, and this was the wrong move, because you’re putting down your paint brushes all of a sudden, and are beginning to move as though you’re going to come over to his easel, which he has to stop at any and all costs.

“Aw come on, it can’t be that bad. Besides, I like you, so even if it is, I’ll still love it.” You try placating him with the honest truth, but he doesn’t buy it.

“I’m not so sure about that.” Lighting up a cigarette, he briefly wonders if this acrylic paint is flammable, and whether or not it would be illegal to try and find out.

Stopping just shy of his easel, you fold your arms in front of your chest, and stare him down in that manner that looks all too much like his own mother’s, when you demand to know, “What is the worst that can happen?”

“You see how ugly it is, decide you hate me, break up with me and never talk to me again.” The answer comes quickly, so fast in fact that you have to scoff out a laugh.

“Do you really think I would do that? Seriously?” Raising a brow at him, you stare him down, and dammit he never likes it when you do that because he can’t ever lie to you.

“No.” You admits, “But you wanted the worst, so.”

“There’s no need to be so difficult -- ” You start, but in true Flip fashion, he decides that yes actually he has to be difficult, and so he scoops you up in a fireman’s carry and tosses you over his shoulder, marching away from the easels as you laugh and smack his back, “Flip! Put me down!”

“Nope, I’m taking you to the car and we’ll drive far away from here.” He announces, and you only laugh some more, the swooping feeling in your stomach from being upside down having you in a fit of giggles.

“You’re so annoying, this was your idea, remember?” You smack his back again, and he huffs out an embarrassed groan at your very correct point.

“I didn’t think we’d actually be painting! I just thought we could make out in the park the whole time.” He shrugs, sucking down some more of the nicotine to keep himself calm.

He’s too distracted though, because as he puffs on his cigarette, you wriggle out of his grip and jump back to the ground, hitting the grass running as you bolt with laughter back to the easels.

“Dammit -- get back here.” Flip shouts, racing after you, hoping to grab you before you see the canvas, but it’s too late.

You’re standing there, in front of his easel, with one hand on your chest and the other reaching out for you. That’s a good sign at the very least, he thinks, as you look at it and look at it and look at it some more, tilting your head this way and that, looking just beyond the painting to the lake that Flip had been trying to capture.

“Oh it’s beautiful, Flip.” You compliment him, and even though he can hear the sincerity in your voice, he’s still not so sure.

“Shut up, I know it’s -- ”

“No, I mean it.” You cut him off, “It’s really good, I’m almost embarrassed to show you mine now.”

“What? No way.” That makes Flip frown, and curiosity gets the better of him. He isn’t surprised when he sees a near perfect representation of the flower bushes and bench that you had decided to paint, not surprised at all. You look at him, and he sighs, “You’re so talented, I really hate you sometimes.”

“No you don’t.” You swat at his chest for the comment, and he only smiles, because no, of course he doesn’t.

And if, a decade later, you hang the paintings up side by side in the hallway of the first house in the suburbs that he buys for you, he doesn’t complain then. He’s not an artist, not by a fuckin’ longshot, but you liked this painting enough to have it framed, and that coupled with the memory of a date that really should have just been making out by the lake, makes it all worth it for Flip.

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Tagging some Flip lovin' friends!

@mochabucky @sacklerscumrag @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions @direnightshade @reyloaddict55 @thembohux @kylorenswhxre @sunflowersinthesnow @babayagakeanu @safarigirlsp @steeevienicks @materialisthicc @hswritingrecs @miabelay11 @han68000 @rosi3ba3z @chapterhappygirl @loverofallthings @groovetoob @bxnnywriting @glassbxttless @angel-bxby3 @smallgirlbigpersonality @lovelyyy-luna @2000andwhat @raddo1975 @cornmousequeen @metsienmenninkainen @caillea @painttheskylineforme @holding-on-to-starwars @caitlin-was-here @canikeepitonplease @icarusinthesea @princessflip @goddessofsprings @sweetlyours @mrs-gucci @baubub @bucky-j-barnes @mindyoshiii

[pieces-by-me]

Bright Days and Starry Nights

Here is the first part of my story for @saldelys Halloween Spooky Challenge!! I know I’m late and I’m so sorry, I hope you still like the first part. I try to write the next part as fast as I can I just don’t know when that will be. But I already have things in my head that have to happen so there maybe will be even more parts. Like a little series. This is my first thing with an OC and it is an AU so bare with me. I never wrote something like this before but I was inspired by you and all your great ideas you regularly come up with!! I hope you have an awesome day and that you are happy and healthy!!

Words: 2301

Summary: You never know when or if you find your soulmate. Sometimes you find them in the future, other times they come from the past. Literally.

Warning: None this time! Just my English.

On a bright day in a starry night is where two souls are bound together. Because only when the sun and the moon clash upon each other, the original star crossed lovers, do they send their love to two people while watching the earth go by. But just like them, always chasing after the each other, it would seem that the people gifted with their love would face the same fate. Meeting briefly just to be torn apart.

Kellar's grandmother always said that she was granted a soulmate. That the love she shared with her husband was made by the stars. But Kellar always thought that was bullshit.

You see, they met when they were really young and fell in love, like so many couples back then did. And just like so many other couples her grandmother, Marlie, found out she was pregnant while her husband had to go to war. He was one of the many men that lost his life and Marlie never truly recovered from that. How can you? She always told of him as her husband even though they were never really married. He was her husband, he just felt like that and she felt for him, even after all those years of not having him by her side. She never forgot his memory. Never choosing to move on. Never fell in love again. In all honesty Kellar loved her grandmother, more so then her actual mother, but she always thought it was rather lonely. Being left behind by the person you love most, even though they did not choose to leave, and to never find someone else.

Sure Marlie had her daughter and she often said that her daughter looked exactly like her husband but she could never replace him. And after her daughter got pregnant after a one-night stand and left after the delivery of her granddaughter, Marlie had no one that remembered her of him. And not even then did she try to move on. “You don't forget or replace you soulmate, dear. Not even if you met for only a moment.” The answer Kellar had heard so many times. “Well if this is how finding your soulmate is like, I hope I never find them.”

Soulmate, what a load of crap.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ 

“My latte is meek warm and stale, can you make another one that is like I ordered this time?” The blond customer an the other side of the counter said it with so much forced superiority and sweetness Kellar thought her teeth would fall out. It was the second latte she made for the women and apparently is wasn't good enough. Swallowing an irritated sigh Kellar took the coffee back.

“Of course, my apologies.”

“And this time I want a free shot of vanilla in it. I mean i'm waiting a long time for a simple coffee.”

Deep breath, Dale will rip your head off if you yell at a customer again. “Of course.”

Turning her back to the irritating women Kellar prepared another coffee just like the once before, like she did for the last couple of months. The coffee was fine. Every other person liked it, or at least they didn't complain about it like this women does. I bet she didn't get laid in forever and now needs pretend like she's someone big to compensate that no one wants to fuck her. The constant tapping form the acrylic nails that are being tapped on the counter didn't help her in her irritations. Sure she had arcyliy nails herself but come on, you don't have to tap them that obsessively.

“There you go. My apologies...again.” She watched as the other took a judging look at her and then her coffee, taking a tiny sip and evaluated if she'd make Kellar's day even more miserable. She mentally dared her to just make a squeak about anything wrong with the coffee, fists balled under the table. “Well then, at least this one is ok.” Nothing else and the women just strutted away as if she'd just won a battle. Bitch.

Thankfully after that encounter nothing happened at her shift at the café. Kellar may not have worked in the “Little Bean” for long, five months to be exact, but she liked it here.

Dale, the owner, was a grumpy but kinda nice guy. She liked him, even though she thought that he might already regretted hiring her. But that was fine.

Teddy, the soon to be teacher who could only work on closing shifts. Kellar and her didn't work together that often but the times they did were always nice. Teddy was a real sweetheart.

And lastly, to fulfill the quartet of workers, Sam. The freakishly tall giant she just couldn't figure out. Sometimes they would laugh together at a customer, then he wouldn't even look at her and give her the cold shoulder. She really didn't do anything he was just like a coin. Every morning he would wake up, flip and see on which side the coin would land that day. Nice or grumpy. But at least working with him was fine, nice even. He was fast, he was efficient and he only had to flash his ridiculously white smile at anyone who was mildly irritated and he'd get a big tip. Lucky Bastard.

Kellar really liked working here. She got along with everyone of her coworkers, had good hours and pay and she didn't have to ride the tube for like 45 minutes to work like the last place where she worked at. It wasn't the first café she worked at so the training period was cut out and she started to work there right away. This was her third job this year and she really couldn't afford to loose it. It wasn't like she was bad at doing what she was told or bad at working with other people or anything of that sorts. She did a great job at anything she put her mind to. The small little flaw in herself was just that, for the life of her, sometimes she couldn't keep her big mouth shut. It was something she's been told since she was five. But what could she do if she simply spoke her mind and thoughts and other people couldn't deal with that. Kellar always thought it was more of a problem for them and not for her if they couldn't except the truth. But alas her former bosses would say otherwise.

Sam made his way behind the counter after she was done serving a very overpacked and struggling intern on a coffee run. “Can you make a chai latte please?” Quiet voice and head down.

“Sure thing.” She got right to it but kept an eye on him. He was busy taking cakes out of the displays but Kellar noticed.

“Hey Sam? Heads or Tales?”

It was a little routine they had formed a month ago after she was done being ignored or appreciated with the switch of a day. After telling him that she thought he was like a coin being tosses he kinda exploded that he simply couldn't change the mood or thoughts his brain would give him. It might not have been the best thing to pressure him into talking but she simply wanted to know. After apologizing immensely and giving him some space she asked him the next day if he was heads or tales today. Heads= bad day. Tales= good day. He laughed at that and the routine was formed.

“Heads.” Nothing else came from the silent giant. There were a lot of Heads the last couple of weeks.

“Want me to 'accidentally' drop a glazed donut? I'm gonna pick it up right after and you can eat it. Dale doesn't have to know.”

With the smallest chuckle possible he finally turned his head up. Still not directly looking at her but in her book it was a win. He even wore something that could have been called a smile in the right light on his face. “If you drop any more donuts Dale will drop you.”

And a hole sentence not related to work. Definitely a win.

“Well I'm just that clumsy. He can't fire for that.” With a wink towards Sam she turned around for the donuts.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ 

With one hand on her ticket and the other risen so she could see her old watch, Kellar couldn't wait for it to be 4 p.m. She practically hovered over the little machine in the break room. Shift change was her favorite part of this day.

3.56 p.m.

A weird feeling made itself known behind her eyes. A buzzing as if she had looked to closely at the old tv in her granny's home.

3.58p.m.

Suddenly she couldn't see her watch anymore. A blinding light look over the buzzing and she squeezed her eyes shut out of instinct. The light wouldn't go away though.

3.59 p.m.

Pain. Both the buzzing and the light made her head explode. The feeling of both pushing everything else she could perceive away. Clutching her head she fell on her knees. What was happening? Groaning on the floor she didn't know what to do. It was freezing every other movement she could make. There was only white behind her eyes. Burning white light that slowly turned to gold. But that changed.

Out of the gold there was a shadow growing. A shadow that, if you tried and looked closer, would resemble the outline of a figure. Tall, but hunched over, they slowly turned towards her, lifting their arm off of something close to them. Pointing at right at her.

“Kellar?!”

Gone, the pain and the light just vanished as she opened her eyes. In front of her was only a worried Sam, crouching on the floor. Arm slightly risen over her shoulder, as if he didn't quite knew what to do.

“Are you ok?”

Weird, what just happened.

“Ähm...yeah, I'm fine.”

She answered slowly and stood from the ground, Sam following her.

“You sure? You looked like you were in pain.”

Looking at her watch it was now 4.06 p.m. Wasn't she waiting to clock out? Turning towards Sam after finally doing just that she sight and shrugged her shoulder. Trying to be nonchalant.

“No really, I'm fine. Just stubbed my toe.”

Both knew that that was a lie but Sam let it be. She did the same for him often enough.

“Ok well, get home and rest, you need it if you stubbed your toes on air.” Combined with a small grin she knew he wouldn't ask anymore and would let her go. Patting him on the back while walking past him she just threw a cheeky “Smartass” back and left through the backdoor.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ 

Breathing in the fresh air as she made her way to the train station she thought about what could have happened back in the break room minutes ago. Kellar really had no clue. One second she was fine and standing and the next riddled with pain on the ground with Sam beside her. Rubbing her eyes she thought about calling her grandmother. Marlie was know for having short migraine attacks. Maybe this was the same thing. Or Kellar just needed a good old nap. Yeah I'm definitely gonna take a nap when I'm home.

Looking on the other side of the road she observed the people walking there. So many strange people that she would probably never see again. Almost skipping over one she took a double take at the weirdly dressed man standing in the middle of the mingling crowd. Clad in fur and leather, with some sort of metal construction around his legs, he was supporting himself on crutches. He looked medieval.

And the clothes weren't the only bizarre things about him. He wore intricately plaided braids that ran down his back like flowing water. Dark hair so brown it almost looked black. His face was gorgeous, as if god himself patted himself on the back while making him. And then their eyes met. And all she saw was blue. Blue, but so much more.

Piercing and cold, making you want to shiver just by looking in them. But also deep and almost welcoming. As if he was looking for something his whole life and now finally finding it. Kellar has never seen such eyes before in her life. It made her feel warm getting lost in them, and she wouldn't even complain if she drowned in them.

A bus broke their glance and he was gone. What?! How can he just be gone? He couldn't just have vanished, that's not possible, but it seemed that way. Or was she really just tired? Maybe the weird migraine attack, or whatever it was, was at fault for this and she just imagined him. No sane person would walk around in that costume in the middle of the day. Standing in the walking crowd, not doing anything. There wasn't any kind of convention going on and even if it were he would have been at the wrong side of the town for that. She would know.

So he had to be made up. But something nagged at the back of her head. Something that wouldn't let her go. If he really was just made up, then why did he seem and feel so familia when she looked into his eyes?

All through the rest of her day Kellar couldn't shake the image of clear blue eyes out of her head. And when she was finally able to sleep, after a lot of tossing and turning, those blue eyes and the handsome face were her last thoughts before slipping into the darkness of sleep.

_______________________

I reale hope you all liked this and as always: feedback is very appreciated. Hope you all are well ✨