#and when he lost his hat I ACTUALLY FUCKIN CRIED

[more-cardigan-than-woman]

I'm upto 64 now. (My drive home is very long). I think Cowboy Michael might be my favourite. Dude is so unphased. He's already lived through most of the bullshit. And the Cowboy accent has really grown on me.

[zapgraptrash]

1) What is the character’s go-to drink order? (this one gets into how do they like to be publicly perceived, because there is always some level of theatricality to ordering drinks at a bar/restaurant) Masuyo – I just spent ages trying to like find something Safe that they’d order every time they were somewhere that does Not have Japanese things. I can’t really pin down something specific but it WOULD be something specific. Something strong, probably a whiskey. If there ARE Japanese drinks available they would actually take more time to decide on something rather than just getting something safe and easy. I feel like they’d like melon flavoured drinks

2) What is their grooming routine? (how do they treat themselves in private) Ricky – she spends the most time on picking out a hat (if not at work). She wouldn’t spend like hours getting ready before going out but she would make sure that she looks impressive, or at the very least just noticeable. In private though she’ll just wear pyjamas all day if she can. If there is nobody to see then it’s not important to spend all the effort on looking presentable. The guinea pigs won’t care lol.

3) What was their most expensive purchase/where does their disposable income go? (Gets you thinking about socio-economic class, values, and how they spend their leisure time) Zapper – guaranteed his bike(s) are the only thing he’s ever spent a lot of money at once on, he will never just drop a load of money on anything. Even the bike took saving and planning and negotiating lol. He’s one of those people who will put 10% of every paycheck into savings immediately. Most of his disposable income probably goes on things like gardening supplies or fuckin. Cleaning supplies. Or bike maintenance. And maybe committing to the bit of annoying Grappler.

4) Do they have any scars or tattoos? (good way to get into literal backstory)  Dom – her standard issue tattoo is right in the middle of her chest just because. I don’t think she’d be bothered about getting any others, maybe covering that one up with something post-trashland. But she is always covered in like, small burns and scars and shit because that happens when you like to play with fire and explosives.

5) What was the last time they cried, and under what circumstances? (Good way to get some *emotional* backstory in.)  Slyger – slyger cries most often when he’s stressed. So it was probably recently. He makes everything out to be really high stakes so it could be literally anything lol. His pc keeps crashing because skyrim has too many mods loaded. He can’t find that ONE type of salmon at the store but he KNOWS they have it. He wants to watch the new episode of the telenovela he's obsessed with but REALLY wants to watch it live and probably won’t get home in time.

6) Are they an oldest, middle, youngest or only child? (This one might be a me thing, because I LOVE writing/reading about family dynamics, but knowing what kinds of things were ‘normal’ for them growing up is important.) Jeffrey – he’s an only child of a single parent who put like All her stakes on him. Has to live up to super specific ideals and if not You Are Making Me Look Bad In Front Of The Rest Of The (surprisingly large) Family. Like this is only his mother’s side of the family too, he has cousins and second cousins all over the place. He might have some half siblings from his dad but he’ll probably never know I guess!

7) Describe the shoes they’re wearing. (This is a big catch all, gets into money, taste, practicality, level of wear, level of repair, literally what kind of shoes they require to live their life.) Thaddeus – they’re good quality leather biker boots with a bunch of decorative buckles. He spent a Lot on them and they’ll last ages, unlike the boots he used to get which were like ok but they wore out really easily and he Had to replace them because it’d fuck up his prosthetic foot otherwise. Before he lost his foot he’d just wear shoes until they disintegrated.

8) Describe the place where they sleep. (ie what does their safe space look like. How much (or how little) care / decoration / personal touch goes into it.) Granox – if slyger wasn’t around to decorate and such there wouldn’t be that much around, mostly just one or two cool things he found on the ground. Also it’d just be a mattress. Because he keeps accidentally breaking bedframes by jumping onto them and not realising how fucking dense and strong he is. Funnily enough though he actually keeps the bed made way more than slyger does. So long as it’s comfy enough he can sleep, he doesn’t Need much else.

9) What is their favorite holiday? (How do they relate to their culture/outside world. Also fun is least favorite holiday.)  Grappler – Valentine’s Day because it’s the easiest day of the year to have sex (hooking up with other single people whilst single)/easiest day of the year to commit to the bit of annoying Zapper while also being genuine about it. But also boning Zapper. It’s like a whole day where the “objective” is to show affection to your partner and tbh that is how he thinks he shows affection the best. His least favourite day is Veterans day/memorial day because he just (correctly) associates them with his dad and the US fucking around in southeast asia/his dad treating his mum as a trophy wife. He probably doesn’t like have the ability to articulate WHY he hates them so much, but his default answer is that it’s a scam that vets get 2 holidays for being pieces of shit.

10) What objects do they always carry around with them? (What do they need for their normal, day-to-day routine? What does ‘normal’ even look like for them.)  Vilius – she always has cigs, a lighter and a taser on her. maybe a knife too. Probably operates off cartoon logic since I never draw her with pockets or a bag lmao. But like she almost always has a fuckin glass of wine or something on hand. If she’s not like, inside where there are glasses to pour booze into she probably has one of those tiny little bottles of something. This is fine.jpg

[prettyboykatsuki]

♡  bakugou headcanons that feel like a warm hug ♡

➳wc ;; 1.2k (oh my god. what is wrong w me.) 

➳ a/n ;; or my bakugou brain-rot that never goes away. thanks for being my comfort character, you fucking gremlin. forgive the silly title. 

♡ always makes little adjustments to the environment for you. he’s observant to a fault so if there’s something even a little off and it happens to bother you, he’s trying to work around it. 

♡ good at playing guitar but not good at reading music. he can throw something together if you give him a chance but he’s not good at trying to recreate someone elses memory. he’s not like.. musically gifted either but he likes how guitar sounds 

♡ thinks about getting a lot of piercings in his ear because he thinks they’d look cool but is kind of too nervous? the idea of a needle going through his skin is a ick. when you start dating, he drags you to his appointments lol - won’t admit it but he thinks he looks so hot when he gets them. takes a bunch of selfies <3 

♡ needs to be moving constantly. can’t sit completely still to save his life. when he listens to music, he moves his head. sometimes he just runs his thumb over his fingers. 

♡ really, really bad at talking. not in the sense he can’t communicate (that too) but he just likes listening in conversation. rarely adds his own thing. but when he does - always accidentally says something super meaningful 

♡ enjoys subtle physical touch because it is literally intimate he melts inside. a hand on his forearm or shoulder. your legs over his lap. small things that show how comfortable you are. 

♡ likes being held cause he’s a big ass baby lmfao 

♡ wont admit it but enjoy when you choose pretty or colorful bandages for his cuts he won’t himself but it’s like keeping you in his pocket wherever he goes.  

♡ really needs you to find him attractive dslksjk it’s not that he ever thinks he’s particularly ugly. but he didn’t really assign importance to his appearance at any point in his life, yet now he puts in a scary amount of effort. readjusts his hair so much more, makes sure his clothes fit good. fixes his fuckin’ face lol 

♡ likes chewing gum a lot and always has a pack on him. really proud of how big he can blow bubbles and will be a little sad if you’re unimpressed. 

♡ is overly sentimental about things you’ve made him - especially if it’s something super dumb. you drew him a silly little sketch of him in a frog hat? it’s in his wallet behind his id. freaks out when he thinks he’s lost his wallet 

♡ LOVES phone calls. yes he still hates talking. but the way his face looks when he listens to your voice. eyes half-lidded, shamelessly smiling - it’s so tender and so lovesick. 

♡ terrible first grader hand-writing. he tries to write them for you in the beginning of your relationship (to be romantic or some shit) but they’re so incomprehensible pls. if he focuses on it - it can be legible but most of the time ... yea no. 

♡ doesn’t favor tea or coffee but prefers tea if he has to drink one. 

♡ crazy good at eyeballing measurement. even in baking. once made a perfectly good bread without weighing anything and doesn’t get why that’s so wild. 

♡ has the phone on his text set to be bigger even though his eyes are fine. 

♡ lets you do the layout thing on his iphone and decorate as you please. says he doesn’t care but when he sees you made it hero themed/fit with his aesthetic - he got so red it was so cute. 

♡ hates shopping in store. will still always go with you because the one time you went alone a store clerk hit on you.  

♡ so practical. he started couponing when he was in his early twenties like an old man. checks the news and weather the night before, every night. never misses doctors appointments. 

♡ shit at any form of visual art. drawing, painting etc - cannot do it to save his life. but he tries. his hands shake when he tries to draw hearts for you 

♡ blows the eyelashes off your cheek super gently whenever he notices. he’ll like.. take your face in his hands and blow so softly like he’s gonna hurt you. 

♡ used to agree to make pinky promises with you as a joke. now though? automatically holds his pink out for you to take it. straight up pouts if you don’t. 

♡ you two have a song and when it comes on, he’ll sing it back to you. any other time? any other song? he wont. but he always sings your song even without realizing, just mouths it. 

♡ enjoys when you put your hands under his shirt and just leave them there and hug him like that. skin to skin contact is elite but only from you. 

♡ hamsters adore this man. they just do. 

♡ draws frowny faces on your eggs with hot-sauce 

♡ soul leaves his body when you play with his hair and scratch his scalp. the tension in his neck literally disappears and he just sighs that shit relaxes him like crazy 

♡ the first time he says i love you, you’re tying his tie for his first hero event. you’re telling him to that the color looks good on him and you’re smiling. it honestly it just slips. he went on to win an award that night. 

♡ his favorite memory of the two of you was when you were trying to leave the grocery store one afternoon. it was raining heavy as shit. you pulled him in under your clear umbrella and just stood there. he doesn’t know why but that means a lot to him. 

♡ cares a lot about his dads approval on his work specifically. him and his dad have a really specifc bond and he actually admires him quite a bit. 

♡ nothing makes him cry like “im proud of you”. especially when it’s for something small. it’s just something he didn’t hear enough in a sincere way. 

♡ likes fruit flavored sweets over chocolate (generally needs something to do w his mouth cause it helps him think. bad oral fixation) so he keeps little candies on him 

♡ shit at video games. terrible at them with the exception of mario kart? for some reason. 

♡ always loses his keys 

♡ stutters every!single!time! he tries to compliment you. it’s been YEARS. 

♡ takes a melatonin gummy before bed and always drinks a glass of water 

♡ buys you flowers and keeps them too. like does the upkeep on it and replaces them if the wilt. suggests pressing them to keep them for longer. 

♡ lowkey cries really easily. he just gets overwhelmed w his feelings some times and it makes him cry even if he doesn’t want too. you and the bakusquad are sworn to secrecy over it though 

♡ wears his ring around his neck on a chain bc it’s easier to show off. 

♡ naturally good at doing hair! 

♡ likes sneakers but wears dr. scholl's because he walks a lot and is on his feet for most of the day w his job. just being careful. 

♡ loves u a lot <3 

[bitcher-of-blaviken]

The Death of a Bard

Rating: T Warnings: None WC: 1,783 Tags: Modern AU, family shenanigans, Geralt is a good dad, fluff, nobody is dead i swear

Geralt sniffed and subtly wiped a tear from his eye as Yennefer stood beside him, a hand on his shoulder. Eskel stood on Geralt’s other side, a box of tissues clasped in his large hands. In front of them, Jaskier laid in the long makeshift coffin, his hands clasped over his stomach with flowers tucked under them. They were just wildflowers that Ciri found out in the backyard where they were all standing, but it’s how Jaskier would have wanted his funeral to be like. Off the cuff, nothing grand, a cheap cardboard box instead of a grand and beautiful coffin of mahogany and a plush velvet interior. Geralt knew that this was what the humble musician would have always truly wanted.

Lambert stood on the other side of the box. “Dearly beloved and hated, we are here to celebrate the death of Jaskier—“

“It’s to celebrate the life, Lambert,” Geralt interrupted. He cleared his throat and sniffled again. “He had a good life. He deserves to be celebrated.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever,” Lambert retorted with a scoff. He fumbled with the wrinkled paper in his hands. He was dressed in his nicest outfit, which was his work uniform for the post office. It was sufficient. “We are here to celebrate the life of Jaskier, who died from a fatal gunshot wound in the stomach. He bled out slowly and painfully, murdered in cold blood.”

“Who would do such a horrible thing?” Eskel lamented, his voice watery. “He was so young. He had so many more years ahead of him, so much more music to make, so much��� I’m running out of words.” He choked out a sob and took a tissue out from his box to blow his nose into it, comically loud.

“Nobody move,” Ciri called out, walking out with an oversized fedora on. It was nearly falling over her eyes as she stomped out, her chest puffed out despite the large trenchcoat she wore trailing half behind her on the ground. “We have reason to believe the murderer is among this group. Nobody gets in or out.”

Gasps came from all of them.

“Oh come on lady, all of us loved the guy. Some more than others,” Lambert said with a pointed look at Geralt, who flushed. “None of us would kill him. We don’t even have guns.”

“Is that so?” Ciri asked, showing them all a plastic ziploc bag. Inside was a tiny, bright pink water gun. “I’m Detective Cirilla. We found this on the crime scene.”

More gasps from all of them, though there was barely suppressed snickers from Lambert.

“You think this is funny, do you?” Ciri asked as she strode over to Lambert. “There is a man dead in front of us and you think to laugh? Sounds like something the murderer would do.”

“No I’m laughing because it’s a fuckin’ pink water gun,” Lambert interjected with a grin.

“Language,” Yennefer chided.

“No, it is the murder weapon and you better start giving an alibi or you’re going to jail for some interrogation,” Ciri insisted with a shake of the ziploc bag. The harmless water gun rattled around inside of it.

Lambert cleared his throat and put his hands up at the equally hard stares from everyone else at the funeral. “Fine,” he relented. “I was in the kitchen, getting dinner ready.”

“What were you cooking?” Ciri asked, her tone and glare so serious that Geralt even saw Yennefer have to bring a hand up to suppress a smile.

“Pancakes,” Lambert replied equally as seriously. He even crossed his arms and leaned down to meet Ciri’s glare, their noses nearly touching.

“Hm. A likely story,” Ciri relented with a huff. She marched over to Eskel and pointed a tiny finger up at him. Geralt had to hand it to him, he still managed to look convincingly frightened even with an eight year-old in a too big hat and far too big trenchcoat pouting up at him. “And what about you? What were you doing at the time of the murder?”

“I was just— reading with Kitty curled up on my lap. I wasn’t able to move, much less murder someone. I’ve never seen that gun in my life,” Eskel defended, his hands up. “I swear detective, I would have never!”

“I see, and you?” Ciri asked as she whirled around to point at Geralt.

“You think I would have murdered him?” Geralt asked, his tone coming out more flat than it probably should have. He wasn’t good at the theatrics like Eskel and Lambert were. “We just married last week, we were supposed to go on our honeymoon. You were there detective.” It was true, Ciri had married him and Jaskier last week.

“I see,” Ciri said, rubbing her chin as she thought. “But what about his will?”

“What about it?” Geralt asked.

“I have it here,” Lambert said as he cleared his throat. He pulled out a folded piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it.

“Well? Don’t tarry on man, read it!” Ciri demanded. Geralt bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. At least she was learning a wide range of vocabulary.

“Yeah yeah, it says ‘If I die, I leave all of my earthly possessions to my newly wedded husband Geralt, including…” Lambert gave a loud gasp.

“What does it say? Including what?!” Ciri asked.

“It says ‘Including my super duper big family inheritance that I have stored away in the coast of Belize’. He was loaded!” Lambert exclaimed.

“Let me see that,” Ciri said as she snatched the paper out of Lambert’s hands. She hummed as she looked over the paper, which really just had the will written out in crayon with multiple words misspelled, including Geralt’s name, but nobody commented on that. She gasped and waved the paper. “This will is forged! I knew it!”

Everyone else gasped as well.

“Forged?” Yennefer asked.

“Yes! His signature was faked,” Ciri decided as she showed the paper to Yennefer.

A loud snore from the “coffin” interrupted them, and Geralt kicked the cardboard box. Jaskier gave a yelp from the jostling.

“Corpses don’t snore,” Geralt chided.

“Sorry, sorry, I was just comfy, and you all were droning on, it faded into background noise,” Jaskier mumbled. He yawned and rubbed his eyes as he settled back in the cardboard box. He reached up with one hand, gesturing in a small circle. “Continue.”

“Thank you sir,” Ciri said with a nod. “Sorry about your death.”

“Thank you for your condolences detective,” Jaskier said. “I shall now go back to being dead now. Blargh.”

Geralt huffed a laugh as Jaskier put his hands back on his stomach and clasped them over the flowers again.

“Now! Who would gain from such a forgering, if not Geralt!” Ciri declared as she rounded back on Geralt. “You murdered your new husband in cold blood, to take his secret fortune for yourself!”

“I wouldn’t,” Geralt protested with another sniffle. “I— loved him. A lot. I was really looking forward to the honeymoon. We even had our entire trip planned.” He produced the two strips of green construction paper from his jacket pocket, with the words “Honeymoon tickets” written on them in crayon with a lot of little red hearts around the words.

“I see,” Ciri said, taking the tickets from him to inspect them carefully. “But then why forge the will?”

“I was framed,” Geralt sighed. “Someone must have wanted me to be out of the way. Someone who would have gotten the fortune instead.”

“Someone like..his long lost sister?!” Ciri asked as she pointed an accusatory finger at Yennefer.

“How did you know detective?” Yennefer gasped, a hand on her chest.

“In the victim’s bedroom, I found the actual will stuffed under the mattress!” Ciri said as she whipped out another piece of paper. Everyone gasped again. “But this one says the exact same thing as the forged one! Everything is to be left to Geralt, including his super duper huge family fortune! So why would Geralt have forged a will if he was going to get Jaskier’s family fortune anyways?” She waved the paper at Yennefer. “So I looked around, and found a chain of letters between you two! He wanted to reconnect with his lost sister, and told you about the fortune he inherited from your parents that he was going to share with Geralt!”

“It should have stayed in the family!” Yennefer cried.

“Exactly! And if the forged will was deemed trash and I hadn’t found the true will, then it would have gone to you!” Ciri said with a proud grin. She mirrored Yennefer’s pose, her hands on her hips as she puffed her chest out. “Case closed!”

“Argh, I was so close to getting away with it,” Yennefer said as she offered her hands for Ciri to clasp the toy handcuffs on her.

“Close only counts in horseshoes, hand grenades, and— um.” Ciri paused, trying to remember.

“Certain nuclear weapons,” Lambert reminded her with a snicker.

“Yeah!” Ciri said with a grin. “Just like my Uncle Lambert always says!” She bounced and grabbed one of Yennefer’s hands. “The judge has already decided your sentence. It’s a thousand years in jail! We’re locking you away for a long time.”

“That seems fair for a murder,” Yennefer relented as she let Ciri tug her back into the house.

Geralt smiled as he watched them disappear inside, and he turned to help Jaskier stand up out of the box. Jaskier winced and rubbed his backside.

“Ah, that was cold,” he said.

“I told you,” Lambert snickered. “Not so funny when it’s your turn to be dead, now is it?”

“I think I liked it better when Ciri was marrying us to each other,” Eskel muttered. “Are you sure she should be watching those crime shows?”

“Can’t really stop her,” Geralt said with a shrug. “It teaches her big words, and at least that way we don’t have to try to explain to her what incest is and why it’s bad.”

“I was having the time of my life,” Lambert teased with a snicker. “I rocked that wedding dress.”

“Geralt wore it better,” Jaskier fired back with a grin.

��Dead people don’t get opinions,” Lambert said as he led the way to the house again. “Come on, let’s get inside before the detective eats all of the carrots.”

Jaskier slipped his hand into Geralt’s and kissed his cheek. “I absolutely would leave you my super duper big family fortune that I stashed on the coast of Belize if I had it,” he cooed.

“I know,” Geralt chuckled.

“Do you think she even knows where Belize is?”

“Probably not.”

[minnie-mei]

okay so hyde likes knives, blood, and tattoos. and he can be both masochistic and sadistic,,,,and he is possessive,,,,,imagine, he takes his favourite knife and writes hyde on his darlings arm, then gives the knife to her and makes her to do the same to him,,,,,blood oozes from both of their names,,,and then they mutually lick the blood hohoho sorry i’m nasty 👉🏽👈🏽😳

cut me | jackson hyde

yandere oc !

scenario !

gn! reader

note; this is right up his alley bitch thank you for this request 👁️👄👁️

WARNING(S): NSFW !!! AT THE END, swearing, obsessive/possessive behavior, abusive themes, graphic violence, implied kidnapping, blood, sensitive topics

This wasn't an unfamiliar sight; Jackson Hyde coming home covered in blood after returning from a kill. But it was, however, the first time he returned injured.

It wasn't a major injury or anything, the blood on him wasn't his, but he had a deep, messy cut running down his jawline. You weren't sure if he felt it or not; he was moving around perfectly fine, save for his breathing being slightly heavier and movements a bit rushed. He began stripping down as he usually did, ridding himself of his black shirt and hat and throwing them into the hallway. You were sure there were stains on the floor from where he did that so often, but it wasn't like you were ever given the chance to look.

"C'mere, Doll." He snapped his large fingers, pointing to the edge of the bed. His hands ruffled through the messy black hair atop his head, before pulling a familiar knife from his belt.

You thought it was pretty and he knew it. That's why it was his favorite, actually. You remember when he lined out all his blades in front of you and asked you to pick which one you thought was best. You'd picked an 8-inch, black handled hunting knife with daisy patterns decorating the silver. It was ironic how delicate it looked despite its intended purpose.

You were shaking by the time you crawled over to where he wanted you. He didn't waste any time either, rushing to lean down and press his lips to yours, the blood from his jaw smearing on your chin and dripping down your neck.

"Shh." He shushed your whimper, shoving you roughly back onto the bed before pinning your arms down with one hand, his other clasping his knife. Crawling up your body, he moved to straddle your thighs to keep you from kicking, his hands unmoving. It was entirely too quiet in the house, at least to you. The only thing that could be heard was Hyde's heavy breathing.

The raven haired man wasn't moving, preferring to stare at your body below him instead. You were wearing nothing but his favorite Mötley Crüe t-shirt, a garment that was maybe six sizes too big for you, and a pair of skimpy pink panties he'd bought for you as a shitty surprise gift only a day ago. You knew he liked seeing his shirts on you, they were all he gave you to wear and he'd told you on multiple occasions how fuckable you looked when wearing them. But he'd never watched you beneath him for this long before.

"Ya so pretty." He said suddenly, his crazed hazel his glaring into yours, "Mine. You're mine, ya know that? Forever."

His large left hand gripped down on yours harder when you started to struggle, having spotted his knife moving down your body.

"Jack-!" You gasped his nickname out, knowing how well he liked when you used it, "I've been good!"

"So good." He agreed, using his knife to push the shirt further towards your chest, revealing the soft skin of your stomach.

You jerked when the cold silver touched your ribs, "So- ah- why...?!"

"It's not a fuckin punishment, so relax, Doll." He scoffed, some form of desperation still strong in his voice, "This'll be good for us..."

To be fair, the cuts weren't that deep, just barely enough to scar. But that didn't stop the broken screams from leaving your lips at the sharp metal dragging across your upper abdomen. Hyde didn't seem to mind the screams, probably used to them now that you thought about it. He just continued, humming some rock song to himself with a sick look of satisfaction across his face.

He cooed at you when he was done, dropping the knife and pulling your hands to his mouth to press sweet kisses to your fingers, "Ya did good, baby~ Took me cuttin' up ya little tummy so well, huh?"

Excluding the carving of your stomach, he'd never actually been this sweet with you before. He was usually blunt or sarcastic, only nice if it was in a teasing way. He was gentle sometimes but always sure to make up for it with plenty of bites and rough pinches.

"'Don't gotta cry..." he kissed your tears away to the best of his ability, "Ya get ta do it ta me." He chuckled darkly when your sobs began dying down out of surprise, "I'm yours too. Here, here..."

The knife was shoved into your hands, Hyde forcing you to grip it as he still hovered over you. He didn't have to speak out loud for you to know what he wanted. His eyes said it all.

'cut me'

Jackson Hyde's upper body was covered in tattoos, save for most of his abs and right side of his chest. You guessed he was just giving you full reign of where he wanted you to cut him. What should you write? You didn't even know what he put on you yet. When you looked down to find out, all you could see was red.

"Ya name, Doll. Put ya name." He whispered, licking his lips and pulling the knife closer to his chest.

You could admit to yourself that a piece of you had always wanted to inflict harm on your captor, but now that you were actually presented with the opportunity? You were scared. Was this some sort of test? He'd certainly tested you before. But something was different about this time; he looked so genuine. He was practically vibrating in anticipation. There'd never been a time before this when you'd seen him anything other than calm and cocky.

When you allowed the blade to touch his chest, rather than the hiss of pain you expected, a happy hum left him. You swallowed nervously, continuing to drag the knife down to shape the first letter of your name. The way he shook out of pleasure made you want to just stab through his ribcage. You had all the power at the moment. Even his hulking figure couldn't beat a hunting knife. But something stopped you: this was kind of nice, in a sick way. For the first time in months you didn't feel entirely like an unloved victim. Well obviously you just had something carved into you, but the affection was nice and so was the small taste of power.

"I-I love you, Doll." Jackson sputtered out, high off the pain and feeling of being claimed by someone, "I own you. 'Love touchin' you 'n hurtin' you. 'Want ya ta touch 'n hurt me too."

You hated how attractive he was, especially when he grinned like that. You hated his stupid Boston accent too, it just made him hotter. Somehow though, it was good for distracting you from the blood flowing down the knife to your arm, only adding to your own blood covering your body. His jaw had stopped bleeding heavily and hadn't dripped on you since he first started using the blade.

It was taken from your hand and tossed to the ground the moment you finished your name. You thought it was because he didn't want to risk you stabbing him for real, but you were proven wrong when he slid down your body and stuck his tongue to the cuts on your stomach.

And fuck did it burn.

"Stop-- stop!" You sobbed out, tears flooding back.

Of course he didn't, he didn't pay any mind to your pleas at all. He continued to drag his warm muscle across the red liquid and stinging wounds. You gripped his dark hair in your hands tightly, knowing better than to try and push his head away. If you did, he'd probably switch to biting you. Lost in your pain, you seemed to forget just how much he liked his hair pulled. His lips switched from your abdomen to your mouth in a second, swallowing your cries and gasps.

The remaining bit of blood he had on his tongue slipped onto your own, forcing you to taste the metallic flavor. His kisses were never soft, just like they weren't now. They were rough and hungry, full of the lust he didn't have moments ago. On the bright side, at least your cuts weren't being sucked on any longer, just your lips. As if sensing your relief, Hyde pulled back to stare at you. He was using his left elbow to hold himself up, the same hand was tangled in your hair to keep you down. You could only watch, out of breath, as his right index and middle fingers traveled up to his chest to catch some of the fresh blood there.

The bloodied digits were shoved into your mouth before you had a chance to process what he was doing. You didn't want to swallow at first but when he sunk his fingers deep enough to make you gag a couple times, you knew you didn't have a choice.

"'Taste good, Baby?" He smirked, his tongue running over his teeth. His eyes were back to normal now; dark, animalistic, and threatening. The 'softer' moment you were having before had apparently ended.

He was exceptionally rough with you the rest of that night; you'd eventually passed out from both exhaustion and blood loss. You had no doubts that he continued to fuck you after you lost consciousness, something he's done before (though he tries to make up for it by bringing you 'presents'). Your thoughts were only confirmed by the stickiness you felt between your legs when you woke up the next morning. You felt sticky everywhere actually, and that's how you realised you were still covered in blood, along with the sheets and blankets.

Jackson had gone to work already it was a Tuesday, leaving you to clean yourself up. He wasn't very consistent with his affection for you; sometimes he was sweet and gave you tons of aftercare, and sometimes he just dumped your limp body and fucked off. It was the latter today.

You knew what was most likely written on your stomach, but you couldn't tell by just looking in the mirror. The blood was so heavily cached on your skin that you could only see red. Blood was all over you: stomach, chest, limbs, and face. It was even in your hair and under your nails.

You kind of regretted taking a shower though. You weren't sure if feeling clean was better than feeling dirty if you had to see yourself claimed like this. Because there, carved surprisingly neatly into your upper abdomen was his name:

'J. HYDE'

___

i... rlly love him lmao

- Admin Duckie

[c-c-cherry]

Hmmmmm... JotaKak headcanons? If you want to, of course, just thought some p3 would be nice. It can be platonic or romantic, whichever you like best!

Yo! I’m such shit at writing shippy stuff so I went down the platonic bro route :)

You can tell I have insane brain rot right now because I went a bit too hard on all of these oops-

I’m so sorry about the last one its too cursed drghkjfhg

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Kakyoin is a very active sleeper.

-You can always catch him moving around, twitching, mumbling, etc…he’s a nightmare to share a bed with

-He can’t control it at all, so Jotaro would pay no mind to it when they had to share rooms and tried to ignore it—until it got progressively worse

-He started to notice when Kakyoin would get nightmares, he wouldn’t be able to wake up from them, he would just keep on thrashing around until someone would shake him awake (which he ends up doing more times that Kak would like to admit)

-He never talks about what they're about but judging on what he says in his sleep, Jotaro has a pretty good idea

-He absolutely cannot be touched when he’s finally awake, so stand hugs become a recurring thing :)

- It gets to a point where Star ends up sitting at the end of Kakyoin’s bed all night just watches him to make him feel safer

-Jotaro claims that he doesn’t have control over Star Platinum’s overprotective nature but that’s not entirely true

Since they’re the only two who speak fluent Japanese, they crack jokes with each other all the time and have little conversations with each other way more than they do with the others.

-Kakyoin spent a pretty long period of time studying English (having no friends will do shit to you,) but Jotaro isn’t as confident with his

-Kakyoin is the only one in the group who knows that Joot isn’t just soft spoken, but instead mega self-conscious about his English

-Does he make Kakyoin order food for him? Yes. Does he make him ask for directions? Yes. Does Kakyoin always tease him about it? Yes.

-Kakyoin makes Jotaro speak only in English an hour before they go to bed to help him learn and he feels so fucking stupid because his pronunciation is awful and he can barely say any shit without his face turning red but he does it anyway because he knows it'll help :)

Jotaro is not emotionless.

-I read in the back of my Stardust manga that Jotaro just bottles up his feelings for the sake of the importance of the mission to defeat DIO and I just- dfkjghsdahfd

-Although Kakyoin just cries freely whenever he feels like it, our boy Joot Doot has alternative outlets

-Shit like crying in the shower, while everyone’s asleep, or outside are stuff he’ll do but only if he’s positive that he’ll be alone

-After a particularly rough fight, they checked into their hotel rooms and while Kakyoin left to go get something to eat, Jotaro just collapses onto his bed and fuckin bawls

-Star is squeezing him so hard and he’s so out of it that he doesn’t even notice Kakyoin walk back into the room and jesus is our boy shocked

-Jotaro braces himself for a round of taunts but instead he just sits down next to him and asks him if he wants to talk about it :’)

-He doesn’t but its always good to have a bro to sit and cry with

After the Death 13 fight, Kakyoin refuses to sleep.

-Fairly enough, he’s worried that he might not wake up again

-He knows he should talk to someone about it, but if he brings up anything that happened in the desert that day, they‘ll just assume he’s lost his mind again

-So he refuses to sleep, instead

-Jotaro starts to notice things when Kakyoin starts looking rough—our boy had the eyebags, the exhausted expression, on-edge demeanor, the whole-ass package— but Kakyoin just dismisses it as nothing

-He decides to wait to go to sleep until Kakyoin closes his eyes first, and when he just doesn’t, he starts to get concerned

-Jotaro finally confronts him about it and Kakyoin gets ready to deny any of his questions, but something inside him snaps and he tells him everything and Jotaro believes him

-Death 13 was the only tarot card they hadn’t fought yet, so why would he lie about that?

-Although he offhandedly refuses to sleep, the next night Jotaro busts in with this giant mug of sleepy tea and makes him drink every last drop in front of him

-Jotaro thought that would convince him to finally close his eyes, but once he feels too tired to keep them open, he starts freaking the fuck out

-The night ends with Star Plat holding him until he’s able to get to sleep (because who wouldn’t feel safe in the warm arms of a purple punch ghost?) and Jotaro making sure that he stayed that way

-His insomnia never fully went away, but he’s got his best homie to help him out whenever sleep ails him :)

Jotaro is actually really insecure about his height.

-It was pretty typical to poke Joot about his height because, well, he’s a 17 year old that already reaches 6’5”

-It was also pretty typical for Joot to pull down his hat and say nothing because that’s how he reacts to everything

-It wasn’t until the two of them were chilling in their hotel rooms one night when Jotaro quietly popped the question: “Do you think I’m too tall?”

-Kak almost laughs at that but when he sees the concerned look on his face, he realizes, oh my god, he’s actually serious

-His mind immediately goes back to all the times that he’s seen Jotaro staring at himself in the mirror, preferring to sit in the back of the car and never walking side-by-side with any of them

-And he suddenly feels really, really bad

-Jotaro doesn’t talk about it much, but Kakyoin knows he feels the worst when Joseph talks about it even though he knows Joseph is probably just proud of the Joestar trait being passed on

-He stops making comments on his height and always makes sure that he’s not seen as some kind of “freak” for something as stupid as his height :)))

They tried to dye Jotaro’s hair once.

-YES this is total crack but here me out

-Kakyoin finds some cheap-ass hair dye in some store or market

-He busts in and before Jotaro can even speak, Kakyoin is already planning how he’s gonna do this

-Joot is completely opposed to the idea, but Kakyoin says he’ll tell Avdol and Polnareff that Jotaro ate the rest of their chocolate (which he did in fact do)

-They grab some bleach, lock their door, and get ready to screw themselves over

-The process goes a little something like this:

“Okay...the bleach is supposed to sting pretty badly...think you’ll be okay?”

“Just shut up and get it over with.”

*starts spreading bleach*

“ORAAAAA—”

-Turns out that despite punching the shit out of people being his job description, Jotaro has the most sensitive scalp on the planet

-Star Platinum is freaking out, grabbing his hair with one hand and trying to find shit to throw with the other, and Jotaro is sitting there with this blank, lifeless stare

“I’m guessing it hurts?”

“...”

“...”

“...yeah.”

-Is Jotaro starting to freak out a bit? Maybe. Do they stop now...?

-They don’t really have a choice because Star just demolished the hotel alarm clock

-They started right in the middle of his head, and when Jotaro looks in the mirror he sees this patch of blond right in the dead centre of his scalp and lets out this bewildered and devastating yelp

-Kakyoin get’s this awful feeling in his stomach they had just royally fucked up, and when it still stays there after they try to wash it out he knows they did an oopsie

-Joot is just standing there in shock and Star starts trying to rip out his own hair and Kakyoin is praying to god that they don’t wake up the others

-They end up just saying fuck it and putting in the dye anyway because he can’t just have a blond spot for the rest of the trip

-The stuff Kakyoin picked out was actually a shade of purple so dark that it almost looks black and it actually works out almost perfectly

-Most of it is covered up by his hat but there’s a little streak that pokes out into the open and it glows in the sun :)

-No one knows about this and no one even NOTICES until they get back from Egypt and Holly is like “YOU DYED YOUR HAIR?! IT LOOKS SO CUTE!” and at this point Jotaro has just completely stopped caring about it because it was weeks ago and gives them this deadass “yep” and walks out of the room

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hggggnnnnn here’s some feral head canons for y’all, I hope you're having a nice Wednesday! If you have any questions/requests/vibes, you know where to find me :)

[zodiyack]

Protection For The Lost

Requested by anon: hello! would you consider writing lost and found but instead of them meeting and having this cute reunion he finds out that she has a abusive possessive boyfriend (some arranged dating) and that boyfriend tries to keep tommy away from her? with a happy end?

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x reader

Warnings: Swearing, angst, violence, mentions of abuse, small abuse(?), alcohol mention, cigarettes (the word “fag” is used for it once, but it’s British slang, not a slur!), kinda cheating??

Note: I’m sorry! I'm sorry if I strayed from the request a bit! I’m not sure if I went a bit overboard with any angst or violence or anything- feedback is appreciated! In other words, I hope you like it and now I’ll leave you to read the fic.

Taglist: @captivatedbycillianmurphy​, @stydia-4-ever​, @matth1w​, @redspaceace​, @jenepleurepasbaby​, @simonsbluee​

Masterlist | Peaky Blinders Masterlist

Everyone has a reason. A reason to live, a reason to fight, a reason to sing, a reason to do things in general. If it wasn’t a lover, it was a person of an equal, yet platonic love. Perhaps a relative, a friend, a best friend, it could really be anyone. 

Most of the Shelby family already had theirs. Although John had Martha, who sadly passed, he grew to crush on a woman. A woman who, unfortunately for him, was only interested in pleasure. Arthur had Linda, their marriage happy and strong. Ada was...under suspicion to have a lover, but the point was that she had someone.

Sad, horrifying, terrible memories burned their way into Tommy’s memory. The war had an impact on him, an impact horrible and scary, but there was a sliver of light to those memories.

A woman. Or as Tommy called her, an angel sent from the heavens. As soon as he got home, he was determined to find the mystery woman who helped him, healed him, saved his life, and became his reason.

So shockingly to everyone, Tommy did have reason. She just hasn’t found her way back to him. Worries struck his heart each day, wonders of her health and if she was even alive. But determination and love were quick to ease his racing thoughts.

“I’ll find you, Angel. I’ll never give up. I promise.” Though he was aware that his vow to her was unheard, he still planned to stay true to it. 

And that he did.

Each day he got up, went on a search for Y/n/n, and talked to his family about her appearance, hopefully giving enough information that they could spot her if she were to end up in the Garrison or betting shop, pretty much anywhere they were.

With each ask of her name, everyone said no. A couple people recommended asking nurses from France who just so happened to be in Birmingham currently, or to ask a hospital. 

Tommy followed their advice and set off to the nearest hospital, only earning back a bit of information. But a bit was more than plenty to Tommy, at least in this situation.

Soon enough, he ended up far away from Birmingham, at the doorstep of a man named Henry Bennett. He didn’t know why but if it got Y/n one step closer into his arms, he was willing to do anything. Maybe it was her father? Or brother? Maybe a friend? He was so deep in thought that he didn’t notice the door swing open and an agitated looking man lean against the door frame.

The man, who Tommy assumed was Henry, cleared his throat. “What do you want?”

“To ask you some questions.”

The man chuckled mockingly, “about what?”

“Well, do you know anyone by the name of Y/n/n?” Tommy quirked a brow when the man froze and widened his eyes after hearing the name. He glared at Tommy and readjusted his position to a more intimating stance- failing miserably at scaring the raven haired Shelby.

“Yeah. What of her?”

John stepped up from behind Tommy, “mind if we come inside, eh?”

“Personally, I’d prefer you didn’t, but seeing as the conversation’s topic is of importance,” He moved backwards and kicked the door open harshly with his boot, “come on in.”

The three brothers stepped inside the house, looking around and taking in the place. It smelled strongly of alcohol and cigars. They sat down on the sofa and waited for the man to sit in the chair next to it.

“What’d you say your boys’ names were again?” He groaned as he sat down, moving a bit to get comfortable.

“We didn’t. However, I believe I know yours. Henry, is it? Henry Bennett?”

The man, now confirmed as Henry, nodded his head and lit a cigarette, putting the fag between his lips. “That’s me.” Henry breathed out the smoke before moving the stick back to his mouth, stopping only to ask a question. “How’d you know that though?”

“We have our sources. Now, back to Y/n/n?” Tommy was eager to learn more- whatever he could about the woman he was so whipped for. He would take anything he could get, let it be another address, name, number, meal, anything that could possibly be of any help to his search. “What do you know about her?”

“I could be askin’ you the same thing. Bloody Peaky Blinder goin’ after my girl.”

Arthur and John froze in place, like Henry did earlier, and slowly turned to Tommy. Their faces held confusion and slight worry, Tommy, much to their dismay, returning a similar look, mixed with a tint of jealousy. Arthur tried his go at the maker of their clueless emotions. “How-”

“You think I wouldn’t notice you lot? I don’t know your names, nor do I give two fucks, I don’t know if the rumors are true, again, I don’t really care, and my lack of knowledge for the two subjects do not matter to me.” He got up, walking to the fireplace and grabbing a shot glass from beside it, “plus, the hats really gave you away. I was warned ‘bout those.”

“Where are you from, Mr. Bennett?”

“Here in the United Kingdom actually. But I went to France after the war. And before you ask, no I did not fight in it. Frankly, I don’t care about that shit either.” 

John chuckled quietly at Henry’s response, a chuckle of bitter amusement. Purely disgust of the man. Tommy shared the same feeling, whispering “coward” under his breath.

Arthur continued questioning Henry, “Then why did you go to France?”

“Same reason your glare-y friend here came to my home.” Arthur raised his left eyebrow. “Y/n.”

John and Arthur looked over to their brother, communicating with their eyes to wordlessly see if he was alright. His jaw was clenched and his fist tightened. He couldn’t have been- was Tommy too late? Y/n promised herself to him, why was Henry saying, or rather hinting, that they were an item? Had she forgotten about him? Had she lost hope?

“What’s going on? Between you two? Are you childhood friend’s or somethin’?”

“Actually, we’re lovers. Engaged, to be married in three months time. Why else would I go to see her in France? I had to ‘confess my undying love’ one way or another.” 

Arthur, being the eldest of four, knew when someone was talking just to piss another person off, and this was definitely one of those times. Whether what he said was true or not, he was running his mouth to spite Tommy. “Okay, then wh-”

A door creaked open, causing Arthur to stop in the middle of his sentence, all four men going silent and waiting for the cause of the nose to reveal itself. Soft padded thumps sounded in the hall, stopping next to the entrance of the living room door, the door pushed open to reveal a woman with a blanket draped over the parts of her body that weren’t covered by her night-gown.

“Henry? You have guests?”

Tommy’s eyes shifted from the woman to Henry. He noticed how he tensed up and was quick to dismiss her. “Go, I’ll uh- I’ll be there in a moment.” He turned back to the ashtray next to him, putting out the cigarette. Henry waited a couple seconds before facing her again, “I said go. Get. Out. Now.”

She flinched slightly and backed up like she was the prey to his predator. Tommy swore he could see the fear flash through her eyes. She looked familiar...

The female still hadn’t left the room, cowering even farther into the corner, if that was possible, when Henry jumped up from his seat. “I said get in the fucking room!”

Arthur jumped up from the couch. “Hey! You don’t fuckin’ yell at her like that! I don’t give a fuck if she’s a relative, some woman you’re cheating on Y/n/n with, or really who she is at all. Don’t fucking yell at her!”

Tommy looked at her again, his eyes following hers as they widened with fear and shock. “You don’t get to tell me what to fucking do in my fucking house, got that, Peaky Blinder?”

“Henry-” Her hand reached out his arm in attempt to calm him, the attempt working to no avail as he grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer to him despite her small whimpers; “Henry, stop- you-you’re hurting me-”

“No! I’ve had enough from you too!” He pushed her to the ground. Probably one of his biggest mistakes, action wise, to commit in front of the Shelby boys. The blanket fell off her body, making the hidden marks and bruises visible to everyone in the room.

Her identity clicked into place. Tommy knew exactly who she was. “What the fuck have you done to her?!” He stomped over to Henry, connecting his fist with his jaw before he could respond. “You bastard!”

Henry spat out blood, coming back up with a punch of his own that hardly affected Tom. “Get the fuck out of my house.” He stepped in front of Y/n, blocking her from Tommy’s sight. “Now!”

As much as Tommy wanted to charge at Henry, tackle him to the ground and beat him until he was six feet under, he knew it wasn’t the time. John tugged on his arm, nodding towards the door.

“Let Y/n come with us-”

“No. You’ll stay the fuck away from my fiancé!”

Henry pulled a gun from the side of his pants, pointing it at the men as Tommy repeated himself. “Let-”

“I said no! Get out of my house before I blow your bloody brains out!”

Tommy ignored Henry’s rage, walking to the door with one last look in Y/n’s direction, “We’ll be back for you Y/n/n, I promise.”

“Tommy!? No, he’ll kill y-” the rest of her sentence was muffled, a hand covering her mouth, succeeding at blocking her words but failing to block out her loud cries accompanied by tears. 

Tears that matched the ones falling from Tommy’s ocean eyes as he tried his hardest not to look behind him, in fear that he’d never be able to bring himself to leave.

. . .

Not even a full month had passed, and Tommy stayed true to both promises. He broke into Bennett’s house after learning his schedule. Y/n was forced to stay home and only leave the house with him, likely thanks to Tommy, but it was still a problem, especially if it was already a thing.

Why would she marry him? Why would she accept? Tommy wondered why Y/n was committing to that toxic relationship. The bruises on her once clear and stunning skin were burned into his brain like the war.

This was the war.

His war.

And he was going to win it again.

He quietly walked through the halls, inspecting each room with his gun in hand. Where cold she be? If there was ever a time in Tommy’s life when he prayed so hard he was about to cry, he was 100% sure this was that time. 

A small creak came from under his foot, followed by a feminine sounding squeal. Rushed footsteps were heard from a door on his right, disappearing into silence. That silence was sliced with a sharp squeak of a bed, as if someone had jumped onto it or tried to push their way under it.

“Y/n/n?”

In the room, Y/n hid under Henry and her, unwillingly, shared bed. Her breath matched her heartbeat, uneven and faster than the horse races. Her nickname was spoken from a familiar voice, coming from the other side of the door. The nickname was never spoken again after the war. Henry disliked it and refused to call her by it, as well as told everyone they knew that she hated it.

The door handle twisted a couple times before the door pulled open. “Tommy? You came back?” He nodded. “I- Henry’s gonna murder you, ya know that?”

“...Why?”

“Pardon?”

Thomas looked away, wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers. “Why do you stay with him?”

“Tom...I don’t really have much of a choice. He’d hurt me if I left and it’d hurt my mum if I left. Either way, I can’t get out of this.” Tommy looked back to her, his eyes bulging. “You have to leave. He could be ba- mmpf!”

Tommy’s hands cupped her cheeks, making sure to be gentle with her weakened body. She didn’t finish her sentence or argue, instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer.

After they broke the kiss, Tommy pulled Y/n into his chest. “I thought I’d lost you forever.”

“I thought that too...” Y/n drawled, tears threatening to spill.

Tommy wiped away the watery threats and smiled lovingly at her, “run away with me.”

“What?”

“Right now. Let’s go back to Birmingham, you can live with my family and I, we can break the news to your mother whenever you’d like.”

“Tommy...” She thought for a few seconds, Tommy’s smile broke into a frown, his nerves mixing with anticipation. Y/n looked back up to meet his eyes, finally breaking on a decision. “Is there anything I need to grab before we go?”

[mikrowrites]

just an act (two)

Shawn Mendes x Reader

Shawn feels as though his life is falling apart, so he attempts to try and reach out to Y/N before it’s too late.

The song is “you should be sad” by Halsey!

If you want the full hurt of this story, I suggest listening to it on loop while reading this chapter xx

Shawn wanted to pick her.

A thousand times over, he would’ve said Y/N’s name and found her and consoled her, but he couldn’t. And he hated himself for that.

His contract was strict. Convince fans and the world, even his own damn family that Shawn and Camila were dating, to promote Señorita and get a Grammy win. But he was so fucking tired, and he loved Y/N so much.

Shawn watched Y/N walk out of the ice rink, how strongly and gracefully she walked out of his life. He felt Camila’s hand squeeze his tighter, Shawn turning to see his PR girlfriend on the verge of tears. Camila and Y/N were close friends, this had to be killing her too.

He wanted to run after her, convince her to stay, to explain the contract and win her back. But Shawn feared the damage was done.

——————

Y/N let her fingers softly strum against her guitar, sitting in her lonely hotel room. The acoustic was bequeathed to her by Shawn, and when Karen had brought it to her last night she couldn’t bring herself to part with it.

She began to strum a familiar tune, her voice finally crawling up and out of her throat.

I wanna start this out and say

I gotta get it off my chest

Got no anger, got no malice

Just a little bit of regret

Know nobody else will tell you

So there's some things I gotta say

Gonna jot it down and then get it out

And then I'll be on my way

Y/N began to strum the strings harder, letting the chords dig into her fingertips and her whole body began to shake.

Oh, I feel so sorry

I feel so sad

I tried to help you

It just made you mad

And I had no warnin'

About who you are

I'm just glad I made it out without breakin' down

And then ran so fuckin' far

That you would never ever touch me again

Y/N screamed out the last lyric, her voice cracking in the end as she dissolved into sobs, gripping the fret tighter. Tears hit the wood with a soft thump.

She let her head bow over, broken sobs wracking her body. She let the grief and heartbreak consume her one final time as she stared out her wide hotel room window at the nighttime Toronto skyline.

After ten minutes her tears dried, Y/N running her hand along the smooth mahongany of the guitar, before lifting it and gently setting it in its hard plastic case, snapping it closed.

To Y/N, it felt like a burial.

——————

Morning broke in Pickering, Shawn shuffling downstairs, exhausted. He couldn’t sleep all night, much less close his eyes without seeing Y/N. He wished he had know how badly this would hurt, he never would’ve signed that goddamn contract.

Manuel and Karen fluttered about the kitchen, Karen washing fruit as Manny cooked eggs. Aaliyah was setting the table and at the sight of Shawn, she glared and slammed the last fork on the table, leaving the room.

His parents looked up at the sound, but once watching the scene unfold they silently went back to their duties.

Shawn felt a lump grow in his throat, turning and rushing up the stairs. He burst into his childhood room, Camila yawning as she sat up in bed. He had been sleeping in a sleeping bag on the floor, refusing to share the bed with her.

“Shawn? What’s going on?” Camila drowsily asked.

“We need to tell my parents.” Shawn insisted. “We need to break this contract.”

Camila sat up, the sleepiness leaving her senses. “I hate this as much as you do, but Shawn... you’re asking me to put my career on the line.”

“I’ll let you come out spotless,” Shawn pleaded, stepping forwards to the end of the bed. “Mendes’ aren’t snitches.”

“Well, you’re about to become one.” Camila sighed, throwing her legs over the bed. “Let’s do it.”

——————

Y/N threw her backpack over her shoulder, hoisting the straps up upon her frame as she lifted up the guitar case. She graciously thanked the receptionist, walking out of the hotel lobby.

As her taxi maneuvered Toronto traffic, Y/N became lost in her thoughts, watching the buildings for the last time.

She smiled at the sight of the coffee shop where Shawn and herself had their first date.

Chuckled seeing the street corner where they first met, when Shawn had found her busking to pay rent.

Stared dreamily looking at the bookstore where they sat for hours, reading (but really catching glimpses over the books).

Y/N was shaken out of her memories by the familiar tune of “Perfectly Wrong” playing on the radio. Ironic, Y/N grumbled in her head.

“Excuse me, could you please change the radio? I’m very sorry...” Y/N mumbled to the driver, who let out a huff but changed it nonetheless.

“Thank you...” Y/N sighed, “Bad breakup.”

The driver looked over their shoulder, their frown loosening. “That sucks kid. Sorry.”

Y/N smiled tightly, looking out the window.

“My girlfriend cheated on me,” the driver continued, Y/N perking up, “and I had to find out by them fucking in my own bed. I was destroyed, and it hurt for a while, but then I found my wife. Thing’s’ll get better. I can tell you that much.”

Y/N finally smiled, genuinely.

“I hope so.”

——————

Shawn and Camila sat across the table from the Mendes family, the boy nervously rubbing his hands. “Before we actually have this conversation, anything that happens, leave Camila’s name out of this. Please. We’re risking a lot, but I’ve already lost too much.”

The family hesitantly shook their heads yes, Shawn running a hand through his hair as he stumbled for words to find out how to start.

“My agent and producer gave me a contract,” Camila spoke up, Shawn whipping his head to her. “Shawn’s agent and producer were present too, he was given the same paperwork. They insisted we pursue a PR romantic relationship to promote our new single.”

“They threatened to leave a stain on our record, that we could be removed from the label if we denyed. We were jumped, and we were terrified.” Shawn continued. “So we signed the contract, because we love to sing, to perform. We signed, because we were scared of what would happen if we didn’t.”

Karen had tears welling within her eyes, Manuel’s face softening.

Aaliyah finally spoke up. “So that kiss...” she trailed off.

“Meant nothing at all.” Camila reassured. “But it cost us the most important thing in our lives.”

“Y/N.” Aaliyah murmured. Suddenly she stood, her chair pushing away with a creak. “You have to go win her back!”

“Liyah...” Manuel began, the girl cutting her off.

“No, you have to! You two were meant to be with each other, you need to stop her from leaving!” Aaliyah cried out.

Karen blinked away the moisture from her eyes, shaking her head. “Honey, that’s—“

“I have to go win her back.” Shawn nodded, looking up at his family and Camila. “I have to go win her back!” He shouted, bursting up as he grabbed his keys, placing a ballcap and sunglasses on his face. Shawn turned to look at Camila, who nervously smiled.

“Go get our girl.”

——————

Y/N sat in one of the uncomfortable chairs outside her gate, the airport chatter dulled by her earbuds. The same song looped through her ears, somehow strangely giving her strength.

But you're not half the man you think that you are

And you can't fill the hole inside of you with money, girls and cars

I'm so glad I never ever had a baby with you

'Cause you can't love nothin' unless there's somethin' in it for you

Y/N took a bite of her toasted bagel, longing for her guitar that was being loaded onto the plane. She longed to go home, where her mother would say “told you so” and she could finally have some peace.

Shawn never came to (hometown/nearest city), not unless he had a concert. Never attempted to get to know Y/N’s home like she had Pickering and Toronto.

She shook her head, throwing the rest of her bagel away and standing as her boarding class was called, shouldering her backpack.

After a long wait in line, maybe ten or so minutes, Y/N finally reached the front. The flight attendant looked up, her eyes growing wide. “Oh my goodness! You’re Y/N L/N!”

Y/N smiled in surprise. “Oh, um, yes! Guilty!”

“Oh, my daughter loves your Spotify singles! She’s your biggest fan!” The woman excitedly gushed, Y/N giggling. She was a very small singer, not even a part of a label, and meeting fans was a rarity.

“I’m honored, ma’am.” Y/N smiled politely.

“Could I snap a quick photo with you? My little girl will freak!” Y/N nodded, leaning over the desk to the woman as she snapped a photo.

Y/N’s grin fell as she noticed a familiar figure running in the background of the phone screen. She turned, freezing as 30 feet away Shawn stopped in his tracks, panting heavily. She could see past his hoodie, hat, and sunglasses, the incognito look was never very stealthy.

“Is—is that Shawn Mendes?! Oh sweet Jesus, I’m having a stroke!” The flight attendant cried.

The two didn’t move a muscle for many seconds. Shawn took a few steps forward cautiously, gauging her reaction.

Y/N broke into a run, dropping her backpack and racing up to Shawn, throwing her arms around him. He staggered backwards, wrapping his own long arms around her, clutching the back of her head with one of his hands. The two embraced each other deeply, letting go of heartbreak, fighting for another chance.

At least, that’s what happened in Y/N’s head.

She instead hardened her face into a glare, turning her back to him. Y/N scanned her ticket, and without another glance walked past the gate, towards her plane and to home.

Shawn’s shoulders slumped, the man feeling the weigh of everything crash down on him. He stumbled backwards, his whole body shaking as he quickly turned, rushing for a bathroom.

Once finding a men’s room, he ran inside, locking himself in a stall and ripping off his hat, his breaths growing ragged and hard, as if he were drowning in air.

Shawn sank to his knees, grasping his curly hair with his fingers as he slid down the wall onto the dirty tiled floor, tears cascading down his face.

Shawn wanted to rip up that fucking contract, destroy his reputation. He wanted to scream it from the rooftops, loud enough she’d hear, loud enough the whole world would hear.

It was all just an act.

To be continued in part 3...

[fluffyglass]

THE MR. STUBBORN IS CHEAP MASTERPOST

I'm having fun with these lol

even if it. uh. requires 31 rewatches of the entire show (or some other number idk??? theres some season exclusives and im only really watching the segments with that character?) anyways moving onto THE ALIEN MAN HIMSELF

Season 1

Mr. Stubborn is in 25 episodes in Season 1.

In 6 of these episodes does he do something wrong.

Season 2

Mr. Stubborn is in 23 episodes in Season 2.

In 15 of these episodes does he do something wrong.

Conclusions

In total, Mr. Stubborn did something wrong in 21 out of the 48 segments he's in, which is 43%. Counting the 8 I was unsure about bumps him up to 29/48, which is a shocking 60%.

Because of how Mr. Stubborn blurs the lines between his malice and genuine stupidity, I think it's important to still partly count my unsure rankings of his. The exact halfway point through his two percentages is 51%, which I'll be considering his official ranking.

I'm pretty sure Mr. Stubborn is the absolute biggest character assassination that Season 2 has under it's belt. Sure, Mr. Rude and Mr. Fussy got bad, but jeez Mr. Stubborn was absolutely murdered.

blah blah blah episode by episode

Yellow - Mr. Stubborn does nothing wrong

Red - Mr. Stubborn does something wrong

Pink - I have no idea what to put for this one lmao

SEASON 1

Flying - he doesn't really do anything wrong he's just astronomically stupid

Lake - yeah uh. Mr. Happy warned him that they were heading for dangerous waters and he continued anyway so.

Boo-boos - again, doesn't do anything wrong, he's just stupid

Mall - Mr. Stubborn is so stupid half the time that I have no clue whether I should count it against him or not. Like. What do I do here????

Birthday - he is comically stupid . please never let him anywhere near cake ever again

Boats - he's kinda demeaning to Miss Calamity the entire time and also doesn't acknowledge that he is putting the entire ship in danger sooooooo

Camping - he's not even particularly stupid in this one he's just vibin

Science - stupid, not bad

Fish - I'm gonna start abbreviating "stupid, not bad" into SNB because I know I'm gonna be using it a lot

Construction - I'd normally give an SNB but the majority of his actions directly harm Mr. Bump. I'm unsure abt this one

Jobs - same as the last one, its another mr bump segment

Fair - he's just trying to win a prize for Miss Sunshine! thank you Mr. Stubborn :)

Dance - he's barely in it and it kinda just listening to Mr. Noisy so. No fault of his own here

Amusement Park - SNB

Adventure - SNB, but his ignorance almost leads to Mr. Noisy and Miss Naughty getting lost forever. so

Rainy Day - yeah he drags Mr. Bump outside in the rain which was not very nice of him

Games - SNB, also this is one of the funniest segments in the entire show so it gets a plus from me

Snow - dude just turn the heat up

Bugs - SNB

Circus - SNB but his actions greatly inconvenience everyone around him, and greatly endangers Mr. Small D:

Cars - SNB, of anything Mr. Fussy's even more of an idiot than he is. I guess you could argue that him wanting to sell that car to begin with was him being an asshole, but like. Mr. Fussy was willing to buy it so

Ships - isn't this just Boats again?

Night - SNB

Full Moon - SNB YALL KNOW I FUCKIN LOVE FULL MOON

The Dark - SNB

SEASON 2

Picnics - isn't this just Rainy Day again?

Outer Space - he ignores Mr. Bump's cries for help when he was lost in space D:

Airports - I'm not even gonna count this as SNB he just fucking puts everyone around him in danger what the fuck

Shoes - Just straight up fucking lies about the bears in the woods after Mr. Messy said he was scared of them

Game Shows - glockenspiel

Garages - fucked up Mr. Grumpy's garage, ignored Mr. Grumpy when he said it wasn't working, didn't give a shit when his car was destroyed.

Eyeglasses - I didn't know that Season 2 fucking assassinated Mr. Stubborn this badly what the actual fuck

Reptiles - lies about alligators in the swamp, ignorance almost gets Mr. Bump killed, etc etc this is fucking ridiculous

Hats - HE LITERALLY ALMOST GETS EVERYONE FUCKING KILLED

Robots - the only episode he's been half decent in and he barely does anything. oh my god.

Dining Out - this season makes me remember why I used to hate Mr. Stubborn

Gifts - he barely does anything

Seashore - yeah he almost lets Miss Chatterbox drown

Sneezes & Hiccups - yeah he destroys shit but not on purpose. also once again - one of the funniest segments in the entire show. i'll forgive him for this one

Fruit - he just vibes in the background and it's funny so

Cinema - one of the gay men who invades Mr. Fussy's car

Getting Around - almost kills 3 people

Post Office - SNB, he's barely in it but like. he hurts mr bump yknow

Out to Sea - SNB, this segment is hilarious but he also almost gets 4 people killed

Lunch - i dunno lol

Home Improvement - yeah he does a lot of property damage. how many crimes has he committed at this point cause it's a lot

Sand and Surf - what is even going on anymore

Bad Weather - this is the third fucking time they've done the Rainy Day bit

[bodyswapmischief]

Authentic Costumes: Santa Claus

I came home and my boyfriend, Manny, was still cooking. His chocolate skin glistened with the heat from the kitchen. His small arms and slim frame worked hard, as he quickly moved around. He was in his zone.

However, I felt guilty. Before the holidays started I lost my job. I applied to a number of jobs but, no one was hiring. Now, Henry has been working double to support us. "Oh, your home." He quickly glanced at me and went back to mixing. "How was the gym."

"It was okay. There was just a lot on my mind. " I said as I walked to him. I easily wrapped my arms around him and gave him a kiss on his flour stained check. "And how has my little baker been doing?"

He wiped the flour from his face as he quickly gave me a peck. And weakly pushed my arms off him. "Well as you can see, it's been going. But there is still alot of work to do. I need to make more of everything: cookies, cupcakes, tamales."

"Well do you need any help." I asked.

He stopped and looked at me and laughs. "No, no, no. The last time you helped the cookies were to salty, the cupcakes didn't rise, and the tamales came out dry. And, then when I put you incharge of mixing you broke multiple bowls. And then.."

"Okay ... okay, I get it. I won't help." I sigh."Just go relax." He smiles back and starts mixing again. I sluggishly walk to the living room. "Oh yeah, I almost forgot, a package came for you."

I continued to walk towards the living room and saw the package. The logo confirmed it was from Authentic Costumes. The box was way bigger than I thought it would be. I open the box and revealed a small vial sitting on top of a santa costume. I pick them both up and underneath was a full wardrobe of clothes. Triple X shirts, size 50' waist pants, and oversized underwear. What is all this for?, I thought.

But, before I could even think about Manny walked in. "I've been curious all day so, what was in the box." I look at him holding the Santa Claus costume. "Well it was supposed to be a surprise..., I got a seasonal job as a Santa Claus." My boyfriend laughed, "Are you serious? Was it a phone interview? They do know you have rock hard abs, right?."

My face blushed with slight embarrassment, "Yes and they didn't care. They said anyone can be Santa and offered me 20,000 dollars for the month. So, I said yes. And, then they said they would send me a package to look more like the role." I snapped back.

There was some silence and then I pulled a card from the box. "Begin transformation process by drinking blue vile. The changes will activate once you put on the suit. The transformation will not be permanent. Don't be alarmed." "What transformation ... are they talking about magic..." He asked. "I don't know ... I guess." I replied back. I open the vial. "Well here goes nothing." I start to drink it. "Are you sure.." Manny tried to talk before I drank it But, it was to late.

The blue liquid went down my throat. And, a tingling sensation filled my body. I saw Manny look at me in horror. "What's happening to you." I looked down. The blue liquid was spreading through every vein in my body. My body glowed as a blue road map of viens spread through out my body. I tried to talk, but couldn't. My legs gave out and I fell to the floor. My body started convulsing.

Manny ran to my side. "Daniel! Daniel!" He screamed in terror. He held me with his small body. His hands shook with distress. And, as quickly as it started, it stopped. I laid up against my boyfriend. My body was exhausted and my breathing was heavy. "Are you okay?" He asked putting down his phone and his voice was still shaken. He started rubbing my strong chest and back.

"I think so." I whispered due to a lack of energy. "What were you thinking." He told me. "Why did you just drink a mysterious blue liquid from a sketchy ass company. You could have died. "But, I didn't," I smiled as strength returned to my body. "Plus the company is legit. They do a lot of events for rich people. And, we need the money." I rubbed my head. I get up and start taking off my clothes.

"What the fuck are you doing now?" He asked. "I'm going to put on the santa suit on." I put on the oversized underwear and pants. Manny just looked at me and shook his head. He seemed to be calming down. He laughed seeing me in the bigger clothes. "Damn, we could both fit in those pants."

I grabbed the Santa hat and put it on. I didn't feel anything. And, then I put the Santa coat on. I looked hot as my six pack and pecs were exposed in the open Santa coat. Then I started filling itchy. My whole body was itchy and it felt like little pins started poking out of my skin. I turned to look at the mirror and Manny joined me. Both of us shocked by the changes. Hair started to fill my buff hairless body. My chest and stomach were covered. I could even fill back hair starting to rub against the Santa coat. I knew the same was happening to my legs, thighs and ass.

Finally, stubble appeared on my face and continued to grow out. Until, I had a beard that would make any lumberjack jealous. "Who knew Santa was so hairy." Manny said as he rubbed my hairy muscular chest.

But, my body didn't stop changing. My tanned skin started to lighten. At first, I didn't know what was happening. Small changes to my face and body started appearing. I started looking stronger and better looking. I finally realized I was getting older. I was aging but, my body still had the muscle mass of a 25 year old that spent all his time at the gym. It was erotic. Then my hair started going grey and the lines on my face started to deepen. The hair on top of my head started to fall off. I was a silver fox. I look at my boyfriend and both of our faces were in shock.

But, still the changes didn't stop. Underneath my furry stomach, I could see my abs start to disappear. My body was growing with fat. My face became rounder. I could feel a double chin form under my beard. My chest started sagging with fat. My stomach became enormous. My thighs thickened up. And, my dick started getting buried under pelvic fat.

"Well, fuck me." Manny said. " Magic actually fucking exists. I can't believe it. This is fuckin crazy." "I know. It feels so different. I'm in shock. It's me but, everything feels different." I said exploring my new body. He comes over and also starts poking me in places. "How do you feel?" He said.

"Heavy." I laugh and my whole body jiggles. "I can't imagine having to live life like this. I can feel parts of my body touching each other, that never did before. I don't even think, I can touch my toes. Fuck, it's weirding me out. I can feel all of this kinda affecting my personality. I feel lazy, slow, hungry and tired. Just standing here is taking so much energy. I'm not use to it. Here help me take the suit off."

Manny goes behind me and peels the coat off me. I take of the pants and underwear, revealing my shrunken dick and enlarge fat pad. I let a couple seconds past. "Do you see anything changing." I ask my boyfriend. He just shakes his head. "What do you mean. It's supposed to reverse when I take the costume off."

Panicking I pull out the instructions. Manny squeezes against my side to read them at the same time. "Here, it says the transformation starts when I put on the costume." I say. "Yeah but, that doesn't mean you revert after taking it off. It just says the transformation is not permanent." He answers. He proceeds to look around at the box and picks up the vial. "Here the vial says the transformation last for about a month." He adds.

My heart sank. "So, I'm stuck like this for month." I cried. "I can't be stuck like this. What about the gym? I'm going have to walk out in public like this. What about you? Are you okay with dating a fat old man for a month?" "Luckily they sent all these new clothes you can wear." He joked. I just glared at him. "What it's funny." He laughs. "You make a pretty good daddy bear." He flirted. "What!? Does this turn you on?"

He smiles and walks into the kitchen. He quickly comes back with a plate of food. "I think I can make this work. I don't want my Santa daddy to go hungry." He winked. He motioned for me to sit down, as he fed me. I didn't realize how hungry I was. I was never one to indulge like this, but my body had a mind of it's own. Eating gave my body a new sense of pleasure. "Here take the plate big boy." He handed me the plate of cookies and cupcakes. I continued eating.

"I think you should take the month to enjoy your new body. Give in to your hunger. Don't get me wrong I love your real body. But, I also have a feeder fetish. Now, I can expirence my fantasy."

Manny started kissing my body. My neck. My fat chest. He rubbed my new boobs and my body rushed with pleasure. He sucked on my fat tits and I moaned while I continue to eat. He moved down and kissed my growing belly. He took his hand and pushed my fatpad down. He reveals as much of my dick that he could and started sucking. I continued to moan in deep pleasure.

As, I finished the last bite of food, I cummed into his mouth. My dick was still hard. " Come on big boy." He positioned our bodies so I could have easy penetration into his ass, at my new weight. I was worried that my dick was no longer going to be big enough. But, I squeezed against his ass. His check's helped pushed my fatpad and a decent amount of my dick entered his ass. I began thrusting and my body jiggled from the motion. My breathing became heavy. It was more intense than any work out at the gym. My hairy body became wet with sweat.

We both orgasmed at the same time., breathing heavy. Now, laying side by side he seemed even smaller then when I was in my original body. He Pat's my stomach and lays his head on my boobs. Maybe this month won't be so bad. And, maybe when I revert back, I will start working on developing my own real fat stomach.

[writerofshit]

Secret Santa:X

(This is half headcanon, half fic, all fun times and emotions)

(Shoutout to the Penthouse discord server for help on some of the gifts, would have been lost without you)

The last Christmas they have in the penthouse, Ryan brings up Secret Santa again. It’s partly a joke, partly a nod to the nostalgia that’s been eating at all of them the last few months. He brings it up when they’re all gathered in the living room, watching Gavin try and prove his stealth abilities in Hitman.

(“Just because you can be stealthy in a video game doesn’t mean I’m letting you come with me.” Jack had said at the beginning of it all.

“If I get silent assassin you have to take me!”

“This is your fourth run through!”)

Anyhow, Ryan brings it up, all nonchalant. “Remember that year we did Secret Santa?”

“No?” Jeremy says honestly.

“Before your time.” Michael says with a smile, patting him on the head.

“It was fun. We should do it again.”

(”Goddamnit!” On screen, Gavin dies again.)

The next day they have a meeting of all the ‘movers and shakers’, as Geoff has taken to calling them. He announces that Secret Santa is yet again a thing, and no, Matt, you can’t get out of it. There’s no budget, because they all have access to more money than they know what to do with.

They throw eleven names in a hat and go from there. Geoff calls first pick because he’s an asshole like that, and his choice picks next, so on and so forth.

 “Just get your shit done by Christmas, and we’ll do it then.”

--

Geoff pulls Gavin, and only panics a little.

The kid has everything he could ever want, what’s he really supposed to do? He considers what he might need, ends up crossing ‘bulletproof vest and a helmet’ off the list because it feels a little impersonal. He could do liquor of some sort, but he suspects there will be enough of that floating around on Christmas day.

He considers a camera, knows Gavin is into that kind of shit, but he’s lost a lot of knowledge in that department over the years. The only person who knows enough is Gavin himself, and that kind of defeats the point.

He ends up going for a new pair of gold shades, because the old ones are pretty worn out after six-plus years, and he’s almost positive Gavin has lost them. (Probably in Ryan’s room, but that’s neither here nor there) He gets a pair that have diamonds along the arms, and even though they’re ridiculously expensive he thinks it’s worth it.

Gavin adores them, has them on within 30 seconds of unwrapping them. He pokes himself in the eye, and that feels like a bonus to Geoff.

--

Gavin pulls Trevor, and while he plays it off at first “Oh, this will be easy, I got this person for sure!” he absolutely has no idea what to do.

 There’s a weird bit of time where he tries to get to know Trevor better. He learns absolutely nothing new, despite following the guy for almost a week.

There’s a night he lays in bed with Ryan, bitching about this whole thing. “What the hell do I do? This was terrible for me last time, why would you suggest this?”

He ends up calling Barbara from the Roosters to try and figure out something, who promptly makes fun of him for not knowing anything about the guy he’s worked with for years. She does give one bit of new information, so he goes with it.

He gives Trevor tickets to the next Motocross event, because it’s apparently something he’s into. He throws in a NASA t-shirt as a joke, a nod to the world Trevor left behind.

Both items go over well, Trevor immediately pulling the shirt on over what he’s already wearing. He won’t shut up about Motocross for the rest of the day, either.

--

Trevor pulls Ryan, which he’s immediately terrified of.

 He knows Ryan well enough to know that there won’t be any serious repercussions if he fucks it up, he won’t get gutted over a poor gift choice. But he also knows he’ll get that weird stare Ryan does when he’s pretending to consider whether or not to hurt someone. Plus he won’t live it down from the rest of the crew.

At first he goes to Gavin for help, because apparently nobody is taking the ‘secret’ part seriously. Gavin absolutely refuses to help him, mostly for the laughs. He knows Gavin’s getting a kick out of watching him squirm over this, which is so unfair. Then he asks Jack for help, who just shrugs. 

“You’re a smart guy, Trevor, you’ll figure something out.”

He does, sort of. He gives Ryan a 24 pack of diet coke (because what else?) and an actually beautiful rainbow knife. It seems pretty heavy duty, and he knows its right up his alley. He also throws in some earplugs as a joke.

 “So you can tune out Gav’s idiocy whenever you need.”

“Come on, Trevor. I’ve had years of practice at that. The knife is gorgeous though.”

--

Ryan pulls Alfredo, and he’s not too worried about it.

Alfredo’s their go-to sniper these days, and a new sniper rifle seems pretty obvious. Maybe a gift card to Ammunation or something? It does feel a little lackluster, even to him, so he brings it up to Gavin one night, while Gav is still debating t-shirts from Amazon.

“That’s a bit boring, isn’t it?”

“You’re buying a NASA shirt for an ex-aerospace engineer. I’m gonna need you to rethink your stance on this one.”

“Nah. You gotta do something better for Fredo, he deserves it.”

Which. alright, then what the fuck is he supposed to do? He gets his answer the next week when he sees Alfredo on a motorcycle for the first time.

“I’m going to teach you how to actually ride that thing.” Which is good, a chance to catch up and hang out. Bad, because Ryan’s method of teaching is ‘learn by doing’ and does in fact result in shouting.

Ryan still gives him the sniper rifle, which he is far more excited about.

--

Alfredo pulls Fiona, and it’s the first time he marginally regrets joining the crew.

He’s got no fucking idea what she’d like, what gift she’d appreciate and not hit him over. He tries to be casual about asking around, hoping someone might have better insight. The rest of the crew catches on immediately, and they flood him with false information.

“She loves chocolate. Favorite Halloween candy, in fact!” Michael tells him, but the grin he has says otherwise.

“She mentioned something about wanting to learn a new language.” Jack says seriously.

“Get her an English to French dictionary, she’ll love it.” Gavin tacks on.

“French, yep. She definitely wants to learn that one.”

Lindsay is the only one who actually helps him. “She’s been known to enjoy a drink or two.”

By sheer luck he happens to walk into one of the thousand arguments Fiona has with Michael over the whole ‘Halloween candy’ debacle, and he knows immediately that's a bad route to go down.

He ends up making a gift basket full of liquor mini’s and various candies. He makes sure not to include any chocolates, and throws some extra blowpops in, just to be safe.

Thankfully, she does appreciate the thought he put in, and she says she’ll only share with Alfredo since everyone else is an asshole.

--

Fiona pulls Lindsay, and it’s not hard to figure out what she’ll like.

 She considers something chaotic, the two of them wreaking havoc on the city together. It makes sense. She also thinks about organizing a ‘girls day’, getting all the ladies of the crew together to go out and fuck some shit up. There’s a lot of logistics involved in that one, including convincing some of them to be out in the field like that.

It crosses her mind to bring Lindsay to a shelter to play with cats, because if there’s one thing Lindsay likes more than chaos, it’s cats. That’s also a bit of a logistical nightmare, not to mention the strength it would take to pry her away.

In the end she goes with cat merch. It’s a basket full of goodies, including a mug with a cat holding a bi-pride flag, a dress with various cartoon cats on it, and a cat necklace that has her birthstone as the body.

It’s beautiful, and Lindsay just about cries. She too, immediately changes into her new clothing, and she drinks everything out of the mug for at least a month.

--

Lindsay pulls Matt, and at first she panics.

She knows him fairly well, but like... He’s a real weirdo, what’s she supposed to do with that? She wonders what games he could use, if there’s anything he hasn’t bought himself.

Her confusion lasts until she mentions it to Michael. (Only after he let it slip who he’d picked.)

“Are you fucking kidding me? Matt’s the easiest goddamn one!”

“Bullshit! Name one thing you know about M.att B.ragg!”

“He eats like shit! Give him a box of donuts and he’ll lose his fuckin mind.”

Her response of  “Oh my god.” is barely heard.

She spends a week trying out different recipes, much to Ryan’s delight. He’s happy to play taste-tester while she finds the perfect flavor combination.

She winds up going with a double chocolate espresso concoction. Matt is, of course, super stoked about his cupcakes, and damn near has to fight Ryan off to protect them.

--

Matt pulls Jeremy, which is pretty much a slam dunk.

Whiskey is the obvious choice, one he’ll absolutely go with, thank you very much. Who said taking the easy way out never got you anywhere?

And it would have, if it weren’t for Geoff.

There’s a debate that happens about a week before Christmas, something about the necessity of going to the liquor store. Michael and Jeremy are firmly pro-trip, and Geoff just wants them to “stay home and do some goddamn work. Besides, it’s not like half of you guys aren’t buying each other liquor anyway. In a week I’m sure we’ll be fully stocked.”

Which, alright. Fuck Matt then, huh? He’d genuinely thought it was a good idea, a mix of thoughtful and practical.

He decides to pair the whiskey with- well, it’s kind of a joke gift, but at least he won’t be accused of only buying liquor.

He commissions a customized cowboy hat. Half purple half orange, split right down the middle. There’s a neon yellow buckle on it, and it’s the ugliest thing Matt has ever seen in his life.

Jeremy loves it though, thinks it’s goddamn perfect. He wears it for the rest of the day, and for the next heist.

(Michael is less enthused.)

--

Jeremy pulls Michael, and that-

That’s harder than it should be.

He and Michael have been doing this... Whatever the fuck it is for over six months now, and they haven’t goddamn talked about. Not really. They’ve had moments,sure, here and there when they’re both drunk and thinking far too much about it. Reminding each other that they’re happy, that this is a good time, wouldn’t change it for the world-

But there’s still nights they sleep alone and they don’t talk about why. They still don’t really mention it to anyone else, even if they all know. Jeremy still doesn’t know how to answer when someone asks what the deal is with him and Michael.

So it’s hard, right, to come up with a relationship- appropriate gift. Too jokey and he’ll feel bad. Too serious isn’t their style at all. Plus like… how’s he supposed to do that in front of everybody? Just because they know there’s something there doesn’t mean they need to put on a show.

He settles on the obvious, nice bottle of tequila and a couple of shot glasses. It’s not exactly personal, but it’s good enough to show the room.

Later, in a quiet moment they can steal away, Jeremy offers to take him out the next night.

“We’ll do the bar thing, just you and me. My treat.”

“Oh yeah? You’re buying my drinks all night?” Michael asks him with a sly grin.

“I uh- I’ll get your drinks for as long as you’ll have me.” and it doesn’t come out exactly right, but they both know what he means by it.

Earns him a smile and a sweet kiss, and that alone is worth it.

--

Michael pulls Jack, and he runs through a few options.

He considers buying her furniture, because he knows she'll need it when they all finally do move out. But Jack has a good head on her shoulders and probably already has that shit on lock.

He looks into custom shelving, for all the knick knacks she's collected over the years. He could get it designed in colors she'd like and shell out extra for lighting and all that shit. But she doesn't have a new place yet, as far as he knows, so that's kind of a bust.

He could give her what amounts to a gift certificate, an offer to pay for whatever she wants made, but that seems kind of… Empty?

There's the age old alcohol gift, but that's been done before, and is probably being done by almost everyone else.

He mentions to Lindsay how weirdly difficult it is to buy something for Jack, get’s zero advice but somehow helps her figure out the whole Matt mystery.

In the end he decides to help her out and piss her off, a little bit of a win-win kinda thing. He buys her a couple of new shirts, bold and flowery and almost as bad as Jeremy’s Rimmy Tim shtick. He hates them but he knows she loves them, so it’s worth it.

He tells her it’s because her old shirts gotta be falling out of fashion, an opinion she is not happy about.

But it’s fine, because he also gets her tickets to fucking Disney World, of all places. He even offers to go with her, which she absolutely takes him up on.

It’s more fun than he expects, and it’s a really good chance to actually spend some time with her. He hadn’t realized it had been so long.

--

Jack pulls Geoff, which.

It’s no secret that Geoff is a sentimental bastard when it comes to the crew. It’s exactly why he’d spent months talking to her about the possibility of selling the penthouse, trying to figure out exactly how everyone would react, trying to figure out how he would react to not having them all so close anymore. She spent countless nights listening to him wonder what it meant that he wanted his own space.

Objectively, he was probably a bad person but his love and fierce loyalty to the crew made up for that, in some ways, right? So how can he kick them out, how can he do this to them, he’s being selfish-

And she had just explained to him that he had to do what was right for him. That it was understandable. That he was right, they could all use the opportunity to be a little more independent. She was looking forward to having her own space, and in time the rest of them would too.

So when she pulls Geoff’s name, she knows she’s gotta lean into that a bit. She could get him some books, some puzzles maybe. He’d mentioned off-hand that he missed having the space for them, because the kitchen table was always covered in some sort of crew shenanigans.

She does get him those, because she knows they’ll get some use.

But the big thing is the collage.

She’s had pictures of the crew on her phone for years, dating all the way back to her and Geoff in a shitty apartment. She’s got some of Ray, curled up on the couch with a DS in his hand. Gavin and Michael wrestling one drunken night. Ryan, nodded off on the couch after a heist, face paint still on and a complete mess. Jeremy trying to teach Matt something resembling self-defense. Lindsay cuddling a stray cat she had taken in. Trevor and Alfredo in matching clothes, playing up the ‘twin’ joke that had been going around. Fiona in that bright yellow suit, modeling for her Instagram.

There’s one she gets at the last minute, gets somebody from the support team to take right before their latest heist. It’s all eleven of them, full heist get-up, masks and obnoxious fashion choices and guns tucked here and there. They’re in the boardroom, running through it one more time before they take off, and in retrospect, it’s probably the last time they’ll do that in that room.

She sets that one in the middle, surrounded by all of these moments from the last 12 years.

“For your new place, when you find it.” Jack says.

It’s beautiful, and it makes Geoff cry. It brings some sniffles from a lot of them, even if they all deny it.

Leaving the penthouse isn’t the easiest thing for any of them, but it’s the right move. After all, they’re still a family.

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of Black Lives Matter, @manawhaat donated $10, and requested Sam Wilson, thinking about BLM. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts)

Their training compound’s in Kansas, of all places. “Isn’t Superman from Kansas?” Bucky had said, quiet, when they got there, and Sam had fully turned around in the van and said, “Hang on, how do you know about Superman?” and Bucky had given him a rare spark of actual personality and said, “I’m from the ‘40s, not the 1840s,” and Sam had rolled his eyes but responded that, yes, Superman allegedly grew up in Kansas. Problem was that Superman wasn’t real. He just hung out in the comics and he had it easy, beacon of light and apple pie and the American Way, and Sam--shiny star on his shield or no--Sam was just... Sam. As for the American Way--

Bucky doesn’t seem to care. Then again, Bucky doesn’t seem to care about much. “Do it again,” he says, squinting. Sam takes a breath, takes the shield heavy in both hands. Vibranium’s as breathtakingly light as it is strong, but still, tossing a massive hunk of it around like a fancy frisbee has been taking some getting used to. He sights the target, how Bucky’s aiming his shot, and throws--and it hits mostly on-center on the first target, bounces a little off on the second, and then--shit, goes wild, and Bucky jumps and catches it with his vibranium hand, a gonging sound resonating through the practice gym.

“Damn it,” Sam sighs.

Bucky shrugs one shoulder. “Better,” he says. Economical with words, this guy. “You’ll get there.”

Sam drags a hand over his head. “You’re there now,” he says, and it’s bitter like he tries not to let out. “Cap should’ve chosen you.”

Bucky tosses the shield back to him, easy throw, and Sam catches it by the handles. “You’re Cap,” he says. Flat but steady. He nods at the shield. “It fits.”

Sam rotates the shield in his hands, looking at the burnished front. That’s him, he thinks. Red, white, and blue.

It’s harder and harder, every day. To stay here. To train. “We have to be ready,” Bucky says, and Sam knows that. There’s so much that needs to be done he feels like the world’s drowning, but there’s T’Challa and Wanda and Scott and that spiderkid in New York, and they’re doing what they can. Sam’s been Falcon for years, and before that he was a soldier--he knows that someone coming in and fumblingly trying to help just tends to screw things up more than it helps. The country doesn’t need Falcon, right now--they need their Captain. It’s been drilled into him often enough and on his better days, he believes it.

These are not better days.

The compound’s in Kansas, miles from everything. With Pepper outfitting the place with the finest tech Stark Industries had to offer, they’re hyperconnected to the rest of the world despite the distance. Means that from the living area, sitting on his ass with his hands over his mouth, Sam can see live feed from every city in the country. Every news story. Every march. Every mama who lost her baby, weeping on the national news, asking why, why. Every kid, standing up with their mask on, raising the fist of pride high--getting a rubber bullet to the eye, a baton to the head, coughing in clouds of tear gas lit in the night by flares. He cried, the first time. He’s too wrung out to cry now.

“We should train,” Bucky says, somewhere behind him.

Sam closes his eyes. “Not now, man,” he says, and there’s quiet.

The news feed keeps going, brutal. At least thirty protesters have been arrested tonight in Birmingham, after defacing a Confederate memorial dedicated to--

“Mute the TV,” Bucky says, and the house obediently goes silent. StarkTech. The whole place, wired up and ultramodern and serving them every comfort, when all around the country--shit, the world, because there were those people standing with their eyes streaming in London, in Sao Paolo, in Dakar--they’re fighting. And he’s just--

“Sam,” Bucky says. Sam opens his eyes and finds Bucky there on the other side of the couch. His hair’s dragged back in a ponytail and he’s wearing a t-shirt and sweats, but even dressed down for training Sam can’t get away from how he looks--unearthly. Something about his eyes.

“The Avengers should be able to do something,” Sam says. That feeling in his chest--that forever feeling--being discounted, looked down on, spat on, fucked over--those years of looking over his shoulder, of smiling and playing polite--to be safe, and now he’s the safest bastard in the world, when he should be-- “We could go out there. We could protect those kids. Those--god, those old men. You think if we brought out the whole team, in D.C. or Seattle, those cops wouldn’t drop their weapons and run?”

“They probably would,” Bucky says. Even. “Would that do it?”

“It’d save some of them,” Sam says, and he knows it’s true. He also knows--he shakes his head. The Avengers... they weren’t built for this. Alien invasion, wormholes opening in the sky, world war--that’s their game. The superhero game. He leans forward, watching the silent footage on the television. “I could fly in there and snatch up one of those brutal cops, and you know what’d happen? His replacement would be in there the next day.”

“Systemic,” Bucky says. “Right?”

Sam snorts. They’ve been working on Bucky’s modern knowledge. “Yeah, that’s right,” Sam says, dropping his head. His shoulders hurt. His whole body, tense and aching as a bruise. “Systemic. Good vocab word.”

Bucky sits with him. Sam tries breathing. He was a counselor, he knows the techniques, but try as he might with slow exhales it just doesn’t work. It feels like a poison, trapped inside. “I’m supposed to be Captain America,” he says, finally. “Pepper’s gonna get me wings in red, white, and blue, and I’m gonna have a uniform with the stripes, and I’ve got the shield, and none of it matters, man. None of it. I’m just gonna be a symbol they put on t-shirts, and army recruiting posters, and cops are probably gonna have Cap hats on when they go out and--” He can’t finish the thought. It’s nauseating. He swallows. “And even--I mean, I thought, I’m a black man. I’m the enemy. So, I put on that uniform, are they just gonna say--oh, Cap’s just a PR stunt now, and discount everything we’re working for here? Or--will it be, oh, Cap, he’s great, he’s one of the good ones. He ain’t a thug like the rest. I won’t even be black anymore. I’ll be Captain America, and the rest of us will still be out there dying.”

The television goes to commercial. Mattresses. Apparently that’s the ad block that suits brutality. He says, “TV off,” and then it’s just the sleek, beautiful lounge, and the supersoldier assassin carved like a statue on the other couch, and Sam sitting there. The night outside feels like a prison.

“Steve never wanted to be Captain America,” Bucky says. He’s calm, his hands--one white, one black metal--laced at ease between his spread knees. “He just wanted to help people. He was nuts about it. Always picking fights bigger than he was.” Sam huffs, even if the weight’s still too hard to actually laugh. He’s seen the exhibit, in the Smithsonian. He knew the man. He can imagine. Bucky smiles--incredibly, even if it’s brief. “He told me later that he finally got it. What it meant. There were a lot of times he didn’t agree with what we were doing, as a country, or what we were ordered to do, or what people used his image for. But he realized eventually that Captain America didn’t work for any of them. He was meant to be a symbol of what we could be. What we hoped to be. What we had to work for.”

“A gorgeous white man with perfect blue eyes?” Sam says.

Bucky doesn’t roll his eyes, even if Sam’s being obtuse. “What do you think?”

Sam shakes his head. He looks at the shield, leaned up against the other chair where he dropped it, earlier. The star’s a little scuffed, from their training. “I think a country isn’t free until everyone in it is free,” he says. “And some things are going to have to break to achieve that freedom. And I’m not doing enough to help.”

Bucky nods. “TV on,” he says, and it’s still muted but the screens light up with news feeds. The crowds of kids, in black, pushing back against the riot gear. Medics in dirty t-shirts bandaging their friends. Umbrellas lifted above their heads, protecting themselves. “They’re fighting,” Bucky says, and Sam feels the heat rising up behind his eyes, watching. These kids. These fuckin’ kids.

“Sam,” Bucky says, and Sam looks at him, swallowing. “There’s a reason Cap holds a shield.”

Deep breath, in and out. “And you got my left?” Sam says, and Bucky shrugs, like, of course. Sam nods, watching the smoke rise. “Okay,” he says, and stands up. “Okay. Let’s go.”

[hillbillied]

OH could I have Andyeddie 35 and 39 AU and trope please?

35. Pirate AU + 39. Star Crossed Lovers

(apologies for the delay and the fuckin length of this, i got a little too into it and binged PofC, thank you so much for sending this in!)

They say there’s a pirate on the Seven Seas who everybody knows. A Captain Haldane, they say, who once bested Davy Jones himself and now cannot die at sea. Rumour has it he’s over a hundred years old, more rumours say he’s far too handsome for that.  He’s a gentleman and a fighter, a hero to the common and a menace to every Empire that dares fly its flag across the waves. He’s fearsome and beloved, a name that sends shivers down the spine.

It begins at the end, his story (if you believe it’s true, of course).

It begins with Andrew Haldane sinking towards the ocean’s depths. Another corpse drifting ever downward. He’s young and stupid enough to swear revenge on the most feared pirate Captain of the time. He’d hunted the man down but lost the ensuing fight. (You can’t fight an entire crew by yourself.) They tie his hands behind his back and make him walk the plank. He watches the sunlight disappear as he sinks down, down, down.

That’s when the Sailor’s Devil appears. The voice of Davy Jones, asking him if he wants to make a deal. Serve the sea for a hundred years and get whatever you want in return.

Andrew asks for another chance at revenge. Jones agrees.

~

Mr. Haldane finds himself on a ship unlike any other. Blistering with barnacles, draped in seaweed, rotting like a wreck, yet it sails faster than anything. The Flying Dutchman. Its Captain is the same, his clothes rotting and his curly hair always dripping. A tall, tall man, looking down on him coldly. (With a deep scowl that can’t hide his pretty blue eyes.)

“Welcome t’ the crew.” Jones says. Andrew gives him a charming smile and asks “Davy Jones, I take it?” He recognises the voice. What he doesn’t recognise is how a man can look equal parts rotten, fearsome, and attractive in one fell swoop.

The taller man grunts, half a smirk taking his lips. He leans over his newest crew member with a glare. “Tha’s Captain Jones, Mr. Haldane.”

Captain Jones, as Andrew comes to know him, is a mystery and a half. Since they’re going to be spending a hundred years together, however, it’s not like Haldane is short on time for study.

The first thing he learns is that Jones is a man of his word. Whilst it terrifies Andrew the first time the Dutchman submerges, sinking beneath the waves yet leaving the crew breathing salty water like it’s nothing, the destination is worth it. Jones gives him a front row seat as the man unleashes the ship’s fury onto Haldane’s target. They board the dying vessel together and cut down those who remain.

Andrew gets his revenge much sooner than he’d expected. Suddenly, a hundred years seems like a very, very long time. He thanks Jones regardless. The man simply shrugs; “Don’t bore me with y’ reasons.”

The second thing he learns about Jones is his strength. It’s a tidal wave; slamming against a body, it’ll break you in two. Demonstrated when one crewman attempts to rile up some kind of mutiny. It fails, of course, long before Jones comes sidling over the deck. He doesn’t draw his rusty sword, Andrew notes. Doesn’t have to; grabbing the boy by the collar, he slams him into the rail. The deafening crack has even Andrew flinching. Jones doesn’t even seem angry, just unimpressed.

The third thing he learns about Jones is that he has a large, mottled scar across the left side of his chest. Right over his heart, but books don’t survive on the Flying Dutchmen unless you can read water damage, so Andrew has no research prospects. He notices the scar the same day he learns the fourth thing about Jones; The man takes off his shirt in the sun, hat gone but bandana keeping his curls at bay. Working the rigging with his muscles straining and those worn tattoos running over his arms. (What Andrew learns is that he enjoys seeing this. Not so much a Jones-thing as a him-thing.)

The fifth thing he learns is that Captain Jones can play guitar. And he’s really fucking good at it. The crew don’t cheer for an encore because they fear him, they cheer because his tunes and singing make the days pass a little easier.

The sixth thing he learns about Jones is that his crew are never permanent. Once their service is up, they disappear. Everyone is happy for them, except the Captain. Andrew notices how tired the man looks when another crewman vanishes. Haldane wonders is Jones is lonely.

The seventh thing he learns about Jones is that he is lonely. Andrew’s his first mate by then, they spend time together in the Captain’s cabin. It’s always a drunken delight. Andrew has asked all the pointed questions about the afterlife; Jones has dutifully shrugged and told him to ‘fuck off’.

“What made you Captain of the Flying Dutchmen?” Andrew asks instead. “Why’d y’wanna kill that pirate so bad?” Jones counters.

The first answer is Andrew’s; “Because he killed my matelot.” He says, “But I’ll be with him again when my time’s up here.” The words have Jones’ shoulders clenching, his drunken eyes wandering elsewhere for a moment. Then he says; “Y’can’t be with someone in death who ain’t dead.”

If Andrew hadn’t staggered to his feet, demanded to know what he meant by that, he might have noticed Jones avoiding the original question.

The eighth thing he learns about Jones is that the man is never cruel. Unfair, perhaps, but never cruel. He tells Andrew that if his matelot died at sea, he would know. Would probably have appeared to him, offered the same deal he gave Haldane. “I only deal with good men who come t’bad ends.” Jones says.

The ninth thing he learns about Jones is that the man has no heart. Literally. When they stumble into each other on another drunken night, chests pressed close, Andrew can’t feel a heartbeat to match his own. (Their slurred laughter leads to some hilarious wrestling before they both collapse in a pile to sleep.)

Which is a shame, because figuratively, Jones is a big softie. He always lets the crabs he finds in his boots go free. He never lets his beard grow longer than a stubble to ‘avoid lookin’ scarier than he already is’. He works the sails with his men just as much as he steers the ship. His blushes when he laughs as Andrew’s jokes. (He didn’t always do that one.)

The tenth thing Andrew learns is that Jones’ first name isn’t 'Davy or even anything close. The Captain has long since stopped calling his first mate ‘Mr. Haldane’; it’s ‘Andy’ now. But when Haldane tries to reciprocate, he just gets a laugh. “Edward.” Jones says, “M’name’s actually… Edward…”

Andy covers the crushing sadness that consumes him with a forced laugh of his own. “Eddie, then.” He says. How come nobody even knows your real name?

Eventually, in his ninety-ninth year of service aboard the Dutchman, Andy strikes gold. A new crewman who knows the legends of the sea appears. They play dice together and Haldane offers him as much rum as he needs to keep talking. All about how Davy Jones (“Eddie Jones.” Andy quietly corrects.) swallowed the heart of the sea, only to cough up his own instead. Now the man is cursed to an eternity on the waves, only able to set foot on land once every ten years. And if you were to eat Jones’ heart, just like he did all those years ago, you could be the Dutchman’s Captain. And Jones? Well, he’d die the same as any other man.

“He’d be free…” Andy wonders. “Sure,” The crewman says, “But who’d be stupid enough to take on that burden? Better him that us.”

Andy knows where Jones keeps his heart and the key to open it. Because Eddie has told him, never once suspecting things might turn out so strangely. Or that Andrew might be almost at the end of his hundred years’ service and, instead of joy, feel only panic.

That’s how it ends. Just the two of them, under a moonlit sky, on the deck of the Dutchman. The only sound is the quiet tha-thump, tha-thump of the heart in Andy’s hand. He’s never seen Jones’ go pale like that. (Paler than he already is, he supposes.) He’s never seen his Captain with fear in his eyes.

“Andy.” He says, the cold tone ruined by the tremor in his voice, “Put tha’ back. Y’don’t want immortality, trust me.” And Andy has to laugh at the accusation. Because Eddie really can’t imagine that someone might be doing this out of compassion rather than for selfish gains. “I don’t want to be Captain, Eddie!” Haldane cries. “Then why’re y-?” It eventually sinks in.

“I want to free you.” Andy says. “I won’t let ye’.” Eddie shoots back. He takes a step forward. Haldane raises the heart closer to his lips. The stalemate keeps them both still.

“You’ll be trapped f’ eternity.” Jones says. He pretends that it’s the curse that is making his cheeks wet. “You’re already trapped for eternity.” Andy laughs, “And I won’t leave you like this.” “Put it back in the chest, Andy…” Eddie whispers. His voice can barely be heard about the waves. “Please.” He takes another step and Haldane opens his mouth.

Those are definitely tears on the face of the fearsome Captain Jones. “Please, Andy, I love you!” He cries, “Don’t do this f’ me! I’m not worth it! Put it back in th’ chest!” The words bring tears to both their eyes now.

“I love you too.” Andrew says. He glances down at the heart in his hand, steeling himself to swallow the damn thing. The heart of the sea, held so close to his own, beating safely within his chest. “Oh…” He says as realisation takes him. He looks back at Eddie. He’s smiling. His hundredth year is almost up.

“Does it have to be in a chest?”

~

Captain Andrew Haldane is the pirate on the Seven Seas who everybody knows. A man with a scar across the left side of his chest, where they say he cut out his own heart to best Davy Jones. Rumour has it the deal made it so he could never die at sea; an eternity of freedom, threatened only were he to step foot on land. Fortunately, the man doesn’t seem to do that much. He mainly visits quiet islands, once every ten years, with his first mate as company.

Rumour has it he’s over a hundred years old, more rumours say he’s far too handsome for that.  He’s a gentleman and a fighter, a hero to the common and a menace to every Empire that dares fly its flag across the waves. It’s said he once took out an entire armada with only two ships; his beloved Peleliu, and another that rose from the depths itself to fight by his side. Apparently, he threw his first mate overboard before the battle as a sacrifice to the sea, and in return he received this terrifying ghost ship.

He’s fearsome and beloved, a name that sends shivers down the spine. Sceptics say the scar is just an old wound, that if you listen to his chest you can hear the beat of a heart within.

Of course, when asked, Captain Haldane just smiles. “How do you know if the heart’s really mine?” He’ll say. Some are inclined to believe him. Particularly his crew, who have each glimpsed the similar, jagged scar across the chest of his first mate. A tall man named Edward, who is always chosen to watch the ship when they reach port. The crew might feel bad for him, always being the one ‘stuck at sea’, were it not for Captain Haldane always quickly returning so they can be alone together. Every pirate is a little jealous of those two, what a perfect matelotage they must share.

[ma-sulevin]

We’re finally done! It’s officially the last chapter! 

I want to thank everyone for supporting me through my first attempt at writing in the FC5 fandom. I don’t know why I decided to start with a novel-length AU idea, but I did, and it’s done, and I’m so happy I did it. 

I want to extend an extra-special thanks to @chyrstis​ who has commented on and shared every single chapter. Your comments gave me LIFE through this whole process.

Pairing: Sharky Boshaw/Female Deputy Rating: E Warnings: Canon-typical violence, but nothing particularly explicit I don’t think Word Count: 4338, chapter sixteen of sixteen!

Read it on AO3 instead and say nice things.

---

The official diagnosis, six weeks later, after the National Guard and the feds and the EPA and the fuckin’ news crews have come and gone, is mass drug-induced hallucination. 

That’s it.

That’s the whole reason.

Mattie knows there’s more to it, knows there was something special behind it all. She’s the only one who remembers so much, the only one who can clearly describe how it feels to drown or be strangled to death, the only one who spent so much time listening to the black white black and the Voice.

She’s the only one who heard the voice except for Joseph, and he never fucking shuts up about it, even from the relative safety of his prison cell in Missoula, and so she’s never ever ever going to fucking bring it up.

Not to Staci, who smiles and teases her with just a little less energy than before, acting like he doesn’t remember the details of what happened to him in Jacob’s compound, but affected by it all the same.

Not to Joey, who smiles less often, who still curses every time someone brings up a Seed, who says it’s a damn good thing the National Guard showed up when they did or she would’ve hunted John down herself.

Not to Whitehorse, who is the quietest of them, whose sole moment of lost temper was immediately on returning to the station when he grabbed Nancy by the arm and threw her out into the parking lot, who has started offering Mattie hugs and pats on the back when it looks like she needs them (basically all the time).

Certainly not to Burke, who left without sleeping the next day, who she hasn’t seen since.

And absolutely not to the state therapist who brought two big suitcases and moved into the Hot Springs Hotel, only to have to drive into Falls End every day because no one would go into the Henbane yet.

She’s not trying to get involuntarily committed.

If she’s going to be committed, it’ll be on her own terms, and only when she needs it.

And she doesn’t need it, not yet.

She’s seen as something of a hero around the county, receiving free drinks from Mary May and free food from everyone else. People stop her to say thank you, and Boomer always runs up to jump on her if he happens to be nearby with Rae Rae.

That slows down too, as the days pass and things go back to normal, and only the people most involved in her fight against the Seeds look like they’re thinking about her bleeding for them when they look at her.

She starts looking at property listings online.

It’s not like she’s ever going to get fired now.

It takes the full six weeks — two weeks of paid leave, four weeks of being back on the job — for Jude to show up at the station. He has coffees for everyone and a look of grim determination on his face.

Staci sends a furtive look at Whitehorse, who feigns disinterest, and then accepts the coffees with a quick peck on the lips, and then Mattie hands Joey five dollars because she thought it would take longer.

(Mattie wins the five dollars back from Staci later when he owes her for Mary Mary bringing Joey lunch.)

She takes to visiting Jerome after services on Sundays, not quite ready to start going to church again, but craving the kind of spiritual guidance he gives so easily without making her feel like she’s going to hell no matter what.

She visits the Ryes, takes them baby gifts, receives hugs from them both, listens to Kim complain about how she was technically pregnant an extra two months until the memories start to fade and then are erased by Carmina’s abrupt appearance into the world.

She visits Grace, visits Jess, drives up to look at the abandoned Veteran’s Center, with its inhabitants arrested and its weapons cache seized, and thinks if she burned it to the ground, no one would turn her in for it.

Every night she goes back to her apartment, every night she goes home and puts a little food out for the stray cat and thinks about taking one of the sleeping pills her therapist recommended and gets in bed without opening the bottle, every night she curls around her pillow and she cries.

If the bombs had fallen that night she was with Sharky, before she snuck out without saying goodbye, if they had fallen first thing that morning before the sun came up… she would still be with him. They’d be together, in his bunker, alone but together, probably high as fuck and burning through their condom supply.

The world would be over, but they would be happy.

It’s selfish.

It’s so selfish.

But she misses it.

She misses him.

The therapist makes it eight weeks in Hope County before she packs up and goes back to Missoula. She leaves a recommendation for a virtual office, and Mattie puts the card next to her unused pills, but she thinks she overhears Staci telling Jude he’s going to set up regular appointments.

She gets Joey’s tattoo artist’s information from her and starts to look at phoenix tattoos on Pinterest, the blank space of her left forearm mocking her without its tally marks.

Mattie makes it nine weeks before she breaks under the strain. She makes it through nine weeks of emptiness, of loneliness, of the crushing feeling of how any moment could be her last.

Is this how she lived before? Was she ever so aware of her own mortality, or did she go through life acting like she was fucking invincible until the fact of it was actually shoved in her face?

She wakes up with the sun on her day off. She showers. She shaves. She conditions and blow dries and styles. She puts on a dress and grabs a sweater.

And she drives to the Henbane, up the hill, and to Sharky’s trailer.

He’s standing outside when she parks her car, an unlit cigarette in his mouth and a bucket in one hand. He looks over at her from under the brim of his hat and dumps another handful of… something… on the ground, then holds the bucket in front of him with both arms wrapped around it.

“You said you wasn’t gonna arrest me for any of that shit I did!”

Mattie freezes in place, halfway across to him, and just stares.

He stares back.

“Does it look like I’m on duty?” Her voice come out higher-pitched than she means it, incredulous and not sure if she should start laughing or not. “Does Joey ever show up like this to drag you to the station?” She kicks one foot out to the side to emphasize the skirt she’s wearing, and his gaze immediately drops to the bare expanse of legs he can see.

“Uhh--”

“What are you even doing right now? What is that?”

“Uhh.” He looks down into the bucket, movements a little slow like he doesn’t want to look away from her skin, then he stares like he forgot the question. When he looks back up, she can tell his eyebrows are drawn tight together. “Sawdust.”

“Sawdust?”

“For the gasoline spills? I’m tryna… clean the place up a bit?”

They stare at each other as silence falls again. It stretches until it’s uncomfortable, and then it snaps.

Mattie bursts into tears. Not little ones, not anything cute or delicate, but big, ugly sobs that wrack her whole body and make her start to curl in on herself as she starts to shake. Her voice rises in an involuntary wail that she tries to muffle with her hands, but she can’t quiet it any more than she can stop it.

The tears overwhelm her, and so does Sharky.

There’s a dull thump of the bucket hitting the ground and then he’s in her space a half second later, his arms around her and one hand cupping the back of her head to pull her close. She presses into him, head tucked under his chin, and grabs the soft material of his hoodie for dear life.

The sharp smell of kerosene lingering deep in the fabric makes her cry harder at first as half-foggy memories burst into full clarity in her mind.

Climbing into his lap to sleep in John’s ranch, high and bruised and happy.

Kissing him for the first time behind the Spread Eagle after he arranged a private place for her to relax after rescuing Joey.

Drinking with him up at the PIN-K0 radar station and resting against him as he joked with Hurk.

Falling into his arms after she escaped from Jacob, shoulder dislocated, starving and sick. Healing and growing stronger, tucked safe against him, under him.

Feeling happy and safe and loved and protected with him.

Feeling home. 

She doesn’t realize Sharky’s murmuring to her until her sobs have calmed into tiny gasping breaths and her tears have dried on the faded words of his hoodie, she doesn’t realize he’s whispering that it’s okay and he has her and she’s safe until after her body has already realized it.

She’s safe.

“You’re okay, shorty, I got you,” he says, voice barely audible with his face buried like it is in her hair. “Fuck, I missed you. Please stop crying.”

She lifts her chin so her nose is pressed against his throat. “I’m sorry.”

He draws in a shaky breath and holds her tighter until he exhales. “What for?”

“Waiting so long to come back home.”

His hands are shaking harder than she’s ever seen them as he pulls away enough to cup her face. He stares down at her, studying her, and she lets him just hold her like that even as he blinks his own tears out of his eyes.

“Dep, do you… are you saying you still… love me?” His voice is shaky and wet, those beautiful blue eyes red around the rims. It sounds like he’s forcing the question out, like part of him is trying to keep it inside where the answer can’t hurt him, but the bigger part of him is too goddamn hopeful to not ask.

She squeezes him tighter as she speaks, the words somehow hard to get out even after everything they’ve been through together, even after finding him in her arms once again. “Yeah, baby. I still love you.”

He squeezes her tighter, almost tight enough to hurt even though this time she doesn’t have any lingering injuries to make the pain sharp, but he doesn’t pull away to kiss her or to look down at her.

He’s not ready to let her go.

“Okay, but, like--” he pauses to take a deep breath, and Mattie braces herself for an emotional stream of consciousness from Sharky. “I know you know, ‘cause I told you before, and also ‘cause you’re a cop, but, like, I’m on probation, and I got this rap sheet that’s a mile long, and not all of it should be on there but I can’t really help that now, and I know the sheriff don’t like me, and I don’t want you to get in trouble at your job--”

She’s heard enough. She wiggles out of his grasp and grabs his face in both her hands. He cuts off mid-sentence and stares at her with his mouth still open like the rest of his thoughts will come out the second she takes her hands off his skin. 

“Sharky, babe, you don’t -- I don’t care about that. I knew all that, and I love you, and I’m here, and we’ll figure out how to work it out, okay?” He nods. His mouth closes. “I want to at least try. I couldn’t live with myself if we didn’t try.”

“Really?” His voice cracks, and Mattie’s self-restraint does too.

She pulls his face down to hers, and he goes willingly, leaning so far into her space that she finds herself leaning backwards, resting her weight in his arms. She throws her arms around his neck and holds on for dear life as his lips press to hers and his heart beats against her chest.

It feels just the same as she remembered. It’s warm and comforting, safe, and she can’t help but smile as his goatee scratches her chin. He still shivers when she tangles her fingers in his hair, and he still licks her lower lip after he nips it, and he still holds her as tight as he can.

Some things are new, different now that their circumstances have changed so much. He smells like his cheap shampoo instead of gasoline, and he tastes like cinnamon toothpaste instead of cigarettes or beer or coffee, and there’s no stench of bliss or lingering injuries or far-off gunfighting to ruin the moment.

It’s just like it was, but somehow… it’s better.

They break apart when their kisses begin to taste like salt, and Sharky wipes the tears from her cheeks, then he kisses her forehead.

“Oh, my god,” she breathes, eyes still squeezed shut. “I love you.”

He moves like he’s going to wrap her up in another hug, but he scoops her into his arms instead. She shrieks, considers lashing out, and then bursts into laughter instead.

He’s beaming at her when she wraps her arms around his neck for stability, then he starts carrying her up to his home.

“I love you, too, shorty. I’m glad you came back.”

He has to put her down on his porch to get the door to his trailer open, and she grabs his free hand as he does. It’s just like their first time together, when she held his hand to keep him from losing his nerve as they walked to the house he’d gotten ready for her, but this time, she’s just tugging him through to his bedroom as fast as possible.

He follows her, of course he does, laughing a little at her eagerness, and she winks at him over her shoulder.

He grabs for her as soon as they’re near the bed, wrapping his arms around her waist and letting one hand dip down to her ass to squeeze through the fabric. She smiles as she lets him pull her close, lifting up onto her toes so she can reach him better to accept his next kiss, this one a little harder than the one they shared outside, a little hungrier now that they’re definitely not going to be seen.

Why did she wait so long to come out here?

What was she trying to prove to herself?

Guilt creeps up on her, distracting her from the feel of his beard on her face and his tongue against hers, and then his hands pull her attention right back to him as they start to pull her skirt up so he can get his hands on her skin, still on her ass.

Sharky swallows the little noise of surprise she makes, moaning back at her as he squeezes and lifts and encourages her to lift one of her legs to wrap around his thigh.

“Oh, fuck, I missed you.” Sharky breaks their kiss because he can’t bear to be silent for another moment, and Mattie takes advantage of it by leaning closer and kissing the base of his throat. “Oh, my god. Do you know how many times I fuckin’ jerked it thinkin’ about you showing up here like you just did?”

She wiggles herself free of his grasp and pushes his chest so he sits down hard on his mattress. “That all you missed?”

She waits for his answer, trying to hide her smile, hands on her hips.

He blinks once, then grabs for her again, trying to pull her down into his lap. “No, fuck no, I missed everything about you.”

She kicks off her shoes and climbs onto him, hovering a little over his lap on her knees so she can tug at his hoodie to make him take it off.

“Like what?”

He pulls his hoodie off, and she rewards him by resting her weight on him. He bites his lower lip and groans; he’s already hard.

He buries his face in the crook of her neck, and speaks against her skin. “I missed you bossin’ me around all the time,” he says, and then leaves an open-mouthed kiss against her throat. “And how you always actually listened to me.” Another kiss, this time on the underside of her jaw. “And how you were always putting your cold fuckin’ hands in my shirt.”

She laughs and does just that, sliding her hands under the collar of his tank top to rest on the warm skin of his back. He shivers good-naturedly and noses her sweater to the side so he can find a good patch of skin under her collarbone to latch onto.

“I kinda missed always having hickeys,” she says, rocking just a little in his lap to tease them both, telling the truth even though she wouldn’t admit it to anyone else. She liked having the little reminders of Sharky when they were apart, the little bruises that showed she had someone who cared about her as much as she cared about him.

Sharky makes a little grumbling sound that sounds like he wants to talk, but he doesn’t release her skin as he focuses on sucking a mark that will last, and she laughs again, delighted. 

He finally releases her and admires his handwork before looking up to meet her gaze. “You always laughed a lot when we were foolin’ around, but not like, at me, you know? Just ‘cause you were havin’ fun. I missed that too.”

She moves her hands to cup his jaw, holding him still so she can memorize the expression in his warm blue eyes. “I love you so much.”

He beams at her. “I love you more.”

She kisses him again because she doesn’t know what else to say, doesn’t know how else to show him how she feels. 

The relationship they built while fighting the cult together was too strong to fade away like the physical pains and sharp-edged memories of the horrors. It feels now, wrapped up in each other, that they’ve never been apart and will never be apart again.

She drops her sweater to the floor and yanks off Sharky’s top, desperate to feel his skin against hers. He only lets her move enough to remove clothing and then grabs for her again, not willing to let her get very far away at all. 

He flips them, finally, when she starts trying to get at his belt, turning so that she’s flat on his mattress and he’s kneeling over her. He ignores her reaching hands and slides his hands up her legs, smooth for the first time he’s touched them, then back down, then up again all the way to where her panties rest on her hips.

“That’s ni— oh, fuck.” He pauses with her panties half down her thighs, exposing how she’s shaved herself completely for him. She didn’t know if he’d prefer it or not, knows he absolutely doesn’t care if she’s completely hairy, but it felt good to take the time to follow her old routines. “Fuck, yeah, okay.”

He flips her skirt all the way up and leans down without any other words leaving his lips to cover her slit with his mouth.

He’s just as enthusiastic as she remembers, and she shrieks as his tongue presses into her. It’s wet and messy and eager and so Sharky that she can’t do anything but hold on with her fingers tangled in his hair and her heels digging into his back. He groans against her, feasting on her, eyebrows drawn together as he focuses all his energy on giving her the most pleasure he can.

His beard burns her sensitive skin, wetness drips down the curve of her ass and onto the back of her dress, and Sharky’s fingers press little bruises into the flesh of her thighs as he holds her still. 

It’s so good, it’s too good, and it’s wonderful, and if this is how it’s going to be the rest of her life she might just die for good with his head between her legs.

What a fuckin’ way to go.

She wails as she comes, pulls Sharky’s hair and kicks his back by accident, and then she laughs a little hysterically when he tries to keep going like he did their first morning together.

“Stop, fuckin’ Christ, Sharky. Holy shit.” He stops right when she says, sits back on his knees and beams down at her, proud of himself, face flushed and beard wet, stupid gold chain still around his neck because he never takes it off. “I love that you love that so much, but if you want me to ride you again, you’re going to have to quit it.”

His mouth drops open a little as he sucks in a deep breath, the flush on his cheeks darkening dangerously, and then he’s twisting around in obedience to flop on the mattress next to her. He opens his belt and wiggles his jeans down over his hips as Mattie pushes herself to her feet so she can drop her dress with her sweater and grab a condom from the pile she remembers, and then she turns around to see him watching her with one hand tucked behind his head and the other slowly pumping his cock.

She watches him right back for a minute, taking in the red and orange ink on his forearm, the twisting of the muscles there making the flames look like they’re dancing, the burned skin on his shoulder and chest, the hair across his pecs and stomach, the little bit of tummy he sucks in when he sees her looking.

“This what you did waiting for me to come back?”

He nods at her, pumping himself a little harder as he keeps waiting. He doesn’t look back up at her face, apparently unable to drag his eyes away from her breasts, her stomach, her bare thighs still glistening when she takes a step forward.

“Here.” She tosses him the condom and climbs on the bed as he rolls it on, then crawls over him on all fours as he watches her with wide, fond eyes. “Ready, baby?”

“Fuck yeah,” Sharky says, voice a little too rough to be as bright as it usually is. He puts one hand on her ribs and holds himself steady with the other so she can sink down on to him, and he moans aloud as she does. He doesn’t look away from the sight, and she doesn’t look away from his face, and as soon as he’s hilted inside of her she’s leaning down to kiss him.

He tastes like her, and she licks it from his mouth as she starts to move on still-shaky legs, fucking him nice and slow so she can drag it out. He can’t stop touching her, running his hands over her thighs and hips, ribs and breasts, into her hair that’s so much softer than it was in the bliss for her access to proper conditioning treatments, across her neck and down her back to start the process over again.

The drag and slide inside of her is exquisite, beautiful, a feeling she’s missed these long weeks, and she can’t stop kissing him even when her face starts to burn. She fucks him a little harder when his groans grow louder, feels sweat beading along her hairline and dripping down her temple before Sharky kisses it away.

“Sharky, baby, you feel so good,” she says, cheek pressed against his, trembling as his fingers tighten on her hips and he thrusts up into her like he can’t help it anymore. “Gonna make me come again.”

His groan is deep in his chest, his next thrust a little harder into her, knocking off her balance so she falls against his chest with a high, breathy giggle. 

He wraps his arms around her and holds her against him, using his leverage to start really fucking into her. She giggles again and holds onto his shoulders, nuzzling against his cheek as she just relaxes her body and lets the pleasure grow inside her, listening to his deep groans.

She loves how loud he is when they’re in bed together, how willing he is to let her know how good she’s making him feel.

“Yeah, just like that, I love it, I love you, c’mon, baby…”

His hands tighten and she revels in it, in the bright spots of pain under the pleasure, and she presses her face against the scar on his shoulder and cries out, long and low, as she comes on his cock. 

He follows her over the edge immediately, like he was just waiting for her permission, his moan half muffled in her hair as he curls into her. She shivers and clenches around him, tight, pulling another low moan out of him, and she sits up a little and laughs because otherwise she might cry at just how goddamn happy she feels, finally, finally, after everything.

Sharky beams up at her, eyes half-closed and sleepy looking, and tucks a loose curl behind her ear.

She kisses him, soft and slow, still smiling, and then moves to stretch out on her side next to him. She waits as he gets up to throw out the condom, then he comes back and gathers her into his arms.

He kisses her forehead. “Now what?”

She shrugs and nuzzles at the underside of his jaw. “We just take it one day at a time, I guess.”

He makes a sleepy, grumbly noise deep in his throat. “Mkay.” Trusting, loving, beautiful Sharky. “I love you.”

She presses herself as close to him as she can. “I love you too.”

[ohdeargodnotyouagain]

“You know,” Whiskey grunts, setting his hat on the floor and pulling his collar down so that he could breathe easier. “Taking me out ain’t gonna save ya. In fact it’s gonna piss some people off real bad.”

There was a commotion further down the hallway from them, shots and screams.

“You shoot me and the person you’re hearing tearing up your guys is gonna find me here and you there, and shes not gonna be happy. In fact-she might even eat ya.”

The person holding the gun didn’t waiver but their eyes seemed scared.

“Well alright then, be that way and fuckin shoot me.” Whiskey got comfortable and let out. Weary sigh. “But don’t say I didn’t warn. And try not to shoot me in the eye please, she likes ‘em.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ This was so bad. Lykana knew that in a heartbeat things would be entirely different. Unlike the last time when he had gone missing- those men were not prepared for someone to go in guns blazing- the distraction, the one (wo)man team, the way she had dispatched them. She had had the element of surprise- she had even had the jump on several of them. But this was so different.  And now as she held the line of other Federation Officer’s and Statesman- she realized how truly bad it was. Bodies were everywhere. She was not immune to the stench or the sobs of men who had not yet succumb to their injuries- there were deaths and injuries on both sides. Lykana even had enough red and purple on her that her once white armor looked tiedye and she couldn’t focus on that. She’d unwravel not knowing whose blood it was on her. So many things went through her head as she stepped over a woman who no longer had half of her face. Harrison was running medical transports in and out back in New York like clockwork.  They had shot their other hostages. The entire thing had gone wrong so fast- these soldiers were all highly trained if not better than her. If she had gone in alone she’d definitely be dead. Her eyes glanced around until she found one of the Statesman who knew Whiskey well. Across the room she looked into Tequila’s eyes- she knew they hadn’t found him yet- and his were just as tense. “Where are you, Jack?” She breathed, as someone shouted they had beefed up the right wing of the huge industrial plant. They knew the land and she cocked her shotgun. Her lips a thin line- god help them when she found him. She’d do anything to get him back... anything. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ She pushed down the hallway- shoving past men (friend or foe) and trying to get to that door. Through the bloodshed and screams she could smell him. Smell his blood on the ground- and- Her heart was slamming into her ribs as she pushed herself further. The man who was wrapped around her leg had his nose broken and his head practically bashed in but he still hung on. Lykana untangled herself and even as she felt the muscles of her leg rip and pull- she kept going. She could feel it- something coming- something- horrible and-  She felt her knee cap give and she slid between one of the men’s legs, hitting him so hard in the balls he hit a new octave before someone shot him. Lykana scrambled to her feet and slammed into the door she could just feel Whiskey behind. The door was locked, and even though the force she hit it with- it only opened a crack despite the hinges nearly being broken off. Lykana knew her shoulder would hurt the next day but- none of it mattered. She hit the door again, this time it widened, only just in time to see a sliver of dark eyes that met hers. There was something in that gaze- that relayed all sorts of information through.  Before his head snapped back against the wall and she saw him lay so still. How did one describe something so painful it was like half of your soul died in the moment. Now she knew the pain that Cassander had told her about once. When you see that- you never forget it. Lykana’s scream was so violent and animalistic with grief that it made several people around her- both enemies and her own men jerk to a stop at the intensity of an Anamarthian’s cry. Humanity had once told stories of the grief cries of Anamarthians. She threw herself into the door, sending one bouncing into one of the people who were there, the other man looked into her eyes. Normally when people looked at her in that level of fear, she would restrain herself. But not now. Not when her eyes found Jack. Her sweet- sweet- Jack. Leaned up against the wall, eyes shut and so peaceful. Blood soaking down his face and neck, down his sleeves and started to pool on the floor beside his hand. There was a slightly curl to his lips, as if he had tried to smile at her when they had shot him. Jack. Her head snapped back to the only remaining man. She said something but she couldn’t remember what language or what she even said as she came for him.  And it was brutal, the men who had entered after her backed quickly up as an arm went flying past them. The screaming absolutely did not stop until she wanted it too. There was a mutual understanding among all the men who had survived, was that that death had been the most brutal. Lykana did not stop until the man was a gurgling mess of death twitches.  It was like she was walking through oil when she dropped beside Jack, her arms and hands shaking too bad to touch him. Her teeth bit into her lip, “W-Whiskey?” She whispered to him, coming to put her hands on his rapidly cooling skin, “Jack? Baby...” Lyakana’s voice was barely there as she looked at the wound. “B-Baby no...I-” How many people had she done that to? Blown their brains out for their lovers or friends to find later. This was just rewards wasn’t it. Punishment. She was barely holding back tears- she’d failed. Another minute- and he’d be alive. Alive looking at her with that stupid lopsided grin with those dark eyes she could get lost in forever. I could have saved him.  Her boot hit the wide brimmed hat on the floor when she shifted to put her hand on his chest, trying to feel a heartbeat she knew that wasn’t there. The hat flipped over and she saw the inside- Alphagel.  And suddenly she was almost screaming again- “Tequila!!” Her voice was so violently loud in the silence that the men who had been waiting for her to have her private moment rushed back into the room. Her hands were so shaky on his hat- trying to pull out the gel she knew Ginger and even Harri had helped design. The brilliant woman- she’d kiss her as soon as she saw her.  She pulled it out of his hat and told Tequila to help her. “I’m-m shaking too bad just- get it around his head!” Lykana begged the taller man who she’d come to view as highly as Whiskey- even if they hadn’t had that much interaction really. He took the other pen and she did the other- watching the film expand and... she sat back on the balls of her feet, before she could no longer do that and she had to brace herself.  “D-Did it work?” Her voice was so small, looking up at Tequila- searching his eyes desperately for any sign that he was lying. He told her they needed to get him back to Ginger and she jerked out of his way as other people she didn’t notice or recognize came in. “Take care of him.” She told him, feeling the adrenaline start fade out of her system. “Please, I’ll never ask anything else of you. Him first-”  Tequila stood, trying to help her as she quivered so much she was like a frail leaf. Lykana went to stand on her leg and fell against the wall a moment later. His voice was very faint to her ears, maybe it was the ringing. “You need to go too-” Someone said, The man looked concerned as she moved away from them and the death- the Alphagel would work. She knew it would. All of Ginger’s toys worked. Someone took her by the arm and she cried out in pain, and the other arm came around her to support her as they moved her to the transport.  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ It felt like she was in a vacuum. Sounds were very faint despite the hospital wing being absolutely full of people. Smells were very strong but everything on her felt numb. Tequila had disappeared into the crowd a long time ago and for some reason she couldn’t figure out how to actually get up and walk. Something in her mind told her she was in severe shock- but she didn’t care. This wasn’t anywhere near the worst she had ever had. She had waved off every single attempt at a nurse or doctor coming toward her. And since there was no shortage of patients to attend to, they had believed her when she said she was fine in a small voice. Lykana had no idea how long she had been looking at Jack’s blood on her hands. Lights seemed too bright, and she hadn’t stopped shaking- even if she felt cold, she wasn’t sure if it was the hospital or not.  Lykana attempted to stand but the pain that shot through her leg and up through her hip made her sit back down. A spell of dizziness came so quickly she swallowed repeatedly now she wouldn’t dry heave. Lykana thought sections of thoughts, “hurt... Jack... cold... how long?”  Then there was a pair of eyes looking up at her from a crouched position, touching her cheek. Asking her questions that she didn’t comprehend as she mumbled, “Jack- see to him first.” She rested in the hand- Wow, they were strong. Just like... Like Harri. “He’s a... statesman.” She murmured, eyes going in and out of focus. “I’m fine- Please, just go take care of the others.” Lykana pleaded with the person who was practically holding her up in the chair. Maybe it was better if the Alphagel caused memory loss. He wouldn’t remember her... and with the times he had saved her, she didn’t make to him in time. It made her chest hurt. “Please.” 

[tessacxstello]

hello im (F, 24) an idiot and forgot to post tessa’s (F, 22, fictional) intro!

pls bare in mind most of this was written 5+ years ago n i haven’t written tessa since 2015...... but lets get this show (LOCKWOODRP) on the road (DASHBOARD). 

tw school shooting, tw bipolar disorder

art hoe. always covered in paint. why?? she bad at painting

the mark rothko jackson pollock kind of bad tho wher people are like.... omg.... revolutionary..... its a badly drawn vagina

fuckin loves astrology, but cant take it that seriously bcos one of her bfs was a gemini so there’s some lenience there. but she WILL blame her hormones and mood swings on the positon of mars

embodies pure sunshine. 

one of those really annoying people that can go through the most traumatic shit and still find a positive spin. 

cares so much for others but does not really care for herself n it’s meant she just bottles up all this shit n when someone asks her how her day has gone she just falls on the ground like tht bit in midsommar when florence does that loud wheezy noise and sits down 

has never really had much money at all. learns to make-do with what she has. loves upcycling!! her bookshelf is made from cardboard which she’s reinforced by pappering it over with pages ripped out of thrifted books. her sofa is an old car boot which she’s repainted, put on wheels and stuffed w cushions so that it’s actually bearable to sit on.

her knitted cardigan? its made out of wife material.

knits all the time. will crochet you a christmas scarf. if ur lucky you might get a knitted jumper with a penis in a santa hat

still sleeps with cuddly toys n then wonders why ppl dont think she’s mature enough for a serious relationship

very passionate about Sister Doing It For THemselves!! raised by a single mom who worked her ass off so that tessa could do fun activities after school, have lelli kelly shoes, and go to college (not necessarily in tht order of importance)

tessa was born out of wedlock as the result of an affair between her mom (a journalism intern in her early 20s) and a new york times editor. 

the editor offered to pay tessa’s mom off to have an abortion, but she was like fuck u and told the papers he’d done that and used the money to cover the cost of her internship which they refused to pay her for

and because of the scandal, he ended up going through a pretty messy divorce with his wife, and losing custody of his kids. so as a child  tessa was seen as the cause of a divorce and received mutliple letters from the editors wife (to tessa personally!) and his kids saying how she had ruined everything, but her mom moved them to another town so tessa didn’t have to deal with that crap. 

her mom worked 3 jobs to put her through school, so in return tessa pushes herself incredibly hard to succeed. needs a break and a hug and to get laid to be honest. 

an old soul. likes old films, old music, old people. only recently got an iphone 5s so not really with this century yet

very sweet and soft and kind but also a fucking mess and won’t listen to anyone else’s opinion. she’ll take comfort, but not advice. 

feminist buddhist bisexual vegetarian for human rights and animal welfare. standing on a soapbox shouting about the climate in the quad, shoving flyers into your hands. flyers everwhere. she turns up at your grandmas funeral and shoves one into her mouth. she’s stolen the mic from the vicar to talk about pandas.

says “mother of pearl” and “heavens to betsy”.

had an affair with her married piano teacher and he’s now facing a custody battle and his wife is leaving him and tessa has completely internalised that guilt despite her being the victim in the scenario

aesthetics: paint splattered jeans, loose curls spilling from a scrunchie, thrifted blouses in bright yellow, guzzling coffee in the library at three am when a term paper’s due, shoddily illustrated campaign posters to save endangered species, polaroids plastered to your bedroom walls with scribbled dates on the frames, jumping into a stack of autumn leaves, jumping off piers in the summer months and stripping off your wet clothes on the beach, digging your thumbs into peaches to leave a bruise, smoking with the extractor fan on to hide the smell, bath bombs, letting the girls at lush rub samples all over your skin, cacti with knitted bobble hats, decorative pillows and sun and moon blanket throws, basic bitch fairy lights hanging from every single window, painting the name of the boys you’ve loved inside your wardrobe door.

studies fine art and philosophy, and wants to become either a lecturer or the first woman president. vibe wise, very similar to leslie knope, missy from big mouth, and basically the naive everygirl with a high opinion of themselves trope

gets drunk off like one double vodka lemonade because she’s small and she’s a pretty messy wild drunk. it’s when slutty tessa comes out, and the next day she’ll thoroughly regret every choice made and decide she’s never drinking again and cutting out all men and starting daily sudoko

on the cheerleading team and is a flyer, which she sees as a HUGE responsibility and she works really hard to make sure she’s on it for her team. one of those get up at 7am and go to the gym before school types its sickening

she had a really traumatic time at high school because there was a shooting in her school. she was in the next classroom when it happened, and she lost one of her friends in the shooting. she had to take two months off school, was diagnosed with depression and put on anti-depressants because of it. in her 2nd year of uni she was rediagnosed with bipolar disorder and anxiety, which she’s now on medication for. she can be really good for several months at a time and feel super creative and determined (she actually finds manic periods helpful for her creativity n art, n sadly sometimes doesn’t take her meds in these periods to push herself more which is obvs super bad.....). but when the bad periods come they can also last months n she had to take a semester out of school last year because of her mood, so she should be a senior by now but she’s retaking junior year

she attends weekly stress-management sessions prescribed by her doctor which she finds pointless.

very childish in the sense that she can only see her own point of view and kind of views herself as the “protagonist” and thinks her ideas are super important and life changing and she IS Destined for Greatness! despite being pretty much average af

pinterest board.

STATS

age: 22

height: 5'2"

positive traits: kind-hearted, gregarious, selfless, philosophical, open minded, idealistic, courageous, feisty, charismatic, loyal, adventurous.

negative traits: stubborn, hot-headed, reticent, escapist, self-destructive, easily led, naive, troubled, complicated, stepford smiler, envious, overdramatic, explosive.

distinguishing Marks: heart-shaped birthmark on the right of her chest, splattering of freckles across the cheeks during summer months, full lips, large eyes, porcelain features, long wavy hair, tattoo of a bird and a cage on her ankles and a basic bitch arrow tat on her wrist (srry to anyone with an arrow tat).

skills: jack-of-all-trades, talented pianist, perceptive, knows the correct way to throw a punch, good survival instinct, is able to remain calm in stressful situations, endures, artistic, excels in academic studies, hard-working and self-motivated, expert liar and talented actress.

likes: wolves, vintage thrift store fashion, old leather-bound books, left-wing democratic politics, cigarettes, poetry, John Hughes movies, cold coffee, hot tea, the sound of laughter, staying up til 4am having deep conversations, Tchaikovsky, having deep conversations about life, stationary, DC Comics, horoscopes, winged eyeliner, cats, knee-high socks, house music, abandoned buildings, studio ghibli, the smell of the earth after rain, Wes Anderson films, herbal tea, old people, solitude, esoteric things, the smell of freshly baked bread, Charles Bukowski, the moon.

fears: death, oblivion, global warming, losing those she loves, isolation, clowns, guns, enclosed spaces.

nicknames: Tess, T-Dog, Tessie, Socrates, Princess, Sunshine Girl, Florence Nightingale.

alignment: Neutral Good

MBTI type: INFP

BIOGRAPHY

tw school shooting

Her story begins with Cordelia Costello, a twenty-three year old college drop-out, turned beautician, turned columnist, turned intern at a local publishing company. She was a youthful, beautiful, siren of a women, always surrounded by an aura of enigma and an entourage of men. It was no surprise to the gossips in the office that within six months working at the company, Cordelia had added to her list another title – mistress to Franklin Hozier, the Editor of the New York Times. After two blissful months and three hundred and twenty seven orgasms, Cordelia decided she wanted a baby. Franklin laughed in her face. Feeling isolated and used, Cordelia continued her affair with her boss’ boss for another month, before deciding to take matters into her own hands.

It started with a turkey baster.

Soon the infant cries of a baby girl graced the world, her wrinkled skin puckered and pink as her mother held her in her arms, glancing upon the most beautiful thing in her life. Once Tessa, named after Cordelia’s favourite literary heroine, entered the world, Franklin left her life and things took a turn for the better. Despite living in a rented one-bedroom apartment in Staten Island, on what little money Cordelia had saved, Tessa’s childhood years were filled with nothing but the happiest of memories. Times were tough, but what they lacked in money, the Costello’s made up in love. While Tessa was at school, Cordelia did odd jobs cleaning, child-minding, working in local nurseries, in order to save up enough money to give her daughter the best start in life.

Despite what she had been led to believe by television shows and teen movies, the first few years of High School were some of the best years of her life. Tessa threw herself into a multitude of activities that High School offered her, including the drama club, the orchestra, choir, badminton and the school newspaper. While she certainly wasn’t considered ‘popular’ at school, Tess had a wide circle of friends and acquaintances. In fact, High School was a place where she made some of the greatest memories of her life, but come her final year, it was also a place where she was haunted by some of her worst.

On the January 17th of Tessa’s senior year of high school, a shooting took place in Westville High School. For two hours Tessa locked herself in a supply cupboard, her head between her knees as she tried to stay silent despite the screams of horror from the corridor. Eighteen students were caught in the crossfire, two of which were Tessa’s best friends. Bouquets of flowers, laminated photographs, Teddy Bears in cling-film bags attached to balloons littered the streets as families and friends came to pay tribute to the eighteen students withered before they had a chance to bloom.

It took two months of therapy before Tessa could return to school. Some of the survivors could never return due to the horrors that their eyes had laid witness to. Sometimes Tessa felt like a part of her had died with the friends that were stolen from her too soon, but one thought kept her going through: she had survived, she was alive and breathing, and she could not afford to loose a second of the precious time she had been granted on this earth. Despite the nightmares that continued to haunt her each night, Tessa found in the aftermath of the disaster a new sense of motivation. She began applying for scholarships for colleges without her mother’s knowledge, in the hope that her academic success would be enough to carry her through further education. Thankfully, it was, and after three torturous months of waiting Tess was offered an arts scholarship to her dream school, Lockwood University, where she hoped she could finally start to rebuild her life.

THE PRESENT:

Life at university was like a separate world. Students came and went like moths among the whisperings and the tequila and the stars. In this new world, Tessa was exposed for the first time in her life to alcohol, drugs, and the sexual appetites of other students her age – though she politely declined all three. Instead, Tessa threw herself into the vast array of activities in the hope that by distracting herself she could escape the terrible flashbacks that continued to haunt her. Tessa joined the lacrosse team, despite never having played before, and took up cheerleading discovering a new talent; she joined the musical theatre group, and the film club, and even set up her own acapella singing society. But despite how much she tried to throw herself into student life, her past hung around her like a bad smell, and with the added pressure of the Sinking Ships zine, Tess began to feel the weight of her secret tying her down like a pair of shackles around her wrists.

PERSONALITY:

If someone was to describe Tessa in a single word, it would most likely be ‘bubbly’, ‘open-minded’ or ‘sweet’. But they would be wrong – Tessa is not bubbly, or sweet, or stubborn, or hotheaded, or fiesty, or infectious, or any of the things the world see her as, but merely a numb and lonely echo of the gregarious, halcyon girl she once was. Tessa Costello was one of life’s enigmas. No one knew who she was, for to each person she met she wore a different mask – she dripped confidence, or was painfully shy; she was an exhibitionist, or a brooding wallflower; she took things too seriously, or not seriously at all. She was an actress and the world was her stage, each person she met a different member of the audience in the performance of her life. In truth, Tessa no longer even recognised herself. Insecure, and self-destructive, she tried to hang on to the extroverted, mischievous pieces of herself that everyone had once loved, but day by day it got harder to know what lay in the vacant holes blown through her mind. While she was stubborn and hot-headed, Tessa always saw the best in people, which meant that she was easily led astray. While she had grown up learning to be street smart and astute, she was idealistic and allowed silly fantasies to cloud her mind. By nature, she was passionate, which lead her to misimagine and romanticise those she met. Despite the hell she had witnessed, and the anxiety that feasted upon her, she believed that people were innately good and that to have courage and be kind could cure anyone of their sadness – yet she was unable to cure herself.

TWITTER:

@500daysoftessa: i blame disney films and musicals for my high expectations of men

@500daysoftessa: i am in love with the boy who works at starbucks. today i asked for a double latte and he gave me a tripple, which i think is proof that my love is requited. our children will be smart and talented and beautiful.

@500daysoftessa: little known historical fact: pharaohs were burried with their hands crossed over their chests because it was a popular belief there would be countless water slides in the after life.