#anyway. everything sucks and i wish i was dead so so so bad

[daz4i]

good afternoon girl. i want to kill myself 😏

[bunnihearted]

🐰🕸🌙

[izzy-b-hands]

My doctor messaging me at 12:30 in the morning to tell me she wants to do a telehealth visit abt the side effects I'm having with my new Lamotrigine dose (including worse insomnia than my usual insomnia, as u may have guessed lmao) is. something.

[oogaboogaspookyman]

So this turned into a vent somehow!

[sonicenvy]

one of the worst things about having a large family is that the probability of you have an extremely unhinged relation goes up exponentially. I have a lot of family because both of my parents have 8 siblings and 2 of my grandparents had 4 siblings each, and everyone ever had multiple children. Thus, unfortunately I have an unhinged relation. My dad's brother D is a completely unhinged right-winger, tr*mpite, NRA member, evangelical nutjob who causes family drama on purpose constantly. He's one of those really sad people who says unkind, provocative things because he wants to hurt people and anger them, which honestly I find somewhat sad. Actually everyone who is cruel to others for fun is so sad. get help. clearly there's something wrong with you if you find that an acceptable way of behaving and think yourself to be a good person for behaving that way. Thinking about this because D decided to unleash his unhinged behavior at a family funeral last week and I'm honestly still a little steamed about that.

Side note, my dad has a buddy who I spent a lot of time around as a kid because he has kids the same age as my sister and I who has the same name as dad's unhinged brother D and he's my real uncle D actually, because he is a sane, kind, interesting and funny person.

[yawnderu]

She Wants Me Dead - Miguel O'Hara x Reader | Part I

I support women's rights and wrongs.

cw: toxic situationships, pathetic Miguel O'Hara, femme fatale reader, suggestive situations.

1 2 3

I love her so bad but she treats me like shit.

Miguel knows it's wrong. Hell, he has known from day one she was never someone anyone should ever get involved with. Oh, how he wishes he was strong enough to lock her up and throw away the key that held his love for her.

Oh, take this veil from off my eyes.

''Hey, big guy.'' His body tensed up when he heard the voice coming from behind him. His heart aches. He hates when you do that, showing up all smug as if you don't disappear for days, contacting him only when you need him.

''I missed you.'' He barely glanced down at you, noting how you always appear to make yourself smaller, even more adorable. Your soft, small hands running up and down the muscles on his back before your arms wrap themselves around his waist.

''... why do you do this to me?'' Is all he can ask, turning around and leaning down as he picks you up with ease, your legs wrapping around his waist while your arms hold his neck for support, face nuzzling his neck as you take in his scent. He closes his eyes, trying to focus on anything but the way your body fits perfectly on his.

''Do what? I like you— You're the best.'' A soft kiss is delivered to his jaw and he flinches slightly, breath hitching and neck growing rigid as you keep brushing your soft lips against it. He hates how his whole body language changes to show a degree of submission to you. He, the Spider-Man 2099, a 6'9 beast of a man who can tear through anything with his sharp claws and talons, becoming absolute putty under the hands of a villain much smaller than him.

''You know... You're the only superhero I like. Not only because you give me money— I mean, a big part is because of it, but you also look cool.'' You praise lazily, knowing he'd love any compliment coming from your lips.

''You know what? ... You're my favorite villain.'' I hate myself. His body is still tense from holding you so close, yet he can't help but want you, despite all he knows about you. Despite the way you use and abuse him. His voice is husky, but it's true; he's completely under your spell. A soft snicker comes from your lips, instantly making him roll his eyes.

''How much do you need this time?'' He changes the topic. He has a feeling and he knows you'll ask for a big amount of money, but he wants to hear you say it. He already pays for your lifestyle, yet somehow that's not enough for you, so he bends backwards to please you and avoid anything that can make you angry, upset, or leave. He has the money for it, anyway.

''Hmm... Just around $3000.'' You shrug your shoulders and look up at him with the same cat-like grin that makes his knees weak every. single. time.

''Just three grand?'' His shock is clearly feigned, yet you still snicker softly and his eyes lose a tiny bit of the edge in them. ''if it'll make you shut up for another 10 minutes, I'll give it to you.'' He shrugs his shoulders, acting uninterested as if he wouldn't lose his shit if you actually didn't talk to him for 10 minutes after your return.

''After that, I'll stop for a while. I'm not your cashcow.'' He adds as an afterthought, giving you a sharp look.

''You're not?'' You ask teasingly, voice laced with mirth as your lips brush against his neck again, planting a kiss right on his pulse. ''What if I do this, papi?'' Your tone is seductive, voice barely above a whisper. Miguel nearly stumbles back in surprise, plump lips parting slightly before he regains his composure. It takes everything he has in him to stay still, allowing your warm tongue to lick a clean line across his neck, muscles tensing up under the warm mass.

''You little—'' He can't even finish his sentence, your lips latching onto his neck after his suit disengages just enough to give you space to kiss, sucking on the previously covered skin as you leave your mark.

''Little what...? Little slut?'' You tease, gently licking the mark you made before starting to make a new one right below, being mindful enough to make sure that body part will be covered by his hologram suit.

''... Yes.'' He gasps softly in surrender, a low moan escaping his parted lips as he holds you even tighter, his fingers digging into the fabric of your clothes. He can feel his entire body shake from his knees up.

''When will I get the money?'' You finally let go of his poor, now marked up neck, looking up at him with the same smirk that he sees on his dreams and nightmares.

Miguel takes a second to catch his breath, looking around to make sure no one is near his office before he replies to you. ''When do you need it? Today? Tomorrow?'' His tone is even and businesslike now that he regained his breath.

''Today would be great.'' He brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear, internally slapping himself yet wondering how someone so beautiful could be so evil. So shamelessly manipulative.

''You'll have it by tonight.'' He confirmed, his voice firmer and his expression serious as he looked down at you, still carrying you like you weight nothing— and for a man his height, you don't.

''But it'll be the last time. I'm not giving you any more money after this.'' He adds while looking at one of his monitors, afraid to look at you in fear of his resolve wavering.

''So I'll have to ask another man for money, Miguel...?'' Your tone is controlled and dangerous, though he can hear you feigning sadness at the news. Your hand holds his cheek, thumb right below his high cheekbone as you force him to look at you. ''What if he wants something else from me?''

Miguel bites his tongue and clenches his fists. God fucking dammit. He knows better than this. He hates when you make it all about you, and he hates how he falls for it every single time, as if he didn't know all your tactics by now.

''... Fine. You can have your money.'' His voice is rough, almost a growl, yet he knows better than to argue.

''You're amazing!'' You praise, arms raising slightly as you fake excitement, as if you didn't know he'd relent anyway. He rolls his eyes, a huff of air coming out of his nose as he gives you an unamused look.

''I'm doing what any good man would do, mami.'' Keep telling yourself that. ''And I'm not amazing, I'm a dumbass.'' He knows full well he's being played by you, that you'll turn those comments on him and use them as ammo, yet he doesn't care. The truth hurts either way, so he chooses to ignore it, he chooses to ignore the little voice in the back of his head and he chooses to love you.

''I'm serious.'' You give him an honest smile— something totally different from those teasing and smug grins you give him when you get your way. Just a pure smile that shows you're having fun with him, in a good way.

His gaze softens slightly when he realizes how honest your smile looks, the way it reaches your eyes and lights them up like stars he could gaze at for eternity, yet eventually the sun has to rise, this time in the form of the harsh reality.

''I see right through you, muñeca. I know your game.'' Miguel says, not rudely and his words don't hold his usual snark.

''It was never a secret.'' You shrug your shoulders, clearly not affected by him knowing you're playing him like a fiddle.

''Never said it was.'' The corners of his lips pull up in a subtle, knowing smirk as he looks down at you. ''But you should know that even without all the manipulation and the games... I'd do anything to help you. I'm a sucker for you, mami.''

''You'd do anything for me?'' Of course that's all you got out of his sentence.

''... Obviously not anything. I draw certain lines.'' He answers with pure honesty, trying to make it seem cool despite having you so close to him. ''But you know me. It doesn't take much to get whatever you want out of me.'' My heart is more yours than mine.

The corners of your lips tilt up into the smirk he knows all too well, yet you don't reply, simply staring up at him with your head slightly tilted to the side, examining his features like you have him under a microscope.

''You could have any woman... so why me?'' You ask curiously, the question that has been eating at your brain finally leaving your lips.

''Why not you?'' He turns the question to you, eyebrows slightly raised as he gives you a knowing look before elaborating. ''You're smart, charismatic, beautiful... Why any other woman when you have it all?'' You hum in acknowledgement, thinking about his words.

''Is it tiring? Loving me?'' Your tone is much more honest this time, as if you're deep in thought. His heart fills with fake hope as he sees your honest expression.

''Tiring? No...'' He replies in a whisper, voice rough for a moment as he thinks about it. ''No, mami, but it's hard.'' He matches your honesty, adjusting you so you're more comfortable as he carries you.

''I know you use me, but I still love you either way. It drives me crazy.'' He admits with a soft chuckle, a small smile on his lips despite the hurt in his eyes, showing you just how honest he's with you.

[safination]

Partners in Death...And Life

Part 5: Glimpse of Me and You: Part i

|Part 4: The Radio Stars' Co-Host Just Wants To Do The Dishes| |Part 5: Gimpse of me and you: Part ii| |Masterlist| Ao3| Taglist| Pairings: Alastor x wife! Reader Tags: fem!reader, established relationships, Asexual! Alastor, Reader is in hell for a reason Warning: Blood and dead bodies <3| A little bit suggestive Series summary: After a seven-year absence, you find the man you were married to in life, not only back in town, but also helping...*checks notes*... the Princess of Hell run a hotel aimed at rehabilitating sinners who were sent to the bad place for a reason. Now, I know what you must be thinking. Part 1? Yeah…this chapter is supposed to actually be much longer, but the second part of the fic isn’t complete yet and I have like two more exams. And biochemistry isn’t something to laugh about. I am slowly losing my mind. I close my eyes and I see aldehydes and hemiketals. Anyway, part two of this will be posted in like two or three days. It’s already drafted, just need to edit it. So here’s a bite size chapter. It contains marriage years 1930 and 1931. 1932 isn't complete yet, sadly. It was quite long, so part 2 will just be 1932.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

1930

 That blasted car is too far.

With each step, the tip of your heels scrape the pavement. Shoe maintenance tells you that dragging the rubber tip shortens its lifespan, but your toes pinch when you lift your shoe.

Alastor takes long strides, walking with the pace of a man with his ass on fire. Pick a struggle. One either walks fast but takes short strides, or walks slow but takes long strides. It’s unethical to have both.

Streetlamps illuminate the sidewalk. The dried leaves scattered around catch on your shoe, and the city’s smog particles stick on your skin.

The city sucks ass.

Alastor will have to drag you by the hair to force you to take another step on this cockroach infested streets. One taste of that fresh air surrounding your shared home, and suddenly, you’ve gone soft. Gone are the days where second-hand smoke reminded you of home. Now, home is the radio’s volume turned up in ungodly hours.

Alastor tightens his arm around yours, pulling you closer to him.

He’s wearing his favorite bowtie tonight. Everything from the shine of his shoes to the way he combed his hair screams fancy . . . except for that bowtie.

It’s not something meant for exquisite dinners with your wife.

You didn’t understand his instance. It was something you picked up on your way home one day, a measly scrap of fabric you purchased back when you didn’t know what good quality bow ties were. Alastor should know of its poor quality, yet he calls it his favorite.

Alastor lowers closer to your ear. “Is this your way of telling me you wish to visit the city’s zoo?”

“Zoo . . . ?” you echo. These shoes are going straight in the garbage bin once you get home. “Why would I want to go there?”

Alastor presses a kiss on your cheek. “I thought you were doing a penguin impression. It's a rather fabulous one, might I add.”

“Ha . . . Ha . . . Ha. It’s because I’m walking like a penguin. Not your best one, dearest,” you say, patting his biceps. They’re firmer than they look. “That’s a little bit on the nose. Is it an off night for you?”

“Your feet are hurting,” Alastor tells you like you don’t feel the way your toes slowly lose blood circulation. “I wonder . . . . Will you deny it? Or are you willing to humble yourself before me, and ask for a seat? There’s still a few more blocks until we reach the car.”

Now, there’s absolutely no way you are going to tell Alastor how your feet pinch and your ankle wobble.

With a bright smile, and sheer acting, you continue walking. “Did you do this on purpose?”

Alastor raises his eyebrows. “You were the one who insisted on accompanying me.”

“Well, my feet feel perfectly normal,” you say as your toes buzz. “This is nothing. You should see how long I’m on my feet during work.”

“Yes, because that is a perfectly acceptable thing to happen in workplaces, dearest.” Alastor tightens his arm once more. His thumb brushes up and down your arm. “I would say it pains me to say this, but we both know that would be a lie. I told you so.”

“You did not, actually,” you say, shaking your foot to dislodge the leaves sticking to the bottom of your shoe. “You barely took one glance and said, ‘ Those look lovely, dear! ’.”

Alastor pauses his steps, and turns to you with a smile. The night does little to dull how bright his brown eyes shine like stardust to you.

He reaches out towards you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. He tugs on your ear, and you slap his hand away.

Alastor massages his hand. “That hurt, you know,” he says. “But I meant about waiting. You should still be enjoying your drink.”

“And leaves my dearest, darling husband out here? Alone?” you snort, pulling him to continue walking. “I think I remember someone telling me that thieves don’t dissolve in the sun. Imagine them in the dark!”

“And what would be your plan if we both get robbed?”

You show Alastor your biggest smile. “It’s a good thing I have such a big and scary husband to protect me  . . . You . . . You would protect me, right?”

Alastor’s laughter rings across the air. It’s breathy and light and absolutely everything to you.

Alastor grabs your hand and intertwine his fingers around yours. He leads you further into the streets. Soon, smooth pavements replace the pot holes. Leaves replace the scattered beer cans. Grass replace the asphalt roads. Treen replace the buildings. Alastor pulls you deeper into some tiny park where the streetlamps are brighter, and the air smells closer to home.

You follow him, squeezing his hand.

Alastor squeezes back.

At the corner of this park, a children’s playground stands.

The dark does little to dull the bright colors of the seesaw and monkey bars. In the middle, a pirate-shim themed deck connects to a slide. The swing sways lazily with the nudge of the night’s breeze. There’s not a single living soul except for you and him. It’s eerie to see such a place empty when it should be filled to the brim with the life of children’s laughter.

Alastor’s strides become longer, and his pace even faster as he pulls you closer to the playground’s swing.

He releases his grip, and suddenly, your hand belongs to you once more. Alastor brushes the sand off the swing, and offers you a seat with a bow and outstretched arms.

You take the seat. The pressure lifts from your buzzing toes. It’s almost heavenly.

Alastor slides his coat off his shoulders. With soft giggles and a stupid smile, you watch him pull his arm out. Sleeve garters are worn for practical uses, but as a fashion piece . . . .Hmmm, it’s a great look on him. It’s a shame Alastor often hides how those garters compliment his biceps with a coat. How long would it take to hide every single coat he owns?

Alastor slides his eyes to you. It lingers. “Stop that.”

You offer him your most innocent smile as a reply.

Alastor inches close enough for you to inhale his scent. He drapes his coat over your shoulders, pulling on the lapels to secure it around your shoulders.

You press your lips on the corner of his mouth. “Thank you.”

Alastor kneels on the ground. He pulls your ankle towards him, sliding off your heel. “That’s all you’re going to say?”

You kiss his cheek. “Was there something else I needed to say?” you ask. “That seemed like a proper response.”

He glides his thumb over the reddened parts of your skin, massaging your foot. “Exactly . . . .It was a proper response,” he tells you. “Aren’t you going to question me? Demand to know if I’m going to kill you?”

“I think what you’re doing is rather obvious.”

Alastor stores your shoes to the side, and leaves your feet hanging out in the air. He circles behind you, hovering close enough to feel his presence, even with the coat. He wraps his hands around the metal chain connected to the swing, and sways you back and forth. “Did you enjoy the restaurant? A co-worker recommended it to me.”

“And in the off chance I don’t, will I be seeing that co-worker lying in the middle of our basement?”

Alastor smiles at you. “That depends,” he says. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

You tilt your head backwards to catch his eyes. “Is this a trick question? Am I supposed to say that nothing can compare to your cooking, or something along those lines?”

Alastor shakes the chains, jerking the swing. “You’re supposed to give me an actual answer,” he says, rolling his eyes. “We can come back if you liked it.”

You lean on Alastor’s leg, using it as a backrest. “Every meal is enjoyable when I am in your company, my love” you say. “But that crab was something else. It looked expensive . . . We’re, uh, not suddenly going to become poor, right?”

Alastor stares at you. “I’m going to push you off.”

You wrap your hands around Alastor’s, keeping his hold around the chains firm. “What did I do this time?”

Alastor sighs, and swings you gently. “I can afford nice dinners with you.”

“Just me?”

“Only you.”

Alastor pulls you to your feet. Sand pools around your toes. You pull his coat closer around your shoulders as he drags you closer to the pirate-ship themed deck. He releases his hold on your hand, and your fingers brush against each other.

He walks to the platform. The entrance was made for children, so Alastor has to crawl and duck underneath to access the slide.

You fiddle with the lapels of his coat. “What are you doing?”

Alastor glances back at you, smiling as he crawls underneath the entrance. His ass sticks out when he does. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“If your ass gets stuck,” you begin, crossing your arms, “I’m going to leave you here.”

Alastor rolls his eyes, shimmying further into the entrance. “How lucky then that it’s, apparently, horrendously flat,” he says. “There’s nothing there to get stuck.”

“There’s nothing horrendous about it,” you say with a smile. “I see you’re wearing the pants I like.”

Alastor snorts. “Oh, shut up.”

“Not a chance.” Your smile twists brighter.

Alastor grabs the railing, and pulls himself up. His biceps contract when he does. Sleeve garters and railing are for practical uses, but the only thing echoing through your mind were impractical uses right now. Impractical but exciting . . . .You need to get it together.

“ . . . Flirting,” Alastor says, pulling your mind from wherever it wandered off to. “Really?”

“That was hardly flirting, dearest.”

Alastor ducks into the slide. His ass lands on the sand, and he curses into the air.  You cough to stifle a laugh.

He hops to his feet, brushing the sand off his pants. His lips twist and his eyebrows furrow as he cringes in pain. “This is a hazard,” he says, glaring at the slide. He turns to you and smiles. “You should try it.”

“How brave of you to risk a shattered tailbone for me,” you say. “But I’m not sliding down that thing when you just called it a hazard.”

“You are an incredibly boring person,” he tells you. “Is it not a fad nowadays to be loose and goofy against these depressing times of economic downfall?”

Your raise your eyebrow.” You want me to crawl up there and slide down in this outfit?”

Alastor leans on the side of the slide. “I don’t see any good reason not to.”

“If you wish to ogle my undergarments, there’s no need to concoct such a scheme,” you say, smiling at him. “You merely need to ask.”

Alastor’s lips twist. “I’m not—”

“Oh, calm down, I’m just pulling your leg,” you say, snorting. “You would need to think of someone besides yourself to do such a thing. So, there’s no need to get your perfect little head into such a fuss.”

“Stop it.”

You smile innocently. “No.”

Alastor walks closer to you. “And you wonder why no one wanted to play with you as a child.”

You take steps to walk closer to him as well, meeting him halfway. “Everyone wanted to play with me,” you say. “I’ll have you know that I was quite the delight.”

You stand before each other, inches apart.

Alastor stares at you. What do those eyes tell him as he watches you stand before him, buried into his coat? He leans closer to you. “I doubt that.”

You take a step closer and slide your arms around him to bury yourself into his hold.

“How rude,” you say with a smile. You look up at him to hold his gaze, propping your chin on his chest. His arms tighten around your back. “I was such a delightful child that I would have played with you, even when no other kid wanted to do so.”

Alastor leans down, pecking your lips. You inch upwards to chase his lips, but self-control takes over. “You are and always will be a nerd,” he says. “You were probably the type to read during the afternoon.”

You tighten your hug on him. “What an incredible assumption to make.”

Alastor places a hand on your head. “Am I wrong?”

“I’m not telling you that,” you say, leaning your head into his chest.

Alastor pulls away from the hug, grabbing your hand to drag you to the monkey bars.

He climbs to the very top, and swings his legs to sit between the bars. He offers his hand, and you take it. His thumb brushes over your fingers and you climb up the steps and onto the bars. It’s difficult to maneuver with such a fancy outfit. Alastor keeps a steady hand on you, and the other goes on your waist as you slide to sit next to him.

The whole playground can be seen from the top of the monkey bars.

“If you weren’t a nerd,” Alastor begins, bumping your shoulder with his, “then you were probably a bully.”

You grip the bar, leaning back to stare. His hair brushes over his eyes. Alastor runs a hand over the strands to push it back. You reach out and push his glasses up his nose. “What makes you say that?”

Alastor boops your nose. “You’re a pretty little thing who works in healthcare. Isn’t there a stereotype for that?”

You blink at him a bit dumbly, cheeks flushed and tingling. Heat trails up your skin, and you have to turn away to hide from his gaze. “You think I’m pretty?” you ask rather idiotically. Deep breaths are needed to calm yourself. “Look . . . look who’s flirting now.”

Alastor hooks his legs on the bar, and swings backwards. He hangs in the air, the force of his legs the only thing keeping him from falling.

 “Don’t do that,” you say, hissing. “You could break your neck.”

Alastor catches your eye with a wild smile. “I won’t.”

“And I’ll be sure to tell that to my next husband as we’re spending all your money,” you tell him. “Now get down from there before you make me a widow!”

Alastor releases his legs from the bar, and his body smacks on the ground. He lies motionless on the sand.

With a sigh, you carefully climb down the monkey bars. You nudge Alastor’s bicep with your foot when you reach him. “You’re not fooling anyone.”

Silence.

You fold the skirt of your dress, and sit across him. You slam your head onto him, using his chest as a pillow.

“Oof!” Alastor curls into you a bit, eyes twitching. He drapes an arm over your stomach, and draws spirals with his finger.

“I think we could have been friends when we were children,” you say, smiling as you feel the way his chest rises up and down with each breath he takes.

Alastor studies the sky. There are no stars to look at here in the city. It’s covered by the lights and the smog. “We wouldn’t. I probably would have hated you.”

“You—Hate me? Impossible!” you say with a laugh. “You think I’m pretty.”

“Ha. Ha,” he says. “You think you’re so clever.”

You intertwine your fingers with his, tracing the ring on his finger. “Sadly, I think I’ll have to agree,” you say. “I probably would have hated you as well.”

“I’m impossible to hate.”

“I'm sure I, of all people, could find a way,” you say with a smile. “Kids can be mean. And you were probably a really weird one.”

Alastor raises his hand to the air, studying his ring against the dark sky. You do the same. Both rings shimmer in the night. “Yet . . . ,” he starts, “here we are, married.”

“I can’t believe we actually got married.”

“I can.”

“Is this where you’ll tell me all about how you fell in love with me at first sight?” your snort. “That my smile and incredible stitching told you I was the woman you were going to wash dishes with for the rest of your life.”

Alastor laughs and his chest rises and falls. “Well, it wasn't flirting.”

“I did not flirt with you.”

“You did.”

“I didn’t.”

“On our third meeting, you told me we walked to the wrong house, just to spend four hours with me in the rain,” Alastor says, and you see the smile creeping on his lips. “You were so entrapped by my very being that you couldn’t bear to spend another second without me. You looked like you wanted to kis—”

You slam your head down into his chest. “Oh, shut up.”

Alastor glances at you. “Not a chance.”

“Okay then, well I remember two people underneath that umbrella,” you say with a huff. “You accepted my invitation.”

“I did,” he says. “Although, I had the excuse of needing to gather information on such a suspicious person. That was purely professional.”

“And you decided that an additional four hours of walking was necessary,” you say. “You could have stopped entertaining me in the first hour or even the second, but you spent all four hours getting your shoulders wet.”

“I did, indeed.”

Laughter rings into the air. With each and every of Alastor’s laugh, your head bounces up and down. You bury your face deeper into his chest, laughing against it.

“We’ve been married for more than a year,” you say. “How has it been for you?”

“Nothing much has changed, surprisingly,” Alastor says, shrugging his shoulders. “The only thing that’s different is I get to say the most ridiculous thing like how completing it is to be able to just exist with you.”

You take his hand, bringing it closer to your mouth to brush a soft kiss. “There’s nothing ridiculous about it, my love. I enjoy how completing it is to be able to just exist when you are with me,” you say, and Alastor caresses your cheek, trailing the back of his fingers down your skin. “Shall we head home?”

There’s a brightness in Alastor’s eyes when he smiles. “Not yet,” he says. “Let’s stay like this for a moment.”

Maybe the city isn’t so awful. Alastor could ask you to stay in this park forever, and you would happily breathe in the smog. Later, you will have to stand and grab your shoes, and finally head home to prepare for the next day. But that’s later. This is now.

You giggle against his chest. “You think I’m pretty.”

Alastor groans, placing a hand over his eyes.

There will be a lifetime of moments like this waiting for you in a world where you both just exist.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

1931  

The needle pierces through the fabric. You tug on it, pulling the blue thread up and then around to create a simple back stitch. The cat’s outline pieces together. Later, you’ll fill the cloth with grass and flowers, and a little butterfly to give the cat a friend. Should you gift this to Alastor? Well, either way, he’ll find a way to display it around the house sooner or later.

The radio crackles, and music fades into the background.

Soft taps sound on the speaker. “ Before I leave for the night ,” Alastor’s voice rings from the radio, “ I would like to call any attention to any wives out there, especially the one married to me .”

It doesn’t matter that Alastor is all the way at work, miles away, you still roll your eyes at him . . . but you turn the volume up, listening closely to what he has to say.

“ I know my voice can get, oh, so, entrapping ,” he says, and you swear you can hear him smile. “ Thus, this is a gentle encouragement to complete any tasks you are putting off. For example, you could take out the trash like what was agreed upon .”

You glare at the radio, flicking its wood. “Oh, I hate you,” you mutter. “I hate you so much.”

“ Now, now, dearest, we both know that is a lie ,” Alastor says. “ Don’t wait up! ”

The music fades back in, and the broadcast ends for the night.

He likes to think he’s so clever. Let’s see how clever he’ll be when you kill him in his sleep. It will be easy, barely an inconvenience. You’ll drop a pillow right over that handsome face of his, and laugh as he chokes on his own ego.

However, . . . with a sigh . . . you take out the trash . . . like what was agreed upon.

The air is cold at this time of night. The moon looks beautiful tonight, it’s light illuminating the garden. It would be a shame to waste such a breathtaking sight. A part of you wishes to share this with Alastor, that he could be here, right now, and stare at the moon next to you. And the two of you will exist in each other’s company.

You grab the unfinished art piece, and continue on the rocking chair, stitching and listening to the crickets.

It takes hours of stitching and sore fingers, but Alastor’s car finally pulls up the driveway. The engine dies, and he hops out of the car, circling to the trunk and popping it open.

You drop your things, and take a seat on the porch steps to watch him, the moon no longer being the most breathtaking sight.

Alastor’s still wearing his favorite bowtie. It’s too dark to see clearly, but you think he’s pulling out a body from the car’s trunk. He grabs the straps of the obviously filled cadaver bag, letting it drag across the floor.

A good wife would help their husbands carry a very heavy and very dead body. But . . . if it means being able to sit and stare at your husband hauling a very, very dead person, then maybe, being a good wife is overrated.

Alastor pauses when he sees you, dropping the straps of the cadaver bag. “What are—Is something wrong?”

You smile at the urgency in his voice. “No, not one bit,” you say, leaning on your head on your hand. “Don’t stop on my account.”

“You should be in bed,” he says, crossing his arms. “I told you not to wait for me.”

Your huff, blowing strands of your hair off your face. “Did you? This is the first I’m hearing of this.”

“I did,” Alastor tells you. “Did you not catch tonight’s broadcast?”

“It was a rather busy day. I had things to do, people to see, and all that.”

Even in the dark, you see the way Alastor’s grin widens. He steps towards the garbage bin, opening the lid to check its content. “You are such a horrible liar,” he says, snorting. “I see you got my message.”

Alastor steps into the light.

Part of his hair slicks back. It’s different from its usually neat look. His sleeves are pulled up, folded until his elbow. There are several red stains on him. It’s on his hair, stains his clothes, and paints his face. His eyes have never looked so brown before. How does Alastor manage to make murder . . . into . . . into . . . . You clear your throat a bit, already counting the day until the next time he goes on his hunts.

“Why, hello there, stranger,” you say, not bothering to fight the smile on your lips. “It’s rather cold tonight. Would you mind keeping a lady company?”

Alastor rolls his eyes, brushing back his hair. “I’m a mess.”

“Red’s a great look,” you say. “The seat next to me is empty.”

“Flirting, really?” he says, but he sits next to you. “You’re getting shameless these days.”

You press your lips on his cheek. “For you?” Another kiss. “Always.”

Alastor takes off his coat. The fabric pools around his broad shoulders and down his back before he pulls out his arms. He throws it at your face, smacking you with it. “I hope you don’t go around saying stuff like that to every man you see,” he says, smiling at you. “I might get jealous.”

You peel off his coat from your face, wrapping it around your shoulders. “Only the one married to me,” you tell him. “You should see how I flirt with my husband.”

Alastor props an arm on the steps, leaning back to meet your eyes. “How disappointing to hear you’re married.”

“Don’t be! This current one won’t be alive for very long, so there’s going to be an open spot,” you say, waving your hands. “Are you interested in taking his place? I hope you are—you’re much more handsome than he is.”

Alastor flicks your nose. “Funny.”

You rub your nose a bit. “So . . . ,” you begin, propping your legs across Alastor’s lap, “what is a charming thing like you doing in these woods?”

A strong breeze sways his hair into his eyes. Alastor pushes the strands away, smiling at you like he always does. “What an honor it is to be called charming by you.”

“Oh, not just charming!” you say, clutching your heart as you swoon. “Has anyone ever told you how handsome you are?”

Alastor laughs, and his glasses slide down his nose. You push it up for him. “Not nearly enough,” he says. “Maybe I should take your husband’s open spot, afterall. My wife never compliments me as much as you do.”

He traces circles on the skin of your legs. You give him a little kick for what he said. “Maybe she would say it more if your ego didn’t inflate every time,” you say. “I would go as far as to say she’s doing God’s work by keeping you humble.”

Alastor pushes your legs off his lap.

He reaches into his pocket and takes out his handkerchief. Your eyes catch on the little design embroidered on the fabric. “Since you insist on keeping me here, you should at least help clean me up,” he says, offering the cloth to you. “I would do it myself, but there’s no mirror here.”

“Why clean such a masterpiece?” you say, but accept the handkerchief anyway. “May I?”

Alastor nods, inching close enough for the smell of rusted copper and iron to hit your nose. Intoxicating. It was just plainly and simply . . . divine. Like a rose that fell straight from heaven’s garden.

You wipe blood off his face. Some of the streaks had already dried. There’s a stubborn spot right on his jaw. You brush the back of your fingers down his cheek, trailing it down until you hook it right under his chin.

How does your face look right now for Alastor to stare at you with wide eyes?

The smudge line of blood that paints his jaw isn’t clearing. It’s too dry. You inch your face closer, brushing your nose on his skin as you inhale the dangerous combination of Alastor mixing with the strong undertones of iron.  Soft exhales land on his skin. Your lips part, giving way to moisten that dried spot with your tongue, trailing it up his jaw.

The hints of metal tingle against your tongue. It was sweet and salty, and it combined with Alastor to create something akin to aged fine wine. But not even the most expensive wine could be as intoxicating as this.

Alastor grabs your face, pulling you to meet his eyes. He squishes your cheeks. “That’s unsanitary!” he says, hissing. “You don’t know what type of bacteria mixed in it.”

You pull your face away from his hold, giving him your most innocent smile.

Hopping to your feet, you circle around the dead body that lies in a very dead position on the ground. You kneel, heart thumping, and pull the zipper down.

“Oh . . . ,” you say, taking in the violence this man experienced, “ . . . wow.”

Alastor was not kind to this man, for this one died screaming.

Alastor leans his arms on his knees, smiling at you. “ I got a little carried away,” he says. “Will you still be able to use him?”

“I think he’ll agree that got more than a little carried away,” you say, snorting as you zip the body back into its bag. “Shall I fetch the bone saw?”

“It’s that bad?”

You walk over to where Alastor sits on the steps, climbing to hover on top of him. The only thing keeping you from crashing down on his chest are the way your hands grip the wood behind him. Inches of space separate your bodies. How far will Alastor entertain you?

You smile down at him, trapping him on the steps between your arms. “I can have this one in pieces by sunrise,” you say, voice barely a whisper. “You can grab the spare, and we can call it a date.”

Alastor tilts his chin up to meet your eyes as he smiles at you. “And tell me,” he begins, voice just as soft as yours. He settles his hands on your waist to steady you above him, “how do you plan on achieving his?”

You trace his shoulder, trailing your fingers up his clavicle bone. “It’s like cutting a chicken,” you say. “All I need to do is take my knife and pound the edge across the joints to disconnect his limbs in one swift motion. Smaller pieces would require the saw.”

Alastor pushes himself upwards, and presses a kiss on your cheek. “And you would spend all night cutting this man for me?”

You hum with delight. “Only for you.”

Alastor tugs your waist, and you come crashing on top of him. You curse as your hands slip, and your face lands on his chest. Alastor hugs you, his laughter ringing in the air, breathy and light and so full of delight. “You are the most ridiculous person to be able to exist with.”

You laugh, accepting how Alastor is the one doing the trapping now. “I’m honored you think so.”

“I think that was the most romantic thing I have ever heard in my life,” he says. “I think I could kiss you right now.”

“Don’t let your wife catch you saying that.” You snake your arms around Alastor’s back, tightening the hug he shares with you. “I hear she gets extremely jealous, and it’s never a smart idea to cross a woman who owns a bone saw.”

Alastor’s back digs into the edges of the porch steps. If your added weight lodges the wood deeper into his back, then he makes no complaints. “That’s truly an idiotic thing to do.”

You press yourself deeper into his hold. It’s quite ridiculous. Hugging you on top of the steps must be uncomfortable, but Alastor does so anyway.

In the end, it’s you who pulls away first, but only to save him from an aching back.

 Grasping the steps, you climb higher and press your lips on his forehead. You take the seat next to him. Alastor reaches for you, adjusting his coat around your shoulders to secure you from the night’s cold breeze.

“Bad day at work?” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder.

Alastor leans his head on top of yours. “I’m better now.”

You press deeper into him, laughing against his dress shirt. It’s stained with blood, but you don’t mind. “So, tell me, who is this unfortunate fellow that was on the receiving end of your stress,” you say. “And should I be jealous?”

“I don’t know if I should answer that—Do you happen to own a bone saw?”

You swat his arm, rolling your eyes as you do.

Alastor presses his body closer against yours. “I would love to hear you guess.”

“ Hmmm . . . .Well, this is Larry, and he comes from humble beginnings,” you tell him. “He’s a self-made man who met this pretty little thing.”

Alastor takes your hand, thumbing the ring on your finger. “You’re getting better at this.”

There are too many stains on Alastor’s shirt. It’s beyond saving. You’ll have to burn his whole outfit. “Larry met this most darling belle. They were happy until tragedy struck.”

Alastor pulls off his gloves, intertwining his bare fingers with yours. “I do love a tragedy.”

“They fell in love.”

“That’s not tragic,” he says, snorting.

“Then you are a fool, dearest. Love can kill in a way no one has ever been able to describe. Not even the greatest poets can describe the true depths of loss,” you tell him, squeezing his hand. “Homes have been burned in its name.”

Alastor kisses your cheek. “And how did Larry suffer?”

“His darling got taken away from him, in more ways than one,” you say. “Even on her deathbed, she could not recognize him.”

Alastor clutches his heart. “How truly heartbreak!”

You glance up at Alastor. He’s looking at the moon. “Yet, here you are smiling.”

“That’s because you are the most fantastic story teller.”

You pull away to stand, and your fingers brush as it slips out of his.

The porch stairs creak with every step. You reach for the radio on the windowsill, turning the knob until a faint click. Alastor’s lips twist when you change his pre-set station for softer melodies. That man and his radios—Always so particular.

You offer a hand to Alastor, giving him a small bow. “Dance with me?”

“I’m not exactly dressed for the occasion,” Alastor tells you, yet he takes your hand in his.

“There’s no need to worry about such trifling things,” you say. “I think you look divine, like a rose straight from heaven made just for me.”

Alastor wraps his hand around your own, and settles the other on your waist. Dancing can barely describe what you’re doing, not when the both of you only had the energy to sway to the music. But nevertheless, Alastor takes the lead on this dance.

He raises his arm, twirling you underneath. Your eyes lock together when you face him. “Hi.”

You smile at him. “Hi.”

“I’ve been wondering . . . How did you know work was stressing me?” he says, as you dance to the radio’s music. “Why say work specifically?”

You tilt your head, motioning to the window behind you. “That radio over there,” you say. “The one you keep by your chair. You were listening to it this morning when I gave you coffee.”

You hum the lyrics of the song that plays on the radio. It’s quite nice. Maybe you’ll ask Alastor to play it during his broadcast as a dedication to you. But knowing him, he’ll take this opportunity to become a nuisance made for you, and find something to poke fun about.

His eyebrows furrow. “I don’t understand.”

“You listen to that specific radio when you’re happy,” you say. Those brown eyes of his shift to you. In your most humble opinion, they shine brighter than the stars. “You were fine when you left but somewhere between leaving and coming home to me, your mood turned sour.”

Alastor presses a kiss on your fingers, brushing his lips over your skin with each word. “I would love to hear more about this.”

“The one in the kitchen, that’s for when you’re tired,” you say, chuckling. “The one in the office is for when you’re bored. You listen to the one on our nightstand when you’re thinking or upset.”

“Then what about the radio in the basement?” he asks with a smile that could rival the moon. “Tell me when I listen to that one.”

“That one is for me. You leave it there so I have something to keep me company,” you say. “The saxophone, on the other hand, is for when you’re frustrated.”

“And now, you’re just a master of what I’m feeling.”

“Not at all,” you say with a shrug. “I don’t know how you feel right now.”

Alastor inches closer, leaning down to meet your eyes. “Would you like to know?”

“Sure.”

Alastor places a hand on your cheek, caressing you with his thumb. You lean into how gently he traces your face. He leans closer, nudging his nose against your own. Alastor brushes his lips over you, and the cracks on his lip prick you. Why he decided to torture you with soft touches and hovering inches away exceeds your understanding.

The strong scent of copper and iron on his skin intoxicate every molecule that makes up your body. He’s unfair. Too unfair of him to hold such power over you. Alastor would love to know how he makes your skin buzz with each and every glance of those too brown eyes that shine brighter than starlight. This is a fact you will take to your grave.

Your eyes flutter to a close. Alastor decides to show you mercy, finally kissing your lips.

Open!

The demand drums across your mind.

Your eyelids stay shut as you kiss him back. The need to look at Alastor’s too brown eyes shout at you. What face is Alastor making right now? How does he look? What do those eyes see?

But he kisses you gently. Oh . . . so . . . gently. Alastor kisses you like he had something to say. There are words being whispered across your skin as your lips move together. His thumb brushes your skin, and you can’t open your eyes.

Kissing him makes you wish you spent your youth studying poems and soft metaphors instead of the role of hexokinase in turning Glucose into Glucose-6-phosphate. This wish comes suddenly and out of nowhere. Not once have you ever wished for a different pursuit. But you would forfeit all your knowledge to be able to describe the way Alastor’s lips strike you to your very soul.

That thought disappears quickly, mind too preoccupied with the overwhelming sensation of soft lips placing kiss after kiss. The arm around your waist pulls you close, your body pressing against his own as if it was the most natural thing to place you there, as if the Seraphim creating your bodies carved you to belong.

Alastor pulls away with a soft smile.

It takes every ounce of your self-control not to chase after his lips and pull him back to you. Heat flushes your face. You can’t find the strength to open your eyes, not with how much he makes your cheeks tingle.

“You’ve been observing me.” Alastor brushes your eyelids with his thumb. “Open your eyes.”

Your eyes flutter, heeding to his demand. There it is, your favorite sight looking straight at you, holding a beauty that the moon cannot compete against—his eyes. “Hi.”

Alastor’s smile widens. “Hi.”

There are words that bubble on your lips. Words that are begging to be said. Three words that could very well make this man run when he understands just how deep those words mean for him.

And there it is again, that wish to become a poet because those three words can never truly describe what is imprinted on your soul’s very essence. Those three words are not enough for a man who deserves poems full of soft metaphors and sweet analogies.

“That’s because I . . . I . . . ,” you trail off, hiding your face in his chest. “I think that’s just called marriage, and I always was weak to such radiant beauty.”

Coward . . . You are a coward.

That’s okay.

You don’t mind the word being shouted to you by your heart, not when it means you can guard it with walls.

It’s okay to be a coward, because it means there will always be a tomorrow. There will always be another chance, another moment, another day to be brave. Another tomorrow. Another next week. Another next month. Another next year.

There’s no need to tell Alastor the word your soul desperately wants him to understand. Not right now, at least.

Not when the evidence is already there: You and him.

There will be a lifetime of moments like this waiting for you in a world where you are his.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Next Part: |Glimpse of Me and You: Part 2| Don't be shy to talk to me. I don't bite at all! I would love to hear your thoughts on the chapter. And all comments really motivate me to work <3. 1932 will be posted in a few days. 1933 on the other hand….Well, let’s just say that such a grand year needs its own chapter. As I was writing this, I kept going back to the idea that Reader can flirt, but can't handle being flirted back. It was too funny not to add. And like I swear heart appears in my eyes, as well as Reaader's eyes everytime Alastor does anything just slightly unhinged. That too was too funny not to add. Taglist: @mybrainautocorrect @ray-rook @teavibesaf @valentique @qardasngan @alastorssimp @aestheticgals-blog @slaggylemon @reikamasama @obessivlyonline @okay-babe @lyralibra @holymusicalmothman @amoraneuro @tobyisher3

[neppednep]

Hey! If you're busy feel free to ignore this, but could I please get some romantic headcanons for Red Hood? No hard feelings if you don't want to, since she's not on the masterlist or anything, or if you just don't want to do it. But if you do end up doing it then thanks a lot for taking the time out of your life, as well as keeping this blog running.

I wish you a good day, as well as luck in any future endeavors!

Red Hood Romantic HCs

I wanted to make a part for Dorothy too, but I've been busy as hell, so that'll probably come after I get through a couple other asks.

Also, if a charcter isn't in the Nikke masterlist, feel free to still request. I have to remake it one of these days because of the photo limit. Anyways, sorry for being late and hope you enjoy.

》 Being in a relationship with Red Hood can be a mixed bag. On one hand, you two really do love each other, even through the whole alien invasion, pretty much the end of humanity thing. On the other hand, you two don't get as much time together as you used to and even that is an understatement. Between her new duties as a Nikke and worrying whether or not she'll make it back home after her missions, it can get stressful.

》 You would be lying if you said it was easy when she first became a Nikke though. The two of you weren't exactly well off, living in a relatively small village away from most of the fighting. You didn't really think much of it, not realizing just how bad it was until raptures practically appeared out of nowhere, killing everyone in sight. While you were evacuated… you couldn't find her. The only proof of her existence being the cassette player she gifted a friend of yours.

Your breath freezes in your throat as you stare at the red haired woman, proudly walking down the street with a gun damn near twice her size tossed over her shoulder. You don't even know what to feel.

》 Imagine your surprise, spending months thinking she was dead until you saw her and a few others, still alive, receiving a hero's welcome at the city you were staying at.

Relief?

Confusion?

Happiness?

You couldn't even move, practically stuck in place as you stare at the spitting image of your supposedly dead girlfriend.

She scans the crowd, her eyes eventually land on you, having to double take before stopping dead in her tracks. You have no time to react before you see a huge smile on her face. Her weapon falls to the ground with a loud crash and the next thing you know your feet leave the ground as you're taken into a bone crushing huh.

No words really needed to be spoken between the two of you, everyone else in the crowd forgotten. You just bury your head into her large chest, letting reality sink in.

She's still alive and back with you, so you won't complain.

》 It really doesn't seem like much has even changed, besides that hug she goes right back to how everything was before. Immediately dragging you off with strength you didn't think possible. She wasn't a small woman by any means but it just wasn't human. After she introduced you to her squad and catching up, you found out she wasn't. It was a lot to take in. She did die… kind of? Then got turned into some powerful android who fights aliens for the sake of humanity.

》 Irrelevant. By the end of the day you two were in your house, listening to the cassette player she never seemed to get tired of.

》 She did seem a bit different though, only through very small things anyone else wouldn't really notice. Red Hood was definitely more clingy than she used to be, not to mention she was practically treating you like you were made of glass most of the time. It wasn't a bad thing though, just relaxing in her arms, getting the pillow treatment.

》 It did kind of suck when she had to go out on missions. She was on the best and one of the only squads around, but you still worried whether she'd make it back home or not.

》 Dates are certainly fun. Taking you to a shooting range, though not letting you shoot her gun of course, as you'd probably do more damage to yourself than the target. She's quite fond of showing off in simulations, or just going to see a movie or concert, though needless to say those are exceptionally rare these days.

》 Speaking of shooting ranges, out of everyone in her squad, Snow White is someone Red Hood loves to bring around. She's a nice girl, if a bit childish but she definitely looks up to Red Hood, and you to a certain extent. If you like guns or shooting, she'll be coming over a lot to run ideas through you or just hang out, almost seeing you as an older sibling.

》 Definitely protective of you. Not that many people would really try to hurt you. Your girlfriend is part of the Goddess Squad and an android that can tear through even the strongest Raptures with ease. Even then, she won't resort to violence too quickly, usually just using her words to drive them off. If that doesn't work… a flick probably won't kill them.

》 Red Hood is more romantic then her relatively rough and playful exterior lets on. You can't really blame her, you two didn't have the best life growing up, after all. Some nights it'll just be you two staring into the setting sun in a comfortable silence. She does still have a girly side buried deep somewhere in here, though it rarely comes out. She claims doing stuff like that just reminds her of what she’s fighting for, but with the way she stares at you, you know it's deeper than that.

》 It was quite the surprise when one day, out of nowhere, Red Hood approached you saying she was going on her last mission. You were a bit confused, but she brushed it off saying she's been fighting for long enough and wants to spend the rest of her life with you.

》 Was… that some kind of proposal?

》 If it was, you didn't have time to blink, let alone even ask before her face flushed red as she gave her usual smile and speeding off. You just chuckled and shook your head. She was always a free spirit, and you know she'll be back. She always comes back.

[artzychic27]

Goth Kids Quotes

Marc: *Sees Ladybug crouching on the rooftop* Who the FNH is that?

Ladybug: *Leaps down to the ground* What does it mean? ‘That is not dead which can eternal lie’?

Ivan/Juleka/Nathaniel/Marc: …

Ivan: … And with strange eons, even death may die.

Ladybug: What does it mean?!

Marc: It means Cthulhu is gonna get rid of all the posers and make everything cool and black and stuff. It’ll be like a Nine Inch Nails concert that goes on forever.

Juleka: Yeah, so go home and put your underwear inside your pants, poser.

Ladybug: You’re going to tell me everything you know.

Nathaniel: No one is stopping Cthulhu, now! All will be sadness! Life will become death! And I shall watch the crimson blood leak from your neck!

Ivan: … Dude, this redhead is hardcore goth.

—

Ivan: We can’t do what she asks us to do. She’s a conformist! Look at her clothes and her hair.

Marc: Yeah, tell you what, new kid. Get the right clothes, dye that hair, some coffee, and then talk to us again.

Ivan: Yeah, if you wanna prove you aren’t a conformist, then you need to look exactly like we do. Then, maybe we’ll consider hanging out with you.

—

Adrien: She was my whole life.

Nino: Oh, come on, dude! All you’ve done for the last four days is mope around! You might as well go hang out with those goth kids who dress in black and talk about pain all the time.

Adrien: Maybe I should. At least they would understand me. Maybe I should go hang with the goth kids.

*Later*

Marc: Life is pain. Life is only pain. *Flips his hair* We’re all taught to life in haply fairytale endings, but there is only darkness. Dark loneliness that eats at your soul.

Ivan: Who needs that Ken and Barbie love, anyway? Everyone’s just walking around like a bunch of conformists. Go ahead and wear your business suit so you can make thirty-four thousand euros a year and buy your condominium. They’re all zombies racing to their graves. Love didn’t work for my mom and dad. Wish it had worked for me.

Juleka: My dad is such an asshole. Bastard doesn’t even know I exist, and he won’t let me go to this concert because the lead singer is this rival singer or whatever. Sucks. Now I can’t drown out the Barbie wannabes at this school bitching at me for not wearing girly clothes like then.

Nathaniel: They’re all a bunch of fascist conformist cheerleaders.

Adrien: …

—

Ivan: Does your mom know you took her car?

Juleka: Do I care?

—

Ivan: If we get the right packaging, we can just FedEx him somewhere far away.

Juleka: If we’re gonna send him somewhere, it should be the most horrible, most miserable place on earth.

Ivan/Marc/Juleka/Nathaniel: … Scottsdale.

—

Marc: If you like dressing in black because it is “fun,” enjoy putting sparkles on your cheeks, and following the occult while avoiding things that are bad for your health, then you are most likely a douchebag vampire wannabe bastard. Because anybody who thinks they are actually a vampire is fucking stupid.

*Everyone in the auditorium cheers*

Ivan: *Flips them off* Fuck all of you.

*They cheer louder*

—

Nora: Okay, hold up! Hold up! You mean that one of us might not really be a vamp kid?!

Ivan: … Uh… Right.

Nora: Well, whoever you are, you better get your ass ready to run, motherfucker, ‘cause you’re a damn traitor! And I’ll bet you it’s this little fucker right here! *Points to Adrien*

[trafalgarlawsfeathercoat]

Survivor’s Guilt

based on some MESSED UP (i loved it) art i saw on here (like this and THIS that made me cry)

WC: 895

CW: death, suicidal thoughts, religious imagery (i HC law as a former catholic because of the nuns on Flevance idk)

-

Trafalgar D. Water Law learned very early on that everything and everyone he loved would eventually be ripped away from him, washed away like footprints in the sand by high tide.

He was born to live this checkered life, cursed by the middle initial forced upon him at birth. He had no choice, no say in the matter. They say the Clan of D were meant to bring the Dawn, to usher in a new age, but all Law wanted to bring about was some peace and quiet. Just for a single moment.

But that was apparently too much to ask for.

Law craved nothing more than the everlasting promise of death as he tripped over the still bodies of his friends and family, corpses piling up with every step he took, but he was urged on by a will not of his own. He had to keep going. He must keep going.

He trudged along reluctantly, day after day. Life wasn’t so cruel as to only deal him bad hands- no, they had the audacity to give him hope every once in a while. A light at the end of the tunnel before that tunnel caved in too.

Being saved by Cora-san, meeting Shachi, Penguin and Bepo on Swallow Island, forming the Heart Pirates, his tentative friendshi- alliance with Straw Hat and his crew. All these moments deluded him into believing that maybe, just maybe, he could dare to dream of a better life. A happy life, even.

Law didn’t have any lofty ambitions such as becoming King of the Pirates like his Worst Generation rivals, contrary to what others believed about him. What could a place called ‘Laughtale’ offer a man like him anyways? Up until recently, he lived for the singular purpose of fulfilling his savior’s wishes, but he couldn’t even do that right. For as many messes as he had to clean up for others, Law could argue he left behind more.

Left behind. The one thing he could count on being.

The hands that touched him all faded into a distant memory, specters that haunted him whenever he closed his eyes at night. They called out to him like a siren’s song, caressing his face as they asked why he wasn’t strong enough to save them. It was no wonder Law gave up on sleeping a long time ago.

He closed his eyes now, begging to the higher powers he no longer believed in to please, please, finally grant him this one mercy. Salty sea water flooded his lungs as his body lost all its’ capabilities, any energy he had left after facing Blackbeard sucked dry as he was dragged deeper below the surface. This was all his fault. Law should have known better than to have hope for the future, to have deluded himself into thinking things were finally going according to plan.

Damn that man in the Straw Hat for giving him something to believe in back in Wano. He should have known better. There was no God; that’s why the nuns of White Town were all dead.

In the depths of the murky water, faces began to appear behind his eyelids. The other school children, begging him to come with them to safety. His parents, love shining in their eyes as they reached out their hands. Lami, looking up at him with so much trust and adoration. Cora-san and his stupid, crooked smile.

‘Wait for me, I’m coming.’ Law thought as his body sunk lower and lower beneath the waves. He could finally go home, after all this time.

As the abyss called out to him, so did another voice.

“Captain! Captain, please! You can’t die!” It wailed.

Law was suddenly pulled back above the water, dragged by the collar of his shirt to safety. He wrenched his eyes shut even harder, refusing to open them and accept reality. He had been ready to rescind the borrowed time he’d been living on since Flevance if it meant never having to deal with the loss of his loved ones again. He coughed once, twice, expelling the foreign liquid from his body as a large paw pounded on his back repeatedly.

“Bepo.” Law groaned out miserably, recognizing the Mink’s cries anywhere.

“Bepo, we have to go back.” He pleaded pathetically, his desperation apparent. Law didn't have to open his eyes to know that they were the only ones here, wherever ‘here’ was. There was no use pretending to be strong anymore, for he no longer had a crew to be strong for.

“I’m not going back! Trust them, Captain!” The Polar Bear Mink refused Law’s orders outright.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his crew, it was that he didn’t trust the world. History was repeating itself as it always did.

Law threw himself backwards onto the sandy beach they’d washed up on, shrugging off Bepo’s attempts at comfort with more force than necessary. It was only a matter of time before he was dead too.

He should’ve known better than to let anyone in, to think for a second he could walk through life anything less than alone. He should have known better than to hope that this time, surely, he could be happy.

Once again, Trafalgar D. Water Law was alive while everyone around him faded into dust. After all, the weak don’t get to choose how they die, do they?

[yourstruly9489]

What is your OC passionate about?

I've seen stuff to help develop characters that's asking questions about them, eg. What do they want more than anything? What is their greatest fear? What are their dreams? etc. I've always had trouble with these for some reason. Possibly because they seem so impersonal to me, despite being directed at a person. But I discovered something the other day. I love crossover fics, and I sometimes imagine my own OCs going into a fandom I like. Because of this, and my recent interest in Ride The Cyclone, I found a way that works better for me.

Ride The Cyclone is a musical about six teens who died in a tragic roller coaster accident. A mystical fortune-telling robot, whose name is Karnak, somehow has the ability to bring one person back to life. He takes the six teens, Ocean, Constance, Ricky, Noel, Mischa, and Jane Doe, to a sort of purgatory. In this purgatory they are to decide which one of them comes back to life. Each character, excluding Karnak himself, sings a song about themselves so that they can judge amongst themselves who should be brought back to life. But they don't exactly sing about their actual lives, instead they sing about their passions. In the words of Karnak, "Tonight I wish to give them the chance to express not what they were perceived to be, but what they dreamt they were."

Ocean sings about what she's passionate about first: Wanting to be on top, first place, the best. She sings how she's better than everyone else. She sings how the world needs more of her, and less of others.

Noel is next. He sings about the art movement Romanticism, he is the most romantic boy in town after all. He sings about wanting to be a female hooker in post-war France. He sings how he wants to live a life of sin, to burn himself with cigarettes, to die in an alley. He wants to experience a tragic life, not just the good, but the bad.

The next to sing is Mischa. A boy from Ukraine who lost his mother to radiation poisoning. He starts by singing about his facade, a gangsta. He raps about how everything is awesome. How he's awesome. But then he breaks out of that character and sings about his true love. Of which is his fiance, Talia. He devotes himself to her wholly, singing with passion.

Next is Ricky. A boy who was mute and physically disabled his entire life. He was often avoided in life, with his parents and cats being the sole exceptions. He sings about an escapist fantasy. He sings about himself in a sci-fi world, sent to help the race of the cat people of Zolar. How he helps save their world from extinction, and becomes famous in history. He sings about being known and loved.

Then there's Jane Doe. The one unidentified victim of the Cyclone accident, she lost her head and no one knows who she was in life. She sings about how she doesn't understand. Why she couldn't remember her family, her friends, her name? Why can't anyone remember who she is. How she'll be eternally forgotten and how everything will eventually join her in death. She sings about not understanding why.

Finally is Constance. No one really knew her well, she was only known as nice. She sings how she used to think that her life sucked, and howit only got her down. Then she goes into how wonderful she realizes life is now that she's lost it. She sings about loving the life she used ashamed of.

All of them sing about their true passions. Without the fear of being judged, they're all dead anyways, no point in being self-conscious. Then imagining my own OCs in that situation, with no consequences for expressing themselves, really helps me deep-dive into their characters. Reframing the question "What are they passionate about?" Into what would they be like in this specific situation I'm familiar with?

So I think of my OCs and what they would sing about. For specifics, I have three OCs I've been working on recently.

Left to right they are: Henry Robinson, Victor Shelley, and Mary Robert. Their story is very much about wacky mad science and creating life where there was none. Definitely inspired by the idea/story of Frankenstein.

When I imagine what they would sing about in a situation with no consequences, just a chance to truly express themselves, I understand them far more than I would with just generic questions.

I imagine Henry would sing about his triumph in creating artificial life, he'd sing about how he's going to be known all across medical history as the man to prevent death. He'd sing about how betrayed he felt when Victor abandoned him. He'd sing about how he deserves more. Victor would sing about his grief. He would sing about how stricken he is at Henry's blatant ignorance of the laws of life and death. He'd sing mourning the lives lost in this pursuit of life. He'd sing about his care for others. Mary would sing about her lack of understanding. How she was brought into a world, not through love, but through science. How she woke up in a lab with only Henry there to help her, a man who is only using her for his own gain. How she doesn't understand why she couldn't have stayed resting in a grave. She'd sing about her confusion.

With just the question, "What are they passionate about?" I think that Henry's passionate about science, Victor's passionate about his disregard for Henry's actions, and I wouldn't even know about Mary. But with the question, "What would they do/sing about if there was no fear of consequences?" I come up with so much more.

And so, I ask you, dear reader. What would your character rant about, if only there were no fear of being judged?

(watch Ride The Cyclone, it's great)

[daz4i]

i am so angry about being alive it's not even funny anymore

[scientistservant]

I'm sorry for sending in another ask 🙈 But I need to know your opinion, as I haven't had a chance to read it. Sooooooo, why is Long Live The Pumpkin Queen, bad? Did they fuck up the doc and Sally that badly? Like are we talking about Love Never Dies level of shitty? (musical sequel to Phantom of the opera that most of us fans loathe.)

Oh boy, okay

This is gonna be long, please bare with me 😭

So the book completely changes/“fixes” Sally’s origins. She wasn’t a creation, or never even FROM Halloween Town.

She’s a special princess of dolls from “Dream Town” and has parents who are also dolls. She was kidnapped from her bedroom when she was like 12 by Finkelstein.

This is fucking bullshit.

How she even physically ages or how dolls can even conceive is never brought up or explained. Nor is how Fink even kidnapped her in the first place. The book and author just expects you to accept this new canon, which conveniently comes out like three decades after the source material.

Because the book is in first person and in Sally’s point of view we NEVER hear any perspective or proper explanation from Fink or any other character about anything.

Fink is just reduced to a one-dimensional villain who kidnapped Sally all because he apparently can’t create life or bring things back to life via science. You know… HIS FUCKING JOB.

He despises that Jack and Sally get married, despite that Fink would be ecstatic at this (Sally’s his creation and Jack one of his very old friends.)

Sally is also reduced to a one-dimensional protagonist who never questions anything and every third word from her mouth/brain is either “sad”, “ragdoll”, or “stitches/seams”.

She just believes these two doll people who she’s never met before, and doesn’t bother to leave “Dream Town” to ask the elderly scientist she’s known for her entire existence about this (not to mention everyone in the entire world including the holiday realms are dead asleep at this point at this part in the book anyway…)

Oh yeah, the book has a main villain too, surprisingly. It’s not Fink, even though the book certainly treats him like it.

It’s the fake ruler of “Dream Town”, Sandman, who’s actually kind of cool and creepy. But his reasoning for his villainy is bullshit, just like everything else in this damn book.

He’s just tired.

Yeah.

The Sandman is tired because he can’t sleep and his sand doesn’t work on him so he can’t get to sleep. You’d think a being as powerful and seemingly dangerous as this guy wouldn’t need sleep, but apparently he does. He’s cranky and needs a nap with his blanky, boo-fucking-hoo.

The ONLY thing I actually sort of enjoyed in the book was the bit where Sandman was stalking Halloween Town, putting everyone to sleep, and Sally was hiding from him. That was actually kind of suspenseful and I wish Sandman was that threatening throughout.

And does Sandman get any punishment for taking over “Dream Town” and putting everyone in an eternal sleep?

Nope. But FINK gets punished! Firstly, Jack completely believes these two random doll creatures he has never met before and that say they’re Sally’s parents. He yells at Fink, without asking his dear old friend if any of this is even true. And then Fink gets 100 years of prison and community service, which is stupid because why the fuck would Holiday realm laws, much less HALLOWEEN TOWN laws, function the same as the real world’s?

Speaking of which, apparently Halloween Town’s an actual monarchy, and the Pumpkin King isn’t just a cool title for the face/mascot/figurehead of the realm. The book even lampshades this, but doesn’t take this anywhere further aside from Sally complaining she has to wear a crown and Jack doesn’t.

This whole book is stupid and I will never accept it as canon, ever.

What sucks about this is that I fucking PREORDERED the book! I thought it was gonna be a story about how and why Sally was created, and get some backstory/lore for Fink, as well as explanation of why his relationship with his creation got so bad. Maybe a little extra plot of how Sally and Jack met.

But it didn’t. I fucking cried. This book made me cry my fucking eyes out, out of anger and betrayal because my favourite character and his creation/daughter was butchered.

After reading the whole thing I threw the book in a little library and never looked back.

I’m still working on a complete and total rewrite/fix-it-fic, it’s just gotten put on the back-burner because of other projects I’m currently working/fixated on. Apologies for that. But I promise it won’t be forgotten!

EDIT: Oh yeah, and the Holiday rulers have a meeting about climate change. Because Holidays have super importance with the weather or some shit. I’m not fucking kidding.

EDIT 2: The author is also a New York Times best-seller which is already pretty suspicious since that is basically a huge scam. The book has hundreds of 4-5 star reviews that don't even really get into the specifics of WHY it's good. They're all either extreme Jack x Sally fans (the book starts off with them getting married and Sally's main dilemma is worrying about being "a good enough queen") that like anything tnbc/Jally related OR a bunch of people were paid to give this book glowing reviews.

[fall0utmind]

Medical leaks au

OMG

I'm speechless

This was absolutely amazing and I'll be awaiting the next part (and wishing for a happy ending for our Marc)

First of all

'His heart stops beating. The room goes dead silent. He can feel everyone’s eyes on him, his fellow riders watching in confusion. For Marc, it is like watching a train wreck in slow motion. He looks up and catches Alex’s wide-eyed stare. He's sweating, beads rolling down the side of his neck. Shit. Fucking shit. He’s starting to think he’s not going to make it out of this press conference in one piece, torn apart by the gnashing teeth of the media.'

This whole paragraph is just mind blowing

I love how you described the media being ruthless (especially since it's Marc's pov)

'He feels like someone has taken a sledgehammer to his facade, destroying everything he has made himself be'

Destroying everything he made himself be🫠and what if I kms

'Alex is the one person he would do anything for, he would walk through hell and back to protect him. He is the only one who truly knows what happened in 2015, who knows the extent of the demons in Marc’s brain. Now they will have to face them again'

yes yes yes, their bond is something from another planet, obv no secrets between them

They really only have themselves (esp on the grid)

'The other pilots probably think he is pathetic. He doesn’t think he can deal with another reason for the others to hate him. As much as he tries to rise above it, he loathes that his colleagues cannot bring themselves to like him'

and what if I kms x2

It's sad that he thinks that everyone hates him(and will hate him more for the attempts)

He is so isolated from the rest 😭(Vale when I catch you, you better crawl on your knees to make up for what you did)

'disgusted by the consequences of Vale's war on Marc?'

Marc, no😭 pecco is just worried (and prob feeling guilty for his mentor's actions)

I hope you will explore Marc's relations with the academy boys in the future

And maybe a Vale pov reaction to the news? pretty please 🥺🙏 (kind of want a pov reaction from pedrenzo and the vr46a too)

Anyway

I think you can tell I loved this fic,

Of course I'll def love any way you take this fic(so long as it has a happy ending)

I hope Marc gets therapy, and Vale, and then they go to couples counselling

This was quite long but oh well

BIG ASK

Haha this is so exciting that you guys have so many thoughts ans ideas from my writing???? Crazy to me

I'm so glad you like the para about the media being awful, o feel like it's such a big part of Marc's real life and it sucks so bad. They're so unfair to him.

Also I really wanted to play yp the idea that Marc is always marx yes but he puts on a bit of a persona for the world and that's all come crumbling down and he DOESNT KNOW WHAT TO DO.

Your comment about Vale made me giggle because a couple of people literally say something like that in the fic later.

I love pecco, I love the idea that he really cares and doesn't want to live with Vales hatred!!!!!

Yes yes yes to the VR46 boys x marx relationship. I'd love to do that. I also wanna do a little bit of their pov/ Vales pov. Maybe as a separate work??

I haven't decided how to make it functional yet lol.

Defo a happy ending!! Don't worry, I've got you on that. There's also going to be some hurt/comfort in the next chapter, it's gonna be like dani,Alex, Jorge, dovi protecting marc as he falls apart hehe

[missygoesmeow]

missy's tips for honour mode :) (it's very long I'm sorry) (oh and here be many spoilers) (but pictures too!)

please note I am not a pro gamer or anything. I sucked so bad when I first started this game (I had no idea wtf I was doing). Like seriously. I didn't know what an action was. what a bonus action was. "No movement left". WHAT DO YOU MEAN NO MOVEMENT LEFT. I had played DnD once before.

I literally bought this game because of Astarion.

I usually play one game and that is Overwatch. the only other time I stopped playing OW was to play Resident Evil: Village because of Lady D. vampire marketing works on me. specifically evil vampire. damn u Neil and Maggie.

if you have any questions about a specific boss or something feel free to ask! I didn't fight everyone though - like I did not do House of Grief because I didn't need to and also it's hard :)

I think a lot of it just came on down to...

ANYWAY. letsa go! this is very rambling!

Like I said in my reply to anon, the best tip is to do tactician FIRST. You’ll get destroyed otherwise. I didn’t finish my tactician run but I did get to act 3 and I did most boss fights (Gortash, Raphael, Cazador). Bosses have legendary actions in tactician and it’s fucking annoying. All the homies hate radiant retort….

Another tip is fucking collect everything. It’s hard to get gold and certain potion ingredients later on. Potion of Speed (you need hyena ears for this) is the BEST. I used them for my Ketheric fight (second phase) and killed him in three turns. I also used them for the final fight and used one or two with Raphael and Orin.

Smokepowder Barrels. I think people call this Barrelmancy? I didn't use them much. I hoarded them for one reason and one reason only.

To blow Raphael.

His soul pillar towers that is. To blow up his pillars. His big long pillars.

Okay I'm done.

(also I did use three in my last fight against the brain - popped them next to it and blew 'em up) Elixir of Bloodlust - sooooo handy with Astarion!

Invisibility Potion is a must - I used this to escape fights when three people were deaded (this happened a few times😅) and get my good friend Withers to bring them back.

bonus tip: don't go into a fight with half your spell slots because you think "she'll be right". she won't be...as seen above

HOLY FUCK WITHERS. You can pickpocket Withers. I used Astarion to get our money back anytime I resurrected, changed class or got a hireling - he doesn’t care if you fail either, just keep trying.

DON'T BE DUMB LIKE MISSY Don't be like me, don't half pay attention in cut scenes and accidentally press the wrong dialogue option. Or else your good friend Lae'zel will turn on you and you will have A Bad Time.

Gale has a stressful day💗

The githyanki are scary and actually now that I think about it, those were usually the fights I had to run away from like a leetle biatch.

Halsin has a stressful day 💗

I forgot that Psionic Backlash is like a thing that does damage and that if your entire worm filled party does it and the person you are casting is at like...say 19 health...they will die because that is not Passive Damage.

And then Jaheira will leave because you murdered her friend.

Oopsie.

(I lost Shart, Lae'Zel and Jaheira in this run) GENERAL STUFF

Always surprise the enemy if you can, it’s a massive advantage!

Get the eye from Volo. This run was not about looking pretty, it was about getting any advantage I could get. Let that man poke out your eyeball. And make sure it’s your Tav, you will mostly likely swap companions and it’s just better if it’s you. It's helpful in a lot of fights but especially Auntie Ethel

Become half illithid. I did this with my Tav, Gale and Minthara. Astarion was a little bitch about it so I didn’t give it to him but I wish I had made him do it.

She looks Not Great but she can fly (sorry Astarion but Z'hera only likes pussy)

Being able to fly is just SO helpful and cull the weak is OP! Also mmmmm worms :)

MY BUILD/PARTY

A Giant Woman (my tiefling) as a Paladin - Oath of Vengeance.

I broke my oath when I ascended Astarion but you can just get it back. Oathbreaker is still good (that’s what I was in my tactician run) but I wanted my channel divinity charges. I started with the Everburn Blade from the cambion Commander Zhalk on the Nautaloid (when you get Shart, give her the Command Spell and use “Drop” so you can just yoink it off him and save a fight). My final weapon was the Nyrulna which you can get in Act 3 at the Circus. To get this you must pickpocket the genie to take his ring and then play his game. He will accuse you of cheating and send you somewher. The prize at the end is this weapon. I love it. I just went invisible and walked through, I didn’t fight the creatures there.

Astarion - the classic gloomstalker/assasin. I had one level assasin and then did 6 levels ranger before going back to assassin. So he was 6 levels in each. With him ascended, he does INSANE damage. I never swap out that vamp, he’s too useful.

Shart/Minthara - I lost Shart in the Shadowfell - wouldn't let her murder Dame Aylin.

a simpler time. before I killed my beloved and my brain was full of worms.

I had to fight her (it was very sad). I changed her class to Life of Domain Cleric. I then made Minthara my cleric when Shart died (same build). She replaced my lover and my cleric <3

i love my new evil girlfriend

Gale - Evocation Wizard so I didn’t change him at all!

he's so hopeful. and Z'hera is very gay.

TIPS FOR POTIONS

If it’s throwable (like invisibility) group the gang together to throw one on the ground to get you all - saves using multiple.

Potion of Speed has an effect called lethargic that is active for one round after the potion ends. This means you miss a turn. HOWEVER! If you drink another one on the last active round of the potion, your Tav will become lethargic immediately and next round you’ll be fine :) I did this for the Ketheric fight.

It’s also helpful (because of lethargic) to not have all characters take the potion in the same round (if you give it to everyone). I never did, I usually gave them to Gale and my Tav.

I hoarded so many scrolls. I had so many dimension door scrolls at the end.

I did get the Necromancy of Thay and did all the things. And then I never used it :)

BIGGEST TIP ONCE YOU'VE UNLOCKING LEVEL 6 SPELL SLOT WITH CLERIC (ALSO AVAILABLE WITH DRUID)

I saw this on reddit! Pretty much what I did was get a hireling - Cleric - and have that Cleric cast Heroes' Feast on my party.

The affected entity is immune to Diseases, Poisons, and being Frightened, it makes all Wisdom Saving throws with Advantage, and its maximum Hit Points are increased by 12

Lasts until long rest!! I also then cast Freedom of Movement on everyone in the party. I then cast Warding Bond on someone - usually Gale because he's a squishy boy :) If I knew it was a BIG FIGHT! I got another Cleric to cast Warding Bond on another party member.

you can see Heroes' Feast (the condition is called Thoroughly Stuffed) and Freedom of Movement. These all last until long rest!

Pretty much any other companions were respeced as Cleric (though I made Jaheira a Wizard same as Gale so I could use her). I did this so that I could use Divine Intervention multiple times within the game!

I used Opulent Revival and nothing else

KEEP IN MIND.

anything can kill you in honour mode. even an elevator.

it crushed me. somehow.

thanks Larian

(if you want proper guides definitely go to Reddit!)

[irl-simon-riley]

WIP whenever

I COMPLETELY FORGOT ABOUT THIS. I was going to do this last week but I had some stressful health and ID stuff that I had to deal with and just couldn't bring myself to work on my WIPS :( I wanted to get a bit more written before I shared but oh well. Anyways, I was tagged by the very very cool @pricegouge to post a current WIP. I have a lot to choose from since I am an absent father, but I will go with my slowburn ftm bodyguard!ghost x rockstar!soap that doesn't have a working title atm. This fic is inspired by a dream I had. I hope y'all enjoy :D

//gender dysphoria, misgendering & dead-naming in reference to pre-transition self, emotional angst, Ghost's canon backstory, Ghost is ex-military

Ghost watches his feet as he walks along the side of a forested road, the smell of moss surrounding him from all directions. The forest is too dense to be anywhere near Manchester, the growth too old, like something from a nature magazine. The lush greenery shading him from the summer heat, the sun would only affect him more with his all-black gear.

He's not alone. In front of him is his mother, following him is Tommy. His mum crosses the road and the boys follow like ducklings. Ghost's mother says something that he can't quite hear, all he notices is that he's breathing much too easily with his mask on.

He finally looks up, a shotgun-style house in front of him. His mum and Tommy are already halfway through the screen door, leaving him behind. A concrete staircase leads down from the road to be level with the house, as if the house was built before any roads were around. Ghost follows behind them, opening the doors that were shut in his face.  

Once inside he enters the room immediately to the right. His room.

The layout is almost the same as his childhood bedroom, only the door has switched walls and there are no windows.

The walls are covered in pastel purple wallpaper with white daisies that look hand-painted. Light greens and pinks are the only other colors that occupy the space. A quilt covers the mattress, held up by a white wrought-iron bedframe. On painted wall shelves there are trinkets, the only one Ghost can focus on holds porcelain figures of the Virgin Mary, Jesus, and a cherub-like angel. Everything is bathed in candlelight, but Ghost can't smell the burning over the scent of mothballs. The room denotes nothing but love and care, the kind that Simon could only dream of as a child---the kind he begged for.

"It's just for tonigh'," He grumbles to himself.

The urge to get out of his gear and sleep consumes him. He turns and his eyes catch on the full length mirror directly next to the door.

He sees... her. Hannah: the name Simon never wished to hear again. A name he thought he left behind at 16, but now... he was 14 again and she was standing in front of him in the mirror. She wears a pink, ruffly tank-top and cotton shorts.

Is this even real? It can't be, he---he's supposed to be out! He got out!

Right?

Simon sucks in a breath and reaches a trembling hand up to the auburn hair that covers his chest and rakes his fingers through it. It's real. Her face morphs into one of fear as she feels the soft strands tendril out between each finger.

In this moment he realizes she's exactly the daughter he was supposed to be; and all the other rooms burn around him.

---

pls help me title this work I am so bad at titles