#he got home and then said 'I can't afford to pay you' enough that they won't pick him up anymore

[inkskinned]

you have to go to work so you can pay for your doctor, who is not taking your insurance right now, and if you say i can't afford the doctor's you are told - get a better job. it is very sad that you are unwell, yes, but maybe you should have thought about that before not having a better job.

(where is the better job? who is giving out these better jobs? you are sick, you are hurting - how the hell are you supposed to be well enough for this better job?)

but you go to the doctor because you had the nerve to be hurt or sick or whatever else. and they tell you that it is because you have anxiety. you try your best. you are a self-advocate. you've done the reading (which sometimes pisses them off worse, honestly). you say it is actually adding to my anxiety, it is effecting my quality of life. so they say that you are fat. they say that all young people have this happen to them, isn't it a medical marvel! they say that you should eat more vegetables. they say that you probably just need to lose a little more weight, and that you are faking it for attention.

(what attention could this doctor possibly give? what validation? that's their fucking job, isn't it?)

there is always a hypochondriac, right. someone always tells you about a hypochondriac. or someone who is unnecessarily aggressive during the worst days of their life. or someone looking "for a quick fix". or some idiot who wasn't educated about how to properly care for themselves who just abandons their treatment. and again, the hypochondriac, the overly-cautious hysteric. these people don't deserve to be treated like humans (right), and since you might be one of these people, you also don't get treated like a human. because those people can really fuck with the system, you now have to pay for it. and besides. you're actually probably faking it.

(more often than not, you find a 2:1 ratio of these stories. for every "hypochondriac", there are 2 people who knew something was wrong, and yet nobody could fucking find it. the story often ends with pointless suffering. the story often ends with and now it's too late, and it's going to kill me.)

you are actually just making excuses. someone else got that procedure or that diagnosis and he's fine, you should be fine too. someone else said they watched a documentary about other inspirational people with your exact same condition, maybe you should be inspirational, too. you're just too morbid. your pain and your experience is probably just not statistically concerning. it is all self-reported anyway, and you're just being a baby.

(once, while sitting down in the middle of making coffee, you had the sudden, horrible thought - i could kill myself to make the pain stop. you had to call your best friend after that. had to pet your dog. had to cry about it in the shower. you won't, but that moment - god, fuck. the pain just goes on and on.)

you know someone who went in for routine surgery and said i still feel everything. they told her to just relax. it took her kicking and screaming before they figured out she wasn't lying - the anesthetic drip hadn't been working. you know someone who went in for severe migraines who was told drink water and lose weight. you know someone who was actively bleeding out and throwing up in the ER and was told you're just having a bad period.

in the ER there are always these little posters saying things like "don't wait! get checked today!" and you think about how often you do wait. how often the days spool out. you once waited a full week before seeing the doctor for what you thought was a sprained wrist. it had actually been broken - they had to rebreak it to set it.

but you go into the doctor. the problem you're having is immediate. the person behind the counter frowns and says we're not taking your insurance. you will be paying for this out-of-pocket.

they send you home with tylenol and a little health packet about weight loss or anxiety or attention deficit. on the front it has your birthday and diagnosis. you think about crying, and the words swim. it might as well say go fuck yourself. it might as well say you're a fucking idiot. it might as well say light your money on fire and lie down in it. and the entire fucking time - the problem persists.

it's okay. it's okay, it's just another thing, you think. it's just another thing i have to learn to live with.

[fizzie-frog]

You know, the Stolitz scene was a trainwreck as a whole (they usually are), but what honestly got me most was the way Blitz started pleading when he thought his livelihood was going to be taken away.

THIS IS NOT A STOLAS SLANDER POST. I'm coming from a place where I've seen Blitz being mostly, if not entirely blamed for their lack of communication most of the time.

Moving on...

People keep going like "Well if imps are so low in the hierarchy..." - Let's take a break to think. Blitz isn't rich, he's just getting by really. And how is he getting by?

By prostituting himself. To the upper class.

That's what it is, he's a certified whxre. Things may have evolved in the meantime, but that's how it started. Blitz got asked for the deal while being chased by a crazy lady and him, wanting to keep his business and livelihood, said yes, obviously.

Now Stolas was suddenly taking the book back with no apparent explanation (until they got to the crystal), so of course Blitz thought he was doomed. On a side note, why couldn't Stolas say "You won't need the book, I have an alternative" instead of the ominous "I'll need the book back, permanently. I have made up my mind." I would be scared out of my mind.

He teared up immediately and started pleading, you could already see what was going through his head. He won't have the means to support his business anymore, to pay his employees, to afford a home, he'll be homeless and have no means to take care of Loona. Everyone will leave him again and he will starve on the streets all alone.

He'd do anything to be able to live a life a bit better than miserable, of course he would.

And this brings me to Stolas's treatment of Blitz. I see that everything tends to fall on Blitz, and I'm not saying he has no fault (in fact I didn't even like him at the beginning of the series too much), but Stolas treated him like a peasant. Just the episode before Ozzie's he's called him his "impish little plaything" and asked for a reward for the rescue. He put out cigarettes on his horns, he ignored his "stop" most times, he addressed him in this little baby voice with babying diminutives. "Itty bitty" imp.

And I am sure Stolas is socially clueless. He was brought up alone and sheltered, taught to be a prince first and foremost.

Stolas probably saw this as playful banter, as something that is inoffensive, silly. It was only in the Ozzie's episode that he finally saw that actually, his silly play served to make Blitz feel smaller.

And of course in this scenario, Blitz would see this coming out of the nether. He reacted quite badly, but why would this prince be actually in love with him? As he said, he needed to have a minute (or several) to think about everything. They needed to talk this out, and Blitz was about to apologize when Stolas cast him out.

They were both emotionally charged. They fucked up. But I can see Blitz's side. And the power imbalance is so evident, that hierarchy that everyone keeps saying is irrelevant - in a moment's notice, he could have his life swept from underneath him. Just like he thought it happened in that split moment; it worried him so much that he cried and pleaded (and that's not in Blitz's character to do).

And then he was so scared of not being enough too, ugh, his little "I can always do better!". He's so used to everyone just seeing him as a lost cause, better to be discarded. With this amalgamation of things, no wonder he can't believe Stolas would have feelings for him.

So uh, I don't know what the conclusion to this is. Normalize getting imps some actual comfort? So far the only really privileged imp in Helluva Boss is Fizz after getting rid of Mammon. And when I say priviledged, I'm referring to wealth and upper class, not taking into account personal issues such as disability and so forth.

Anyway, this was my two cents on Stolitz. I honestly haven't thought too much on them, I'm riding on the Fizzarolli high. I'm chill over here in my Fizzmodeus bubble, but doesn't mean I have no thoughts on Stolitz.

[caesium-55]

—seven days. [ ii ]

pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader.

summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.

author's note: not beta-read. not edited. here's part 2 folks. part 3 is on the works now. did i write this fic instead of studying for my important quiz tomorrow? yes, yes i did. pls pray for my score.

masterlist.

For Christmas in 2019, Max has gotten you an apartment near his in Monaco. It is a loft apartment good for one on the 8th floor, a building away from where Daniel and Max lived. Originally, he wants to get you the unit a floor below his. You decline quickly, insisting that you are very fine with rooming with Julia and Kendall, who are both members of the Red Bull PR team whom you have gotten close with since your first year working with Red Bull. Max may have beef with the PR team for making him do a lot of embarrassing shit for the views but you're besties with most of them and actually thank them for making Max suffer through PR stuff because you cannot afford therapy and watching Max suffer through PR-related activities is a good form of free therapy. Also, Monaco apartments are fucking expensive. Red Bull might be paying you well but not well enough to afford an apartment in a country as expensive as Monaco.

“I want you close,” he tells you. If you did not know any better, you'd have butterflies fluttering in your intestines right about that moment. Sometimes, Max utter the most heart-fluttering of nonsense without meaning to. It causes your heart to stutter more times than you would like to admit.

“Well, I don't want you close.”

Max will never ever win an argument with you. He knows that. You know that. The best he can do is come to a compromise, a compromise that is usually tailored to suit whatever you want.

So you got that small loft apartment a building away, good for one person only. It's easy to clean and it's cheap, Max already said that, which makes you happy because you can set a payment plan for that. An apartment as a Christmas gift is already too much, borderline giving you a heart attack already. Rich people spending their money give you, a person of the middle class folks, heart attacks. Why can't Max be normal and give you a normal gift? A bracelet? A bag? You’ll even accept it if he gave you a slice of cheesecake. Not even your parents can buy you an apartment.

It has only been three years since the keys are passed on to your ownership and people say three years is enough time for a person to make a place home. But your apartment doesn't even feel like home, only a place you’ll sleep in if you happen to be in Monaco for the evening.

Home is that humble, two-storey house painted in red and yellow in Lynnwood Avenue, Vista Del Pueblo, Austin, a total picture of a picket fence dream. Home is Abuelo's old farmhouse in El Paso where you spent your childhood riding horses and driving ATVs across the dusty dry earth. Home is the retro milkshake place owned by the sweet old couple that has been in the neighborhood longer than your entire existence. Home is the tree-lined streets where you walked the family senior dog, Niko. Home is the Austin Fire House, your Dad’s workplace that you visited a handful of times back when you were a child to deliver cookies that your Abuela baked so your Dad could share it with his co-workers. Home is your mom’s clinic in the middle of downtown, always smelling like eugenol, disinfectant, formaldehyde, and her perfume. Home is not glitz and gold and glamor and cash cash cash. Home is not seeing wealthy people left and right. Home is not Monaco.

And it is not like you stayed long in your place either. You're always off traveling around the world with the Red Bull team and accompanying Max wherever he needs your presence. You don't even spend your breaks in that apartment because you immediately fly home to your family once a break is graciously given to you before flying off again to watch Max collect trophy after trophy.

Six days from now, you're going to be flying off to Texas. That means you have six days—less than six days actually—to pack all your crayons and go. Of course you're going to pack up the day before you leave. Doing shit last minute makes your life exciting, and it's not like you had a lot of shit to pack anyway. All your belongings can be tucked into a total of three suitcases. Three years worth of belongings in three suitcases.

you: you doin good there?

Max has been holing himself up in his penthouse since your arrival from Abu Dhabi, probably dealing with his breakup with Kelly. A shame, really. You thought the two looked good together. (Do they really? the asshole part of your brain thinks.)

And P. Thank God for that child’s existence. You hate children but P is an exception. P brings the best out of Max. Max has gotten the chance to act as the father he never had. It's heartwarming, to be honest.

him: not really no

him: can you bring me coffee

you: on it champ

Fifteen minutes later, you’re knocking on the gigantic double doors of his penthouse, a tall styro cup of espresso from that cute café two streets down and a slice of blueberry cheesecake because you’re thoughtful enough to buy him his favorite cake. You experienced a breakup before. A cake and an icecream work wonders when it came to healing broken hearts.

“You're fast,” he immediately says after opening the door. You kind of expect that he’d look worse, snotty and messy and looking like he ran from hell and back. But no, he looks……fine? His sweater and shorts look absolutely neat and comfortable and dry of snot. His hair is a little fluffy from lying on his bed but not too messy. He doesn't even look like he was crying. No red-rimmed eyes. No red nose.

You fake gasp, putting a hand on your chest for additional dramatic effect, “The fastest racer in F1 callin’ me fast. Truly honored.”

A smile plays on his lips, sidestepping and beckoning you in.

You frequently come by Max’s home, for work purposes of course, but you still cannot help but be amazed by the enormity of it every time you enter. Max’s penthouse is twenty times bigger than the apartment you currently live in. One man and a big house—it must be very lonely now that P and Kelly are no longer around. Now, you’re even more worried about what will happen the moment you go back to Texas.

Oh… You still haven't told him yet.

“Coffee,” you hand him the warm styro cup to which he accepts gratefully. He utters his thanks, taking a whiff before sipping, letting out a pleasured moan.

You make your way to his gigantic kitchen, navigating your way through his cabinets in search of a plate and a fork. You slide the cheesecake on the plate towards Max, who followed you to the kitchen and sat on the empty stool in the kitchen counter.

“Thank you,” he says, picking up the fork and taking a bite. He glances at your feet, eyes trained on your YSL. The obnoxious sound of the heels clicking against the floor as you walk probably is the one that caught his attention.

“You know, you've been wearing the same shoes since 2019.”

Points for Max for noticing. These YSL Opyum heels are the first luxury items you bought for yourself after saving for three years to buy one pair. You saw a rich international student wear it once back in university and you liked how sophisticated it looked compared to all the pairs of converse or platform boots you owned. So you made it your life’s goal to own one. In 2019, after doing tons of part time jobs in university and working with Red Bull for a whole year, you managed to buy yourself one on your birthday and you’d been wearing them to work ever since.

Your regular work uniform consists of a Red Bull polo shirt, a pencil or a slit skirt, and that specific pair of heels. Around 2021, you bought another pair to replace the old one because the old one broke. And 2022 again.

“What's wrong with ‘em?” you ask, brows furrowing as you followed his train of sight. Your heels might be a year old already but they still look fine.

Max blinks, “No, there's nothing wrong. Just…Do you think you would want to wear some other design?”

“No,” is your reply. “I like ‘em just the way they are.”

“Okay.”

Your conversation drifts into something else as Max finishes his coffee and cake. You spend the rest of the day in Max’s penthouse, lying on his plush couch while a slasher movie from the 2000s played on his wide TV. He has given you access on his Netflix account so you abused it to your heart’s content because you don't even have. a Netflix subscription. You can absolutely afford one, you just choose not to. You have opted in using your phone mid-movie because the movie is beginning to get real scary but you do not want Max to think you're a coward so you acted like you're disinterested instead.

“Oh look, Charles is also back in Monaco. Do you want to hang out together?” you nudge Max with your foot, who swats it away from him, face contorting in disgust. You show him the post on Charles private IG—yes, you were mutuals in each other's private IG because whoever is friends with Max was friends with you by extension—on your phone.

“Stop makin’ that face, my feet are nice.”

Your toenails are a glorious red now. Ferrari red actually and they suit you better than the Red Bull red. Huh, maybe you should have considered applying for Ferrari instead of Renault in 2018.

“No, it isn't.”

You roll your eyes, pulling it away from him and sitting up, “Do you want me to schedule you a dinner with Charles? You might need the bro time, you know? Dad said bro times are also important, but not as important as family time, of course. My bro broke up with his sweetheart back when I was still in uni and his best buds were the reason he was back up in tippy top shape by the end of the week.”

Max stares at you blankly, “I think I understand the words individually but not the sentence entirely. I don't know if it's the accent or you Americans just have a strange way of structuring your sentences.”

“Point is, hang out with a friend because a friend can help you move on from a pussy.”

Max hurls a throw pillow at your direction, which you luckily avoided thanks to your non-racer level but still considerably good reaction time, but unfortunately, this action causes your center of gravity to shift and before you know it, you're falling from the couch. Unconsciously, you grab Max but then Max doesn't expect that you’ll grab him so now, you’re both falling off the couch and onto the floor.

You groan.

“Fuckin’ ass, man. That was uncalled for.”

He flips you off.

Nevertheless, Max ends up following your advice though and calls Charles to hang out the next day. Lestappen fans should be thanking you on Twitter the next day for bringing those two together on an off-day in Monaco. Maybe they'll hang out and eat together in a restaurant? Maybe they'll go on a yacht picnic?

Except Max sends you a message at high noon.

him: sos

you: is your kitchen burning

him: no

him: but this is still an emergency and you need to come quick

him: he’s with his girlfriend and i don’t want to thirdwheel

you: succ it up

him: you can’t do this to me

him: i just got my heart broken in abu dhabi

you: where are you

him: home

him: i also need help in cooking

Charles is the one who answers the door when you knock. He looks genuinely surprised when he sees you and you deduce that Max hasn't told him that you're coming over.

“Babe, who’s that?” you hear Alex’s voice behind Charles and you light up immediately, quickly moving past Charles to throw your hands around the sweet young woman.

“Alex!” Alexandra laughs and hugs you back. The sound of her laughter is as pretty as she and God definitely has favorites because why did he sculpt this twenty-one year old like the daughter of the Aphrodite while you look like you were born from one of Hephaestus’ sperm that lost the gene pool contest? The world is unfair. You always get the short end of the stick, may it be career-wise or appearance-wise, and you can't even bring your personality to the table because normally, without the whole act of professionalism and sophistication you put on, you act like an extroverted American frat boy on a good day and a sassy drag queen slash war freak on a bad day so yeah, you guess that's the short end of the stick, too.

“Seriously?” you look up and saw Max holding a frying pan, staring at you unimpressed. You roll your eyes and slowly pull away from the hug, gaze returning to Alexandra.

“How’ve you been, sweetie? Been a while since I last saw you.”

You didn't get a chance to talk to her in Abu Dhabi and in Las Vegas.

“Good,” she replies, smiling sweetly and ugh, you want to pinch her cheeks so bad. But Charles is pulling you away from Alexandra before you can do so.

“No, no, she is mine, yours is right over there,” Charles says, pointing at Max, who's still standing there in the corner. “Go on. Shoo.”

You roll your eyes before walking up to Max, “‘Sup?”

Max raises a brow at you, “So Charles’ girlfriend gets a hug and I get a sup?”

“Well, she's Alexandra Saint Mleux and you’re just….” you look him up and down. “Nevermind, what you trynna cook?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“I thought you said you were cooking.”

“I said I needed help with cooking.”

Your eyes narrow into slits, “You’re going to let me do the cooking, aren't you?”

“You know that pasta you made in September that you said was your mother’s recipe?”

A sigh escapes your lips as you roll the sleeves of your button-up to your elbows and power-walked your way to the kitchen, the sound of your YSL heels clicking against the floor bouncing against the walls of Max’s kitchen.

Lunch goes great. Charles and Alexandra love your cooking. Max has even asked for seconds. Good to know that he's eating well. Somewhere down the line, champagne is served even though it’s mid-afternoon and the four of you're sitting in Max’s balcony, staring at Monaco scape below. Thankfully, it is a cloudy day in Monaco. The heat of the sun isn't too harsh on the skin. Despite that, you hand Max a sun screen.

“Sorry about Kelly, by the way,” Alexandra says. Your conversation has drifted towards Max’s failed relationship now.

“That is very nice of you to say,” replies Max, smiling slightly. “But I’m okay.”

You give him a look, clearly unconvinced. Admitting vulnerability gives him hives so he's definitely lying.

“You look too okay for a guy who ended a three-year relationship,” Charles muses and his words get you immediately thinking.

Oh? So they’ve been dating that long? You never noticed.

“Even [Name] looked worse when she broke up with that Williams mechanic two years ago and they dated for like what? Barely a year?”

“Unprovoked!” you exclaim. Alex and Max laugh.

But yeah, Charles is right. When you broke up with Leo in 2021, it was not the prettiest sight. He entered Williams mid-2020 as a mechanic and he immediately caught your attention. He's kind and handsome and a very sweet guy. You have similar interests—engineering—and a similar sense of humor and you just….work so well together, you know? You were sure he was your soulmate the moment he cracked up that Physics pickup line and you know it was the same with him. You swore to God that you’d run away from all the British charming assholes but Leo made you eat your own words and gave you a run for your money.

But alas, 2021 season came and Red Bull Racing became busier than ever because Max and Hamilton got crazily competitive and Max demanded your full attention, needing you as a support system to win.

And Leo. Well, he’s busy, too. Engineers are always busy. But he felt neglected because all your attention was on Max. He felt like he was competing with Max for your attention and it shouldn't even be a competition in the first because Leo was the boyfriend and Max was not. And you cannot even deny that you prioritized Max that year. You wanted Max to win. You needed Max to win, so he can finally ask Horner to move you to the engineering team.

Losing Leo is devastating but Max won the WDC title that year and while you spent nearly a month crying over Leo after the breakup, you're hoping that at least, in 2022, you’ll finally get that damned engineering position at the cost of losing your soulmate. That the tears you shed and the broken heart you carried inside your ribs will be worth it if it was in exchange for your dream. Then, it does not happen. The job isn't given to you and you spent the early months of the 2023 season wishing that you have chosen Leo instead of Max Verstappen.

“You’re still friends with him, right?” Charles turns to you.

“Of course,” you say honestly. You're still mutuals on IG and he still hearts your IG stories at times. You still talk, too, on the freer nights where there's a lot of time to waste. “We ended on good terms.”

“How about you, Max?”

“Can we not talk about this please?”

The four of you empty that bottle of champagne and once the sun has begun retiring for the night, Alex and Charles also left. You're soon to follow, fixing your tote bag and going through the mental checklist in your head so you will not forget anything and not waste energy returning here to pick it up.

“You can stay for dinner.”

Max’s offer surprises you.

“No.”

His face drops as quickly as your answer came.

“You're goin’ to let me cook again.”

“No, I’ll cook.”

You give him an unimpressed look. Clearly, you're not convinced.

“I swear, I’ll cook.”

“What if I get poisoned?”

“You won't get poisoned.”

When you continue staring at him, he sighs.

“Just stay please?”

Of course, you stayed. He asked after all.

You keep your eyes on him as he makes dinner with clumsy hands and a bit of unsureness behind his actions.

“You're goin’ to burn it, honey,” you point out.

“What honey? I didn't put any honey in it.”

You blink. He blinks back.

“You’re gonna give me aneurysm one day.”

Shaking your head, you walk into the bathroom at the end of the enormous hallway, lock the door behind you, lean your back against the door, and slowly slides down until your ass meets the cold bathroom floor. You slap a palm against your forehead and purse your lips to stop a scream from erupting.

God fucking dammit, Max is too adorable back there and this is not doing good things for your heart.

[thedropsofblood]

Awesome!, can I please request a platonic yandere dad with a serial killer y/n! In which he doesn't mind and is actually encouraging them!

Word count: 6k

Being a full-time serial killer, as cool and amazing as it sounds, is honestly a really shitty job, especially when you're only doing it for the money. Your family was torn apart by a nasty marriage, leaving you with your dad while your brother goes with your mother.

Your father's performance at his job worsened because of it, leading to him being demoted to a fairly bad position, and suddenly you can't afford to attend school anymore.

Something worse than having to say goodbye to your classmates is having to find a job in this economy, who in the world would hire a 16 years old for a full-time job without any degrees or prior work experience? Even if they do, the pay would be so bad that you might start picking up spare coins in the streets instead. You went through sleepless nights extremely conflicted and stressed out just because of it. While at your darkest moment, your mind threw an idea at you that made you question yourself more than expected.

What if you became a serial killer? There's plenty of information on the internet to help with it. And organs sells, doesn't they? Even a kidney or an eye makes a person rich overnight on the right market, and one less person on this earth wouldn't hurt, would it?... You mean, you'll only be targeting junkies and prostitutes anyways, and that'll be fine, right?...

And that's how you committed your first murder, a man high on drugs in the middle of an alleyway at midnight. A clean stab at the back of the throat followed by one to the head. You had to hold back the urge to vomit as you wrapped his body into a plastic bag and into your basement while your dad was asleep.

With a surgical knife and gloves on, you became your "procedure", lungs, heart, liver, wrapped neatly in ziplock bags and placed on ice. You tried not to think back about it when you held the wads of cash in your hand, blood money, as they said. But does blood money really matter if you have enough money to sustain your family for months on end?

You hoped he wouldn't mind you lying about winning a scratch lottery that day. As time goes by, you've long gotten used to the feeling of taking a person's life and repeating the same step over and over again. Kill, down to the basement, dissect, sell and profit. It was a neat little routine, you've even bought a lock for the basement, just in case your father decides to enter it at some point.

But no amount of preparation could've prepared you for this. You opened the door to the house, clicking your tongue at the creak before dragging the bagged body in, making sure to close the door behind you. Your victim for today was a prostitute, normally, it would've been easy to just blindfold them and slice them cleanly in the neck, but this time, you got careless and couldn't finish them in one or two stabs, getting yourself a nasty bruise on the side of your head and injuries on your arms. You still finished your job, of course, what kind of killer would you be if you didn't?

As you dragged the body towards the basement, you were flashbanged by the lights of the hallway turning on. Panic surges through your body, causing you to freeze in your place before snapping your head to look at your father looking back at you in the end of the hallway. You looked at the bagged body and back at your dad, trying to find an excuse.

Your words were caught in your throat, no matter how much you tried to speak up, nothing came out, only a silence filled between you and your dear father.

A sigh escape from your father broke the silence, the eyebags on his face, the exhaustion in his sigh, fuck, he was waiting for you and here you were, coming home at 2 in the morning, dragging a dead body towards god knows where?

You grit your teeth, before you can even speak up and make an excuse to defend yourself, he barks at you with a stern tone. "Sit down. You can explain it to me later, why were you out so late and why are you bleeding?"

You jumped at the mention of your wounds. Right, you completely forgot about that. You decide to bite the inside of your cheek and sit down onto the couch, preparing yourself for an hour lecture or worse, getting kicked out of the house and being left to rot on the streets. Your dad wouldn't do that, right? Sure, you've been a problem child ever since you were a kid, but your dad loves you... Right?...

Your thoughts were cut in half when you felt the sting of alcohol being applied onto the wounds on your arms, causing you to hiss and look up at your father. You wanted to complain like you usually do, yet, you couldn't bring yourself to do so, especially not when your father still had the same worried look in his eyes. Instead, you bit your pride and let your father bandage you up.

He pulled you into a hug, something completely unexpected from somebody like him. You've always seen him as such a strong, superhuman person, the pillar of your family, but you've never seen him feel so... Helpless? Worried? Scared? Ever since the divorce with your mother.

"You worried the hell out of me, kid. You don't even know how many calls and messages I've sent you, I thought you fucking died in a ditch somewhere. And don't even give me the 'I was working overtime' bullshit, I've seen enough, I'm not five, I know what you do."

Your body completely froze in his arms as you looked at him with wide eyes. You hesitantly hugged him back, burying your face into his shoulder. "And you don't hate me because of it?"

Silence filled the room, broken by a sigh from him. "No. You could've just... Chosen a normal job instead of risking your life everyday over a few wads of cash. I don't care what you want to do, as long as you're safe and happy."It felt so weird to have someone finally supporting you after trying to be independent for so long, you tightened your hug around your father before you buried your face into your father's shoulder, tears beginning to build in the corner of your eyes.

As you sobbed quietly, your father's hand patted your back, silently comforting you until you succumbed to sleep. You've already had a long day today, he doesn't want to bother you anymore.

The next night, when you were getting ready to set out, you made sure to put the lunchbox filled with the dinner your father made for you into your backpack on your way out for your 'job'.

A/N: I'm not even gonna lie if I had a dad like this I would be killing people left and right /nsrs

[thezombieprostitute]

My Man's an Undertaker

Summary: When your ex shows up, trying to win you back, you're not having it. And you know your current boyfriend has your back.

Warnings: Ex-boyfriend angst, Guns, Mild violence, Threats of murder. Please let me know if I missed any!

A/N: Inspired by the song "My Man's an Undertaker" by Dinah Washington.

A/N2: Soft-for-you Robert Pronge, not canon.

You were just settling in for the night when you hear a knocking at your door. It couldn't be Robert, he said he was working late at the funeral home. Maybe something came up and you forgot something at his place yesterday? Or maybe he had ordered you some delivery again, like the caring man he is.

Looking through the peephole you gasp, recognizing Charles, your deadbeat ex-boyfriend.

"What do you want, Charles," you growl through the door.

"I want to apologize to the best thing that ever happened to a loser like me," he says. "I got your favorite flowers. And some of those chocolates you like."

"Last I checked, you couldn't afford those things," you snap back. He'd always been hitting you up for money. Always promising to pay you back or make it up to you. Telling you he was going to get that high paying job, he just needed some money for a good suit for the interview. Promising you the best in life while taking away what little you had.

"I've got a decent job," he cheerfully announces. "Been working hard so I can keep my promises to you."

"What's the job?" you know you can't trust him and you're not above calling his supposed place of employment to verify his story.

"It's nothing big," he says.

"I don't care, what is the job?"

"Look, I came here to try to romance you, earn you back," he deflects. "Please give me a chance, sweetheart. Let me in."

Not a chance in hell, you think. You send a text to Robert, telling him what's happening. The police have a bad reputation around here regarding listening to women but they'd listen to him.

"You need to leave, Charles," you tell him through the door. "I've got a better man in my life. Treats me like a queen, steady job, doesn't lie through his teeth. You know, all the things you never did."

"Please don't do this," he groans. "I did what you told me to and got a job. Isn't that enough of a start?"

"Not until you can pay me back the money and the time you stole from me. Now go away or I call the police."

"It doesn't have to be like this, honey," he pleads. "Just let me in. I'll make you feel good all over. I still remember that trick with my tongue that made you go all starry eyed."

"Go away Charles. This conversation is over and that door is not opening."

You grab your security bat and walk further into your apartment where you can't hear him so well. Maybe he'll make such a ruckus your neighbors call the cops on him for disturbing the peace.

Checking your phone there's a text from Robert saying that he's on his way. That helps you relax a little. Robert's definitely bigger and stronger than you, and much more likely to get Charles to leave you alone.

There's a noise near the door making you look up. Charles is standing there, a bouquet in one hand, a lockpick in the other. You drop your phone and place both hands on your bat, taking a defensive stance.

"It didn't have to be like this," Charles shakes his head. He drops the lockpick and grabs a gun from the inside of his coat. "Drop the bat, sweetheart. And let's just sit and have a nice chat."

You do as he says and sit at the little table in the kitchen. Charles sets the bouquet on the table before taking the seat across from you.

"That's Robert's seat," you grumble.

"Mine now," Charles smiles. "Besides, clearly you can do better, babe. If he was really a 'better man' than me, he'd be here taking care of you. Protecting you."

"He's an undertaker," you say nonchalantly. "He's got late hours."

Charles snorts at that, "an undertaker? Really? That's cute."

You're grateful for the shake of his head so he doesn't see you perk up at the door opening behind him. Robert peeks out from behind the door to take in the scene and gestures for you to keep quiet.

"He is cute," you comment, keeping your eyes on Charles. "Way cuter than you ever could be. He actually remembers what my favorite flowers are."

"He works with stiffs all day," he scoffs. "Bet he's into some weird shit in bed. Didn't realize you were such a fr---"

Charles gets cut off by a blow to the head, making him drop the gun. You immediately get away, grabbing your bat while Robert slams Charles's face into the table, dazing him. Robert pulls out the duct tape he'd snuck out of the tool bag in the coat closet and uses it to tie Charles's hands behind his back.

"And yes," Robert calmly says, "I already called the police. I'm on their good side so they'll be here shortly."

Setting the bat down and taking a deep breath, "thank you for thinking of that."

Robert moves over to you and takes you in his arms. "It's okay, my Dahlia. You're safe now."

Charles looks around, confused. This doesn't look like the usual interrogation room. He should know, he's been in several of them. It's decidedly colder than it should be as well. His teeth have almost started chattering.

When the door finally opens he vaguely recognizes the man who attacked him.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Charles demands. "Shouldn't I be given a phone call? A lawyer?"

Robert doesn't respond, simply walking over to a table that was against the wall. Charles had figured it was a side table for recording instruments, but then Robert lifts the cloth on the table and reveals many sharp objects. Charles can't identify them, but he can guess their purpose and he starts shaking from more than just the cold.

"You know one of the benefits of being an undertaker?" Robert asks without looking at Charles. "I get to do 'favors' for the local police department. Sometimes it's simply helping a slain officer get a proper burial without breaking the bank. Other times it's burying some evidence."

Charles can't take his eyes off the utensils. He knows what's going to happen.

"Dahlia has been a rare light in my cold, dark world," Robert continues. "She's a kind heart. One of the very few people who isn't afraid of me because of my job."

Robert selects one of the cutting implements, a smaller blade, and moves to sit across from Charles.

"She was so closed off for so long," Robert muses. "I had to work hard to earn her trust. It was very much worth it. She told me about you, Charles. All the leeching, the lying, the false promises. I was tempted to call in a favor and have you brought in. But you were in her past. She wanted to just forget you and I respected her wishes."

Robert leans forward so he's face to face with Charles. "But then you showed up at her place. You threatened her with a gun. You scared her. That is unforgivable."

Charles starts crying, trying to babble apologies but Robert isn't hearing it. He sticks the blade to Charles's neck and smiles. "I've got a coffin just your size."

Tagging: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @lokislady82; @ronearoundblindly

[seijorhi]

Just wanted to let you know that that oikawa soulmate drabble you just posted is such a banger. I can just imagine the look on oikawa’s face as he’s reading the caption on his soulmate’s socials . . . Does he decide then and say, f waiting gotta go find her and remind her of their agreement? Does he blast her name out after winning his next game, saying it’s because of her that he’s been able to accomplish so much and then conveniently shares a reel of that victory speech to one of your friends who likes volleyball and happens to be friends with his fake profile?

There are so many ways this scenario could go and it’s always so interesting and thrilling the way you leave your drabbles open-ended✨✨

Thank you for sharing!

well first of all there's the epic tantrum he throws. tears, snot, a shattered phone. basically wrecks his bedroom, tears at his hair and screams into his pillows. a very measured, healthy response.

ONCE he calms down (which he will, eventually) that's when he gets plotting. oikawa's not a man who takes losing well, he's also not the type of guy to hit back with only one

up until that point, he'd managed to talk himself out of physical stalking. the online stuff was fine, because you'd made it public, you'd posted it and put it out into the world, but actually following you home, finding out your day-to-day routine – when he can afford to, those rare, precious days off – that would've been creepy. or... crossing a line, at least. a step too far. but now he knows there's some asshole trying to weasel into his girl's life, take his place–

six months, six months, six months, six months, six months, six months

–he doesn't feel all that torn up about it. and while he spends his time between volleyball and you, he's sure he can spare some cash to throw at a pi to look into your boyfriend too. surely the asshole's got a few secrets he can use against him. no one's perfect, and everyone's exploitable. he could probably pay one of the girls at that asshole's office to get him in a compromising position, take a few photos and send them your way. he could probably pay someone to drag him into an alley on his way home and beat the fuck out of him too, but that one's a little dicier. more of a 'plan b' situation, he thinks.

he's always been pretty tight lipped about his soulmate status. his teammates have undoubtedly caught a glimpse or two, but they know he doesn't talk about it, and it's too personal a thing to just casually drop into conversation. publicly, he's never said a word.

until now.

he'll make it sound like a cinderella moment. one of those missed connections stories people go nuts over. he'll say that he saw you through the crowds after one of his games, just a glimpse before you were swallowed up. never got your name, never even had a chance to speak to you, but your eyes met for a split second, a heartbeat, and he knew you were his soulmate. now he's desperately trying to find you again, enlisting his fans and followers' help to do so.

he'll sprinkle in enough vague-ish details for the people in your life to pick up on and recognise. maybe start nudging you towards him.

he'll admit, with a soft, self-deprecating chuckle that you were there with another guy – a date, probably. it's why he held off trying to find you at first, but he... he just can't anymore. he doesn't care if you're with someone else.

he's totally swept up in you, it's all he can think about. he's already completely in love with you, and he doesn't even know your name.

it sounds crazy, he knows that, but he can't help it. he just needs to see you again. to learn your name. for you to give him a chance.

you're soulmates, and this is just the beginning of your love story.

[formosusiniquis]

any cosmo girl would have known

“Oh she did it for sure.”

“Steve!”

“Ten bucks, Bobert, don't give me that look last time we agreed double or nothing.”

“No,” Nancy insists. “This isn't Murder, She Wrote or Scooby-Doo or Columbo-”

“You saw who did it in Columbo at the beginning,” Eddie reminds.

“I know it's an awful show.”

Robin and Steve remain in sync enough to each get a hand on his shoulder to keep him from getting on the coffee table to defend the only good cop show in existence.

“I'm only pointing out,” she rewinds the VHS taking it back the two or three minutes they'd talked over before stopping it completely, “that this is a movie, not a drama with a repeated format that Steve can pattern recognition into predicting.”

“You haven't seen it already, right?” Robin asks. “The one rule of Monthly Middle-Aged Movie Night is you have to pick a movie none of us have seen.”

“No, I haven't seen it already. If you'll all remember when I asked you each to go see it with me I got,” he points to each of them in turn. “‘Wouldn't you rather see Tomb Raider?’ from double VHS, prestige cinephile and ‘That's too much pink for me, baby, you know I have that intolerance, maybe Rob or Nance will go?’ from my emo-isn’t-a-phase husband. And ‘I'm a little busy with this new story, Steve,’ from Nancy, the only one of you with a real excuse.”

“Some feminist you are, Birdie.”

“I don't want to hear it from you. I watched two of the blandest men alive pursue Renee Zellweger while the screen writers tried to convince us she was homely because you ‘forgot’ you had band practice.”

“You said you liked it!”

“It grew on me, but sometimes you just want to see a woman in a tank top. And I won't be shamed by the same man who cried during Beauty and the Beast.”

“I went with my sweet baby Lucy Joan, you miserable hag,” Eddie says, “and they turned that hot werewolf into a boring looking man.”

“You weren't into that? Look at who-”

“Why am I getting made fun of? Can we finish the movie?”

“No, I'm not going to let this be another Sixth Sense situation,” Nancy says, holding the remote hostage, she knows no one will try to take it from her.

“Ugh don't even bring that up,” Eddie groans, “Dustin still mentions it in at least one letter a year.”

Nancy nods, prim and proper, “Exactly, so tell us right now why you think she did it, then we'll play it again.”

“Chutney, the daughter,” Steve corrects, “have you even been paying attention? Her hair's permed.”

“And press play,” Eddie shouts.

“No,” Robin smacks his hands as he makes his ballsy play to reach around her for the remote. “Show your work, Dingus, even I didn't follow that one.”

“I don't always like the movies everyone else picks but I at least watch them. Her hair is permed, she said she was in the shower. She would have had to have been washing her hair if she didn't hear the gunshot and she has a perm.”

“You can wash your hair with a perm,” Nancy points out.

“You would know.” Eddie snarks, fingering the ends of his own hair.

“You can't wash a fresh perm, you'll fuck up the ammonium thioglycolate. Then you're out forty bucks and you've got limp hair. She killed her dad and lied about being in the shower.”

“Press play,” Eddie decrees again, leaning in close to Steve's side to purr, “it's pretty sexy when you go all hair care detective.”

His hand starts to slip below the blanket. “This is how we ended up with Lucy in the first place,” Steve reminds him, just under the sounds of the courtroom drama picking back up. It doesn’t stop Eddie’s hand from wandering until the movie’s climax starts getting closer, and Eddie’s attention is captured just like Robin’s and Nancy’s.

“Unbelievable,” Robin says, when Elle cites the perm salt.

“Never again,” Nancy swears, when Chutney screams her confession.

“Lucy’s been asking for a brother or sister,” Eddie flirts, as Elle reveals that any good Cosmo girl could have solved it.

No more movies with mysteries or twist endings for a while, they all agree, Robin can’t afford to keep betting against Steve.

[nightingale2004]

Severus's life if Tobias was an actual decent father and husband headcanons

When he finds out that Eileen and Severus are wizards, he takes a minute to take in the information (i feel like he is more the religious type) and even goes to church.

At first, he was angry that his own wife would hide that from him, but after much time and talking with a reasonable, open-minded, understanding priest, he went home and he and Eileen had a long talk.

He is a hard worker at the factory. He goes to work early but comes home late, and Eileen always makes him breakfast, lunch, and dinner and barely drinks but still drinks every now and then.

After Eileen told Tobias everything, he told her to educate him on the Wizarding world so he could have a better grasp of it.

After Tobias was educated on the Wizarding world, he did not like how relationships like his and Eileen's were looked down upon, which made him worried for Severus, especially when he got accepted into Hogwarts.

Severus still wears hand me downs but he does get some new clothes since they don't have a lot of money.

Tobias would be that husband and father that would glare or yell at someone who gave them looks or said/whispered something about them.

Tobias would not be afraid to fight somebody, magic or not. (YOU DO NOT MESS WITH THIS MAN'S FAMILY)

Whenever Severus comes back and he is acting different, he notices. He knows what being bullied looks like, and he talks with Severus about it

Tobias teaches Severus how to defend himself and shows him a couple of moves he learned in the military (the man obviously served)

Eileen would be more involved in Severus's life instead of being afraid.

When the "prank" happened, they immediately found out and gave Dumbledore h3ll for this. And they immediately pull Severus from hogwarts (but not before Tobias is about to give the marauders an old school a$$-whooping)

Eileen and Tobias transferred him to Durmstrang, where they kept a close eye on him (they are helicopter parents now, and u can't tell me otherwise)

Severus obviously noticed the struggle that his parents were facing, not just prejudice but the money struggle. So, growing up, he would always help his mom around the house, help cook and clean, and even sell some potions here and there. (He sells his potions to Tobias's work buddies)

Severus gives his dad potions to help his health and even casts a few spells on him to help him at work (Tobias even after all these years is still not used to it but is impressed by his son's brain)

When Severus graduated, a lot of potion masters wanted him, but he knew he couldn't afford it. So his parents both worked to scrounge him enough money to pay for his apprenticeship (severus helped, he's not letting his parents do all the work)

Severus's summer job as a teenager was helping out at either his father's factory or working at a bar

When Severus came out that he liked both girls and boys, both his parents weren't surprised. They found out a looooong time ago and had their time to process it. And they learned to accept him and his Sexuality in their own way.

Severus is a potion master, has his own apothecary, and his parents couldn't be prouder. He also has a medical and chemist degree. (So if anyone needs a doctor, he's your guy)

When Eileen passed away, Tobias was distant from Severus, but eventually, he learned to be close with his own son again for his wife's sake.

Tobias and severus visit Eileen's grave every year on her birthday.

After Tobias passed, Severus visits their grave in his free time just to talk to them and tell them about his life.

Severus is happier, calmer, and less depressed but still our favorite Sarcastic sharptounged Slytherin

He wouldn't join the deatheaters unless they threatened his parents. He would protect them with his life

Hope you guys love this little headcanons. Enjoy

[eldritch-spouse]

Just when you thought taking a day off from retail when you're sick would be paradise away from the retail hell boys when your door suddenly explodes and the retail hell boys enter your room when they heard you got sick. You can't win.

TW: Reader has a dark mindset, their suffering is not treated seriously.

It's kind of ridiculous that your only respite is sickness, isn't it?

Does it count as self-harm to deliberately let yourself get sick just so you can miss a day or two of work? Does... Does not caring about a twisted ankle that much because you know you won't have to work for a while count as mental illness? If only you could afford a psychologist right now.

What you do know, is that in spite of your physical pain, you haven't felt this at peace in a while. You can even ignore the fact that your pay is getting damaged from this, it's worth it. It's calm.

No weird coworkers, no pressure from a shitty boss, no creepy clients-

CRASH

There's no mistaking it. That was the front door of your rackety little apartment.

Fear has you flatten to the wall of your bedroom, ankle squealing with pain. Deep down, you've always dreaded this would happen since moving to Hell. That some nutjob would just break into your place and butcher you like a pig. Because they feel like it, because some demons are just like that, because humans are easy targets.

Humans are like gazelles to them. And amidst all those grazing bodies, a tired and beaten down one like you is the gazelle with the limp, the one that's getting picked first.

Fucking damn it, you should have bought the domestic defense bat that tall butch tried to sell you when you moved in. You wondered why she was pricing it so high until she revealed it was some kind of hellish beast, as opposed to a barbed wire bat.

As is, you can only grab the bedside lamp and hope, with every fiber of your being, that the thing you're up against has a skull soft enough to allow brain damage.

Hearing hushed voices, your plan is to turn the corner and possibly run outside before you have to hit anyone.

A plan easily thwarted when a meaty hand swipes the bedside lamp right out of your hands.

Alright. You didn't think that far ahead.

" YEAH, THAT'S IT SMALL FRY! " The meathead you've come to recognize as one of the creepy regulars beams. He smashes the bulb out of the lamp, and jams some kind of blade in the hollowed space, using fabric to tie it all together. Is that... Part of your curtains?

" Moz, you ruined the door, you oaf... Isn't that essential to keep the house safe? " The other one, the incubus, points out, feeling the dents left in your wall.

Said wrathful demon pauses to gouge the extent of the damage for several seconds, then waves. " Huh. I'LL DO YA ONE BETTER- WHO NEEDS DOORS?! By the time I'm done, no one will even think of trying to get in. "

Babesley turns around. " Well, she does- Oh! Oh there she is, our tasty workaholic. " The incubus gets a glimpse at your injured limb and gasps. " My sweet hardworking princess, what are you doing out of bed?! Come on, let's go lie down, I'll give you a wonderful massage and you can tell me all about the awful people you work with! "

The awful people being them both, mostly. On a good day.

Babesley has started pulling you along gently, and frankly, you know there's nothing you can do to get them out of your home now, so you might as well just bide your time and see what comes next.

He openly evaluates the state of your room before cautiously helping you lay down, starting to work on your back muscles with surprising competence. You didn't know he was a masseur! Out of spite, you don't allow the shock to show on your face, keeping noises to a minimum.

" Come now, it's no fun if I don't get to hear it. " He huffs. " You're being difficult when we're just trying to keep you safe! Tsk tsk, brats these days. "

" Get- Hnnh- " Oh he popped something ancient in there. The smug brow raise is his display of victory. " Get out of my home. "

" Mhm, not happening. I was thinking of getting a pizza from that cozy nook downtown. "

Pizza does sound good.

You ponder on it to the sounds of Moz breaking your house apart in a nightmare DIY session.

" ... I want the pepperoni one. " It was a moment of weakness. And most importantly, free food.

" Say please. " He sing-songs, clawtips flirting with the fat of your rump through your pajama shorts.

" Cunt. "

" Yes, I bet yours is heavenly. "

Before things can get any more awkward, the other demon bulldozes in with a cup, slapping your ass with a force so great it has you barking every curse under the sun.

" Spit on this, jizzbrains. " He angles the glass at Babes, who easily 'ptoo's in.

You think that one slap just undid all of the incubus' work on your accumulated tension. " What are you even doing? Ruining my house for the fuck of it?! "

" HAH. " Moz grunts. " I'm making it IMPENETRABLE. This here is for a booby trap. IMAGINE DYING WITH A BONER. "

You and Babesley look at him blankly.

" They walk in, right?! They STEP on the plate, they ACTIVATE THE TRAP, THEN BOOM- GET A SPRAY OF THIS NASTY SHIT AND THEN THE FUCKIN' LAMP COMES SWINGING DOWN JAMMING RIGHT BETWEEN THE EYES! Either that or the throat... Actually, I need a plan B for a shortstack. "

You decide you'll mourn your furniture later.

" What about the pizza guy? "

" WHAT PIZZA GUY?! "

Babesley waves Moz away, continuing his earlier work above you. " Think about it this way, if it works, we won't have to pay for it. "

You want to go back to work.

[spicypepperflakesss]

💚 Post-Route Muriel | My Muriel Masterlist

How Muriel Will Act As A Father:

Happy [Belated] Father's Day, everyone!

In light of Father's Day, I thought it would be fun to think of how Muriel would act as a dad!

POV: You're the one giving birth to your child

Before being a dad, his only responsibility other than himself was you. The moment he learns that your baby is on the way, something in him snaps.

In the back of his mind, his coping mechanisms - though totally valid - meant that his trauma served as a big reason why he wouldn't go beyond his comfort zone.

But not anymore.

Interacting with people, cooking new foods, eating said new foods, going to the doctor, buying clothes, paying bills; he's taken it upon himself to get better at doing these things.

You never hear this from him, but there are rare moments you catch him walking into Julian's clinic or slipping into the marketplace by himself. When you follow him out of curiosity, you watch him try his trembling best to act out as being a normal participant in human society. It breaks your heart to watch him get discouraged when he stutters too much in dealing with vendors or staff, or struggle to even get the proper words out of his mouth.

But it warms your heart to see him step up and do his best. You know it's not your place to interfere, but you keep an eye on him anyway. Just in case. Sometimes Inanna goes with you, with her being just as curious as you are.

One sunny afternoon, you catch him slumped on a bench outside a store front. You'd never seen him look so disappointed - or ashamed in himself. Perhaps another attempt at talking with the cashier didn't go the way he expected it to - and he's had enough.

Before you could approach him, Julian walks by. Great. As if things couldn't get worse - or so Muriel thought as he tries to sink into his seat. But Julian notices anyway. You and Inanna share an amused look when the two men end up talking. Well, more like Julian talking at him. Though you can't make out the words that your red-head friend is making, Muriel slowly perks up, as if realizing something.

By the end, when they go their separate ways. A new goal forms in Muriel's mind and he makes a beeline towards wherever that goal is.

Within a few weeks, your shared home in the forest turns more into a house befitting of a small family. Though you knew some things needed to change, it's a surprise - as this much renovation would have taken a year's salary to accomplish this.

Muriel tells you that he did all of this with his two hands, from building the nursery to woodworking new dining chairs. Your heart squeezes with glee as he spares no detail in telling you how he got here. He looks so handsomely adorable in this rare moment where he talks this much.

It turns out that a certain someone told him to play to his strengths instead, and not get so hung up over his weaknesses. Whatever those weaknesses they may be, they may simply be what you, his partner, are better at than he is. And that's not a bad thing - but rather, one of the many luxuries afforded in a relationship such as the one you share with Muriel.

A few months fly by - and your child is born. Up until now, Muriel was a nervous wreck. Will he be a good dad? Can he ensure that he can carry his own weight in raising this child properly? Is he even sure that this child won't inherit the same fears and traumas he's had growing up?

It isn't until you gently place the small bundle in his arms. The first thing that surprises him is how warm the baby is in his embrace. The way their tiny chest rises and falls. Their skin is paper thin as Muriel watches their tiny heart beat for its life. So fragile. So small.

But baby doesn't like being away from you, the other parent. Opening and closing its tiny grasp, they fight against Muriel as they wriggle in frustration.

You expect Muriel to get flustered and pass them back to you. Instead, your partner's eyes soften with a kind of affection you only see him have for those he deeply cares for. He lets the baby use their tiny hand to grab their his big finger. A soft smile grows on his lips when the baby is soothed by that.

"It's okay", Muriel says, "You're gonna be okay."

Nothing warms your heart more than that. You watch him in quiet adoration as he and the baby spend a little time together like this.

And he was right. Everything turned out alright in the end

----- Hey, thanks for making it to the end! If you like this, feel free to check out my other Muriel stuff ! : My Muriel Masterlist

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Dear Diary. . .

18+ for some smut. . .

Steve thought a lot about people's sexuality since Robin came out to him on the floor of the bathroom at Starcourt. Well, he thought about it a lot more. Before, it was only a casual thought. How could two members of the same sex do that? Not in like a hateful way but more in a curious way. How could two men have sex? He usually spent time on it, thinking about it. . .too much time thinking about it, really. That should have been his first clue, but at the time, he shook those thoughts away by telling himself that he was just being overly judgemental like his dad. Now, he was thinking about it a lot more, and he couldn't quite figure it out until Eddie Munson walked into Family Video one afternoon.

"It's fucking freezing! I can't believe Keith made us come in. I swear that I'm going to do it this time," Robin said. "I'm gonna kill him."

"You keep saying it, but then it never happens," Steve chuckled.

"There's no one even here!" Robin complained.

It was the middle of December and pretty damn cold. No one would be crazy enough to escape the warmth of their homes just to get a movie. He was quickly proven wrong, though, when the door opened and Eddie Munson walked in.

"Jesus H Christ! It's freezing in here. Do you guys have the air conditioner on in the middle of winter?" Eddie asked.

"It's broken. We couldn't fix it, and we couldn't get anyone to come out," Steve said.

"And you guys didn't just say 'fuck it' and go home?" Eddie asked.

"We can't really afford to do that," Steve said.

"Really? King Steve can't afford to take one day off? The man with his own castle or so I've heard," Eddie said, and Robin scoffed at him, scowling.

"You mean, my parents' house? Yeah, no. It's their house and like they've told me since I was six: It's their house and they just allow me to live there. They made me start paying them rent the minute I didn't get into any college, and they threatened to kick me out without all my stuff if I didn't pay up on time, so no I can't really afford to say fuck it," Steve said. "And the thing about being called King Steve are the assumptions that come with it. They assume that because I was born into money that everything that comes with it is mine. That I have it easy. You know, you can have all the money in the world but you can't pay your parents to love you. I mean, I don't know. Does it make you feel good when people call you freak?"

"Jesus. . . No," Eddie said, looking properly shamed. "Look, sorry, man. I can fix your problem for free."

"Which problem? People calling me King Steve or my parents not loving me?" Steve asked.

"Well, I can't fix those problems, but I can fix your heat," Eddie smirked. "Let me go get my tools."

He left the store, leaving Steve alone with Robin.

"He's lucky he apologized and offered to fix the heat, or otherwise I would have kicked his ass," Robin muttered, and then she paused. "Your parents are home, aren't they?"

"Yeah," Steve muttered.

"You know, my dad put bunk beds in my room like I'm a kid or something. Want to have a sleepover?" Robin asked.

"Only if I get the the top. A top for a top," Steve said with a smirk.

"Ugh. You'll get bottom and like it," Robin said. "You know, my parents love you. I think you should take up their offer and -"

She didn't get to finish her sentence because Eddie made his way into the store. He shook his toolbox at Steve.

"Lead the way, Harrington," Eddie grinned.

"I'll mind the store, although I think it's pointless. I don't think anyone else is crazy enough to come out in this weather," Robin said to Steve. "You mind him."

"Thanks," Eddie grinned cheerfully as he followed Steve into the back.

Wordlessly, Steve watched as he took off his jacket and got to work. The other man was wearing a tight red sweater. It was so tight that Steve could practically see his. . .wait, are those. . .are those nipple piercings? Steve swallowed. Why couldn't he look away? The movement of Eddie rolling up his sleeves tore his attention away from the man's nipples. There was a tattoo of a creature controlling a puppet on his forearm. He stared at it while he worked and wondered if there were any more tattoos on Eddie's body. Steve tilted his head to the side as he pictured taking off Eddie's sweater to look for more, his mind picturing Eddie's piercings. He could imagine them so clearly, and Steve could see his own hand reaching out to brush his thumb over the piercing. Suddenly, Eddie's underneath him, and Steve is reaching down to take it -

"All done!" Eddie's voice called out.

"What?!" Steve exclaimed.

He realized what he was feeling now. The familiar pull of arousal in his stomach is something that he immediately recognized. Mews being eaten by a demodog! Mews being eaten by a demodog! Yeah, that did it. Eddie was staring at him now with his big brown beautiful eyes, his plump lips looking ever so kissable. Shit.

"You okay, man?" Eddie asked. "Where did you go?"

"Oh, nothing, sometimes I just space out," Steve said, trying not to blush.

"Yeah. I do that, too. I fixed it!" Eddie exclaimed proudly. "Am I forgiven now?"

"Oh, yeah, definitely," Steve said. "Thanks."

Eddie shrugged on his jacket and shook his toolbox at him.

"I'm going to go put Bert up now," Eddie said. "And then look for a movie."

"Bert?" Steve asked.

"My toolbox. Problem?" He asked.

"No, it's cute," Steve laughed.

Eddie looked at him for a moment as if he was trying to figure him out.

"Hm. Dustin was right. You are an interesting dude," Eddie said.

They walked out of the back together, and Steve continued to watch him as he walked out.

"It's definitely warming up," Robin said. "Thank God!"

Eddie walked back in and started browsing the aisles, Steve’s eyes never leaving him. Robin unscrewed her bottle of water and started drinking.

"Yeah, I can definitely picture myself having sex with that guy," Steve said, and Robin started choking on her water. "Jesus, Robin. Are you okay?"

"Am I okay?! Are you okay? What the hell, Steve?!"

"What?"

Later that evening, after they got off of work, Steve and Robin immediately got settled up in her room. A random radio station was playing in the background. They were laying on the floor, their feet pressed against the wall, as they stared at the stars on Robin's ceiling.

"So, let me get this straight - something which we apparently both aren't - you kept trying to picture how it worked between two men, and apparently, that made you think that you were homophobic?" Robin asked.

"Pretty much," Steve said.

"Okay, you're going to have to start telling me all of your thoughts outloud so I can tell you if you're wrong or right," Robin said. "I'll do the same thing with you."

"Like we're diaries?" Steve asked.

"Exactly like we're diaries, Steven," Robin said. ". . . Diaries who give feedback."

"What if they're dirty thoughts?" Steve asked.

"I'm a fully grown lesbian. I can handle it," Robin said. "I want every single slutty detail."

"Okay," Steve said.

"For example: Dear Diary, my platonic soulmate realized he wasn't straight today. He also came out to me. I want him to know how proud I am of him and how much I love him," Robin said. "Even if he is attracted to boys."

"Dear Diary, I came out to my platonic soulmate today after finally accepting that I can be queer. . .that I could be bisexual like Bowie. I don't think I ever could have gotten to this point without learning from her. If she hadn't trusted me, then I wouldn't have been able to put so much trust and courage into accepting myself. I'm so proud of her, and I love her so goddamn much," Steve said. "Even if she is a pain in the ass."

"Aw, Steve," Robin said tearfully and took his hand, interlacing their fingers together. "You know what my favorite thing about our friendship is?"

"What?"

"We're both bitches," Robin said and they both burst into fits of giggles.

After that, Steve wished for more interactions with Eddie, but whenever he went to pick up Dustin from Hellfire, Eddie would scowl and look away whenever Steve tried to wiggle his fingers at him. Eventually, it just became awkward, so Steve stopped trying. He didn't even look at him anymore. Steve even tried approaching him in the grocery store just to ask what his problem was, but Eddie took off and ran out of the store without buying anything. Eventually, Steve realized that Eddie clearly still saw him as King Steve and wanted nothing to do with him. So Steve stopped trying, disappointed, and rejected. Instead, he tried moving on by going on dates, and eventually, Steve pushed Eddie to the back of his mind. . .then spring break rolled around. It all went to hell, and suddenly, he was fighting to save Eddie from being convicted of murders he didn't commit while also trying to stop the earth from splitting open.

Luckily, it was all a success with some injuries. Unfortunately, Eddie still needed to be hidden from the town, and Steve's house was the best place for him. He was currently resting in Steve's guest room, bandaged heavily as he was worse off than Steve but not so bad that he needed a hospital. Steve was pacing downstairs. Now was the perfect time to talk to him. He couldn't run away this time. Steve sighed and walked up the stairs. He entered the room without thinking and without knocking. Eddie froze, his unbandaged hand down his pants. He quickly pulled it out.

"I had an itch!" Eddie exclaimed.

"Uh. I can come back," Steve said.

"No, seriously! It was an itch!" Eddie exclaimed. "I was just thinking about you."

Steve’s mood changed pretty quickly. His cheeks turned pink, and he grinned. He slid carefully onto the empty space beside Eddie. He used an elbow to avoid laying on his stomach.

"Really?" Steve asked.

"How could I not? You pulled me out of hell, man," Eddie said. "I wish I could thank you properly, but I can't even get out of bed."

"You can thank me by letting me do all the work," Steve said.

"Uh, yeah, okay," Eddie said, looking at him, confusion as he started to disappear under the covers. "What are you - Oh! Oh! I think there was a misunde - OH, fuck it! It's such a good one. JESUS H CHRIST!"

There was a popping sound from under the covers as Steve peeked out from under the blankets.

"Do you want me to stop?" Steve asked.

"No! Get back down there," Eddie said and pushed his head down. "I can't believe - I, uh, thought that I hated you and I, uh, I uh, I didn't understand why I did. Oh, fuck! It's why I ran - I shouldn't have - Steve, Steve, I think I'm going to - God!"

Steve plopped down on the empty spot beside Eddie, smirking as he licked his lips.

"I didn't think I would be so good that I'd get a name change," Steve said. "God. God Harrington."

"Cocky asshole," Eddie replied. "So, what does this mean? Is that all I'm good for, or do you want more from me?"

"I think I would like to try more with you," Steve said softly.

"Me too, and once I get better, I am so returning the favor," Eddie smirked.

"There's a lot of things we're going to do when we get better," Steve said as he leaned in close to Eddie's face.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

Steve placed a soft kiss to Eddie's lips, smiling when Eddie started kissing him back. Steve pulled back.

"The first thing, though. . .I'm so making you sleep on the couch," Steve said.

"What?!" Eddie yelped. "Why?"

"Well, one, you forced the kids to choose between Lucas and Hellfire. Second, you didn't stick to the plan, and you nearly died in Dustin's arms," Steve huffed.

"But I - yeah, no, that's fair," Eddie mumbled. "I do feel bad about making them go through that. I'm going to work my ass off to make it up to them."

"I know you are," Steve said softly. "Luckily, you've got the rest of your long life to make it up to them."

"Thanks to you," Eddie said, and Steve bit his lip. "You want to tell Robin, don't you? Go ahead."

Steve went downstairs and into the kitchen. He picked up the phone, twirled the phone cord around his finger, and dialed Robin's number.

"Hello?"

"Dear Diary. . . I totally went down on this really cute guy. . .bit of an asshole. . . but he's working on it. . ."

[anqueerism]

Aarghghjhhhh

People being dumb about mouthwashing again waergh

“Why didn’t anyone do any—“ SHUT UP! SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT <333 UP <333

I swear some people played this game with their eyes closed.

Daisuke (to the extent that we see him in-game at least) was not aware of what happened. There’s no evidence to suggest he knew, considering how chipper and trusting of Jimmy he is.

But between Curly, Anya and Swansea? They couldn’t do anything, even though I’m sure they’d wanted to.

One of the main themes of Mouthwashing that I see missed with infuriating frequency is the criticism of toxic work environments (Which ties into a wider criticism of capitalism).

We see it several times that if any one of the crew members fucks up or does something wrong, everyone gets punished. As evidenced by the 4k pay reduction when Jimmy crashed the ship, and the warning of pay reduction if the cargo is breached “unnecessarily” (and who do you think gets to decide ultimately if it was really necessary? Think about it.). Pony Express as a company has a culture of collective punishment. If anything goes wrong, everyone suffers.

Anya doesn’t have any savings and barely got through PE nursing. If her already undoubtedly meagre pay is affected, how do you think that’s going to affect her? Swansea has a wife to take care of and a home to maintain, and he is already an older worker. He can't afford to take a pay cut, because he doesn't exactly have much time left on the clock as it is.

But what about Curly, you might ask.

Simple: Curly is in an abusive relationship with Jimmy.

Now before anyone accuses me of shipping and gets their pitchforks out, just hold on. I’m not necessarily talking in a romantic sense. Friendships can also be abusive, and theirs very much is. It’s not even subtle!

The way that Jimmy makes his envy and disdain clear, all because Curly is just doing better than him. The way that he lashes out at Curly on his own birthday and Curly doesn’t think this the least bit strange. The way that Curly tells Anya he’s “known Jimmy for a long time,” which implies their relationship had been long-lasting, the way that Anya tells Curly "you know who." Because Curly knows who Jimmy is, really. This isn’t just Some Guy to him. This is his best friend, who has been emotionally abusing him for (what’s implied to be) years. He wants to believe Jimmy is capable of good, is capable of better, so he waves it off as something that he can just “talk to him” about. He can’t bring himself to make any move against Jimmy, because he cares so much about him.

He says it himself.

He always believed in him. Back on Earth, and on the ship.

And it's that belief that leads directly to his downfall and the deaths of everyone he loves. Including Jimmy himself.

Something to be said there about the nature of abuse, too, but I've poked the hornet's nest enough, I think.

[cellu-lightreading]

Pure Greed

It was all a coincidence really. Jamie's friends took him on a vacation, and a few drunken afternoons produced a flurry of content of him shirtless on his socials. He was twerking on the beach and eating all kinds of food. As he watched it back, he was a little embarrassed. The internet isn't usually kind to guys like him with double chins that eclipse their necks and waistlines wider than adults are tall. When he checked his phone and saw that his phone was blowing up, he was nervous that trolls had come to attack him. That's not what he found. 

Hundreds of likes materialized overnight with a comments section overflowing with support and love. Not exactly body positivity comments, more swarming sexual admirers. There were heart eyes and eggplants and peaches. They said they liked his soft gut and his giant dimpled ass. They were drooling over how much he could eat instead of criticizing all the junk he was stuffing in his mouth. 

At breakfast, Jamie decided to share the phenomenon on his post. No one could quite explain how these legions managed to find him of all people, but one friend had one idea of why they were so obsessed with him. 

"They're called feeders or encouragers." Brandon said "When they see a big fat guy not promising to lose weight, they're like moths to a flame. You filming yourself stuffing yourself is like porn to them."

"How do you know all of this?" Jamie asked. 

"'Cause they swarm the comments of all my favorite fitness influencers going on a dirty bulk in the winter. They go rabid watching a dude's abs melt away for a few months and then get disappointed and disappear in the spring when it's time to cut. Actually, this is a pretty good opportunity for you if you play your cards right. These guys will literally throw money at you just for being fat. Now that they've slashed your hours at work, you can probably string these guys along to keep the bills paid."

"I don't know how I feel about selling my body."

"You're not exactly doing porn. You don't even really have to get naked. All you have to do is be fat and get fatter."

"Get fatter? I just clocked in at 375 the other week! I can't afford to get bigger!"

"Considering we're the ones paying for your stay this weekend, I'd argue that you can't afford not to get bigger."

A few days after getting home, Jamie decided to give making content a try. He wasn't really sure what to do so he started with something basic every influencer did nowadays: a get ready with me video. He started the video from bed, letting the people see him heave his body out from under the covers. He slept shirtless normally so that might be something. He showed himself buttoning up his uniform shirt around his large frame and hoisting his pants around his thighs. He got a little self-conscious thinking about the ways his clothes tended to get stuck around his folds and how tight they looked in places. He pushed the thought away and started on breakfast. Normally, he didn't eat all that much for breakfast, at least not compared to his other meals. He didn't really get that hungry in the morning, preferring to keep things simple with some toaster waffles and bacon. He thought half the box of waffles was pretty moderate considering how small they were; there were only ten in the box to begin with. After licking up the syrup, Jamie ended the video with a wave and a smile hoping he was enticing enough. 

Jamie closed the app out and forgot about it. Work usually kept him very occupied, so there wasn't a lot of time to check his phone. It was only at the end of the day when he got a call from Brandon that he thought to open the app at all.

"I'm genuinely curious: you really call five waffles and half a pack of bacon a light breakfast?" he asked Jamie incredulously. 

"Yeah? I'm usually not quite full after that."

"Oh it's no wonder they're reacting well to this."

"How well?"

"Like two thousand likes plus a never ending stream of comments."

"No way!"

"Yeah and this comments section...honestly is pretty obscene. I definitely feel like some of these would make you uncomfortable, but still no fatphobic trolls so that's a win. People are definitely fans of you. They think you are the sexiest thing ever."

"I still can't believe this is a thing."

"It is absolutely a thing and it is happening to you. Lots of people hoping you'll keep making content, and you're already getting people offering to pay for you to eat stuff. I honestly feel like you should show them what you normally eat before you do all that."

"But I'm hurting now. The cash would be good to have now. You have no idea what I can do with that kind of money."

"I think I’m starting to." He said to himself. Then he asked, "Aren't you the same guy who was nervous about putting yourself out on the internet?"

"I am, but $40 is $40. I go through a lot of money in food and things like that. It would be pretty neat if I really could get a little help around here."

"Well, how does this sound? Take the offer, go have a good time. Don't deny yourself anything for the next month. Every time you want something, have it. You don't have to push yourself, just show off your normal life- and get it on film."

Jamie accepted the challenge. He took pictures and videos of every time he ate. Within the first week, Brandon was shocked to find out just how much food went towards keeping Jamie as big as he was. When he said breakfast was light, he wasn't kidding. He was ingesting thousands of calories just from the vending machine while he worked at his desk. One night he ate an entire party-size lasagna by himself and then remarked that "he still had a little space left, maybe dessert would finally top him off." He went to his freezer, grabbed a pint of ice cream he filled with all sorts of treats and toppings and ate it until he was licking the container. The scariest part to Brandon was that most of his videos felt like a confessional; no one was supposed to know all the eating he does, especially not the people in his real life- i.e. Brandon. Jamie was increasingly comfortable admitting to his new internet friends all of his favorite treats and tricks. That's how Brandon found out people put crushed Doritos on pizzas. 

By the time their little challenge was ending, Jamie was on camera complaining how his jeans were getting a little tight. When the two of them met up at a function for a mutual friend, the conversation quickly veered off toward their project.

"You know, I had a lot of fun following your advice in the last month. I don't know when was the last time I got to have so much fun guilt free."

"Really?" Brandon asked. He thought back to a video where Jamie went back to a restaurant after their friend group left to have a second round of food. "I'm glad you've got a new space to do that now."

"Yeah, and the fans are really getting into it. They've got all kinds of food suggestions and the money never stops pouring in. They've been really supportive.”

"Speaking of ‘supportive’, how to put this delicately, has it gotten any harder for some of the things around you to physically support you and your new hobby?"

"Is this your coded way of asking me if I gained weight?"

"Yeah, I'm trying not to be really rude about it in public."

"It's fine. But it has gotten a little harder to wear anything with buttons, nothing wants to close anymore. I've easily put on 15 pounds, maybe even a whole 20."

"20 pounds in a month is pretty fast."

"That's why I was so nervous to start this. My body is an expert at putting on weight."

"So I see. Do you think you'll cut back down to something a little more manageable or-"

"No, I don't think the fans will like that too tough. That's like the one thing that gets them really jumpy. Every time I bring up the word diet or cutting, the comments get flooded with messages about how beautiful I am at this size and begging me not to lose weight."

"And this doesn't concern you at all?"

"I mean at the end of the day, they are people on the internet and this is my body. I get the final say on decisions I make with my body. I can always just lose the weight, right?"

"But it doesn't bother you that people are begging you to get fatter?"

"Honestly, no." Jamie laughed. "Like it sounds weird, but I kind of enjoy it. I mean, look at me. With no extra effort on my part, I gained 20 pounds in a month. If I'm going to keep getting fatter, I might as well do it with people who appreciate me this way."

"If you say so. As long as you're okay with it."

"Yeah, it's fine. All this talking about the channel is making me hungry though and I know I smelled something good earlier. What do you say we check out the snack situation?"

Sooner than expected by all, Jamie was planning on celebrating his first gainer milestone- 400 pounds. Jamie was a little surprised at the number, but his reaction surprised himself more. For a while, the idea of reaching the 400s was enough to send him into a crash diet of nothing but carrots and celery for a couple of weeks until a strong craving hit him right when he was starving. His willpower would fall apart in dramatic style, and his weight would continue its upward trajectory. This time, Jamie accepted it. It was shocking to know he had reached it with so little effort on his part. He expected to reach the 400s in the holidays, not from an extra trip to the vending machine at work. In fact, he didn't feel that much bigger crossing over the line. 

While Jamie might not be excited, his followers were very excited to get the news. They begged to see him step on the scale and watch the magic number appear and sent some extra money to celebrate the accomplishment.. When Jamie saw how big the donations were, he knew he had to try to do something special.  He had exactly one idea, but it made him a little nervous.

"So to... celebrate 400 pounds, I thought I would treat you all to a little sneak peak behind the scenes of the real life behind the fat man. This stuff annoys me, but you all seem to love it so I think you'll have a fun time. These are 4 of my big fat problems." 

Jamie started off by showing his followers the pile of clothes he couldn't bring himself to get rid of. Every article of clothing in the pile was something he had destroyed just from being too fat. Shirts with the buttons popped off, belts where the buckle had been torn off, pants where his thighs had worn down the fabric from rubbing together all the time while he was walking and waddling everywhere, and everything where a seam ripped in defeat from holding back too much fat. More embarrassing than how he knew he was never going to fit back in those sizes, was how he had destroyed those clothes so no one else would ever get to wear them either. Trying to get them fixed would mean admitting that he had done all that damage to these clothes. To complete the exercise, Jamie put on an outfit from the bottom of the pile that looked smaller than he last remembered. The sweatpants were once the pants when he was too bloated to fit his normal clothes until his thighs made a heart shaped hole around the crotch. Years later, he could hardly get them around his legs. The fabric still felt delicate around the inside of his thighs, thin enough that he could practically feel the skin on tthe other leg through his pants. When he made the mistake of reaching for a shirt on the ground, the pants ripped apart all the way up to his ass. Jamie decided that was enough. 

Number 2 was in his dining room. Jamie had a set of chairs that used to be his favorites in the house. He keeps them hidden now because he had two of them collapse under his weight in one night in the middle of a party. He won't use any of them anymore to save himself the embarrassment of using a chair that doesn't match. It doesn't hurt that even if he wanted to sit in one now, the arms on the chair are so narrow that he wouldn't be able to fit his ass in between. Jamie knew his followers would want the painful proof, so he gently lowered his rear end into one. First came the pinch of the arms skewering his doughy flesh, but the more he tried to unload his body in the seat, the more the arms relented against his flesh until they snapped off. With the arms no longer in the way to help slow down the inevitable, all of Jamie’s body plopped in the chair. The chair immediately protested with a loud symphony of moans and creaks. Jamie thought he might be safe from the ultimate embarrassment. He breathed a sigh of relief and leaned back in the chair. Before Jamie could even process what was happening, the chair disintegrated into splinters underneath him. 

Number 3 was deceptively simple: tying his shoes. It took so much effort to do every morning that Jamie actively dreaded the idea that they would get undone during the day. With a large gut permanently sitting in the middle of his body, reaching all the way around to his feet was a challenge. Every day he would try in vain to reach over his belly to tug on his shoes. Getting it done often required contorting his body into ridiculous shapes to bring his leg closer. When he was done, it often left him breathless and tired enough that he considered slides for the rest of his life. 

The last segment of his video involved going jogging outside. In the early spring, the weather was a fairly mild temperature, but you wouldn't be able to tell from looking at Jamie. Jamie purposefully made it short- just one lap around his cul-de-sac.  There was no delusion that he would go far when this would already be one of his longest runs in years. He recorded how his tits and ass and belly all bounced around with every footfall. By the time he was back at his house, Jamie was wheezing and panting. His shirt was wet all over and his face was drenched in sweat. Just a few yards had the ability to completely destroy him. With that, Jamie decided that he had enough. 

Jamie posted and it was a runaway success. All around the clock, Jamie was getting comments online. They cheered him on and told him how beautiful they thought he was. They weren't afraid to tell him just how hot that video was to them. The more comments he read, the more assured he felt that he made the right decision. Why be ashamed of something that made everyone love him more? Maybe this was where he belonged all along. His followers tripled within two weeks. He promised his followers that he would eat whatever they paid for. Jamie tried to sweeten the pot for them too, "If you look back in the archive, you all can tell what kind of guy you're working with when I make promises like that. I eat all sorts of junk and stuff myself whenever I get a chance. I'm also probably not going to burn all of that exercising. If my last video didn't make it clear enough, cardio is not something that has a regular place in my life. So feel at ease, knowing your money is going to a very good cause." Jamie gave his stomach a couple of pats for the camera. 

Suddenly, money started coming in like a water hose. Money was coming into his account, gift cards were getting sent to his email, and presents were showing up at his door. Jamie had full-on supporters now. They were all in, engaging with him whenever he wanted to be there. If he was considering being lazy or having a little extra dessert, someone was always there within seconds to tell him to do it. If he wasn't sure about finishing his meal, there was always a little encouragement waiting for him in his messages. 

His new supporters also came with a bit more edge. They were more willing to speak their mind about the kinds of food he should be eating: fattier, more flavorful, more. They introduced him to shakes; they gave him new concoctions to try to actively help push a few more pounds onto his already very generous frame. It was a new step for him to take. All this time, he hadn't been trying to gain, the weight had found him from trying to have fun. This had all been an adventure in people enjoying who he already was. The last 25 pounds were already a big shock for him, what would happen if he really opened the floodgates and started actively gaining weight? What would people say?   

Nothing he hadn't heard before, something deep inside told him. It was scary to admit, but people had been comfortable saying all kinds of crazy things to him about his size for a long time. 400 might have been a new threshold of big, but he'd been fat enough to draw the ire of folks for hundreds of pounds now. The stares, the jokes, the dire warnings of health concerns, and the snide remarks were already fixtures in his regular life. No one would care if he put on a little more weight, they had already written him off as fat. The only person's opinion that matters is his own...and he was having fun. 

Jamie made a video taste testing some gainer shake recipes for the very first time. His mouth watered watching all these delicious ingredients get added to the blender. He chugged one after another before he came to the realization that each one of those glasses was the calorie equivalent of a full day's eating. "Maybe I overdid it," he admitted on camera.  The comments assured him he was on the right path. 

One evening a few months later, Jamie was meeting up with his friends to celebrate a birthday. He was trying to inhale the rest of the McDonald's he had picked up on the way in his car. When he heard a tap on his window, he was startled. Brandon was leering in. Jamie rolled down the window. 

"Jamie, are you actually eating in the parking lot of a restaurant that you're about to enter?"

Jamie looked to the pile of food on the passenger seat and accepted lying was not an option. "Yes."

"Oh my God." 

"Look, I know this isn't the best look, but I had to do something. My appetite has been growing a lot lately-"

"From the amount of stretching your stomach's been doing for the channel."

"-and I don't want to pig out at every meal that I have in public. I already eat more than everyone else, I don't need to keep adding fuel to the fire. You and I both know they really only tolerate all of this," Jamie jiggled his belly, "because we've been friends for such a long time."

"Yeah, but you've got to admit that this is getting out of hand. You've gained like a hundred pounds in the last year or so, and when you started this you were worried about how big you already were."

"But when I started this, I was also deeply insecure about the idea of even showing my body in public. Now I have people in my life who are genuinely excited about me doing the things I love the most and are happy to see me be me."

"I'm not sure this is you guiding you along. Feels a little more like the tail wagging the dog. "

"Brandon, you know my life better than anyone at this point. I want you to think back to my videos. Have you ever seen me this happy in my life?"

"No. I want to say I have, but I haven't."

"Exactly. Believe me when I tell you that I'm okay. I'm enjoying myself. I'm in control of the situation. I wouldn't still be doing this if I didn't like it."

"Okay, but I think you should know you're starting to get to the deep end of all this stuff. I'm not going to be able to help you so much as you keep growing."

Jamie didn't take that as a warning at the time. He was more than content to catch up on Brandon's life while he ate. He had dessert after dinner and a midnight snack. Jamie kept on, knocking back gainer shakes like it was water.  The only thing that gave him pause came while he was on the watch out to hit 500. Jamie went to his manager after his desk chair broke in a second place in one month. It had been a bit of a fight to get them to give him a big and tall chair in the first place back when he was cresting 300 and breaking it was not going to lead to a pleasant conversation. 

"Look, I understand that we live in a body positive society now and the company is really trying to work on being more inclusive, but this is too much. We can't keep doing this. It might be easier to swallow the fact that you are now too big for a big and tall chair if it wasn't clear to everyone that you're also spending more time eating in your work day than actually working. Every paper that crosses your desk leaves with crumbs and grease stains and your numbers are slipping to the point that you're now last in the division. It's time for you to go."

Suddenly, Jamie was back in a crisis all over again. This time, though, he already had a lifeline. Donations had reached a fever pitch in the past few weeks and it was only going to keep increasing. The only real problem was that Brandon wasn't going to be able to help him find a new avenue to expand his business. Jamie turned to his followers, telling them all of his woes with the hope a savior would emerge. 

He got another warning in his direct messages from another gainer. "Be careful what you wish for. The bigger you get, the more you're going to find people who are serious about this. The dark end of this community will drag you in if you're not prepared to handle it. There are guys who will keep pitching in with a meal or two, and guys who will take over your life." 

That was what we had in mind when he met with Tom. Tom was a slender man who wore a dark suit and a sly smile. Tom had watched his videos since the very beginning. The bigger he got, the more active he had become in the comments. 

"It's such a pleasure to get to meet you in person. I wish it was under different circumstances."

'Well these don't have to be sad either.”

“I didn’t say they were sad; I only wish they were different. I think every man of your… stature should be excited by the prospect of leaving your job to spend the rest of your days eating and having a good time.”

“Well I don’t know if it’ll be the rest of my days.”

“I can’t imagine after this little experiment you’ll be begging to be back working a 9 to 5.”

“I can’t imagine I’ll enjoy being unemployed.”

“It’ll help when you stop thinking of yourself as unemployed and more as a full-time content creator.”

“Right…what's the catch?”

A few months later, Jamie was living in the lap of luxury. Tom hired someone to come around every day to take care of chores and get him whatever food he wanted. (Tom had also hired him to ensure that food was now always within arms reach and Jamie did as little physical labor as possible.He would get a bonus ever time he could sneak in appetite stimulant or weight gain shakes into his diet) Jamie spent the first couple weeks just testing his new helper on the lengths they would go for his every craving. He never found something he wanted that wouldn’t show up for him in multiple greasy bags ready to be devoured. Catering pans filled with burritos or lasagna would show up whenever he wanted. 

Jamie was glad for the extra hands around the house because it meant he could devote all his time to his favorite hobbies. He could binge watch shows and play video games for days. The internet would graciously supply him with any kind of entertainment to keep his mind distracted while giant bags of chips disappeared into his maw. 

The best part, Jamie thought, was having Tom around. All the nagging voices of his coworkers were replaced with Tom’s. He would come over when he got a break or after work, usually toting a bag filled with Jamie’s favorite treats. While Jamie shamelessly licked his fingers and the bag for every morsel, Tom would whisper into his ears how sexy he found him. He would tell Jamie how proud he was every time he found fresh fat and stretch marks while he caressed his body. Whenever Jamie got nervous and embarrassed about outgrowing clothes, Tom would celebrate and order in the finest meals he could find. Tom had transformed unemployment into being the best thing that ever happened to him. 

Time slipped away and pounds piled on. The bubble of indulgence burst when Brandon paid Jamie a surprise visit. The helper opened the door slightly and Brandon barged in. 

“Jamie, I think there’s something you should- dear Lord! What the hell?” Brandon took in the full extent of Jamie’s new level of obesity. He would check in on videos occasionally, but months had passed since he last saw him in person.  “The camera really doesn’t do justice on how big you look.”

“That’s what Tim says too. He says I’ll waste away if I’m not careful.” Jamie let out a nervous chuckle that shook his bean bag sized belly. 

“Brandon, do you know how much Tim is keeping from you? Do you even know how much you weigh?”

“Well I got fired around 500 and we just did a milestone video not too long ago, so I figure I should be in the early 600s.”

“That milestone video was for 700 and that was six months ago.”

“Well time sort of gets away from you when you don’t have to be at work five days a week. But I’m making the best out of the situation. I’ve got great TV and these delicious snacks that honestly taste like butter and sugar.”

“It probably is just lard and sugar,” Jamie said. “And this isn’t raising any red flags for you? Aren’t you worried about fitting through doors anymore?”

“Not since we widened them all. I had a few incidents where I got stuck.”

“A few?”

“Well the first time, I thought it was a freak accident, but then it kept happening and each time it was harder for me to get out. There was one time Tim was going to grease me up to get me out the door with some butter, but I had already eaten it all during a feeding session.”

“And again, you’re okay with all this? A man just emerges from the internet and you let him feed you off a cliff?”

“Honestly, it didn’t take as much convincing as you might think. Tim has this belief that just some people were born to be fat and that’s it. That being fat is our role to play in the world. And like I probably could’ve gone into the job market and fought for another boring job I don’t even like just to make ends meet, but my other option was to be perfectly fine doing exactly what I want to do. I enjoy eating and lounging around all day and the more I do it, the bigger I get, the more money I make to spend on food and fun stuff. Outgrowing clothes, furniture, my car- it’s all just a part of my life at this size. It’s been a part of my life for years now, decades almost. And the price to pay- the stuff that my doctors used to say to scare me- I’ve made my peace with it. I’ve spent too much trying to be scared by it already. One more cake isn’t going to make the difference.”

“Give up, he’s already made up his mind.” Tim said, emerging without warning. “This is who he is now. He’s settled completely into a life of being fed and pampered. Now all he wants in life is to keep growing for me and his subscribers. That strong-willed guy you used to know is gone. He’s accepted life as a fat boy. .’

The doorbell rang. The caretaker opened the door and in came a man in a polo with a gigantic grease stained brown paper bag. The smell of all kinds of food filled the house. Jamie looked at Brandon who was licking his lips. Brandon couldn’t contain his excitement. Brandon said, stunned, “This is really your life now. This is what fills your life with happiness. Do you even have any of your mobility left?”

“Of course I do. Look, I’ll go fetch my mid-afternoon snack from the kitchen myself.”

“Snack?”

Brandon rocked back and forth, trying to get some momentum. For a brief second, he made it off the chair. Then the momentum switched directions. The weight of a family of four slammed into the sofa. The wooden frame underneath let out a scream before the whole left side broke into pieces. 

“Are you okay?” Tim yelled out. 

“Let me help you back up.” Jamie stretched out his hands. 

“No, I can get up by myself.” Brandon tried the trick again. He rocked back and forth and hauled himself up with a mighty groan. Breathlessly, he said, “I told you I could do it.”  

Brandon waddled slowly towards the kitchen. Every thunderous step shook the house, rattling anything not nailed down. It was hypnotizing watching the dimpled folds of his body pillow-sized thighs brush past each other. His gut swung like a pendulum back and forth out of the bottom of his shirt. Every movement made his shirt slide further up his belly until it was blocked by his chest. The sound of his panting was hard to ignore as it grew louder. It didn’t seem like a long distance from the sofa to the kitchen counter, but when Brandon got there, it was like he had completed a marathon. Everyone was stunned by the sight, except for Brandon. 

“All of this is for me, right?” Brandon said, catching his breath, “I’ve been hungry since I finished my second round of lunch an hour ago.”  Brandon tore apart the bag and stuffed a fistful of seasoned fries into his mouth while he rifled through the containers. 

[deva-arts]

Teehee have sibling time (i even wrote something for it!!)

Calm nights were always the best in Amon's apartment. The holidays tended to quiet down even the roughest slums; no chaos, less yelling, and best of all, nothing suspicious sounding on the metal scaffolding outside.

It was on a day like this, with no work left to do and none on the horizon, where Amon was able to spend some quality time with Adra. He wasn't home nearly enough for his tastes, often having to rely on old family friends to take her home from school and keep her company.

Today was different. He got to take her home and had a fresh paycheck from his jobs. He was grateful for the little things.

"And then Ms. Winters said that we could take home goodie bags! They had toys and GalaxyMors bars and candypops. It was the best day ever and they also gave me a miss mousie trading card and I got a rare missy mouser which wasn't the one I wanted but was still VERY cool because it's sparkly. I feel dizzy-" Adra sat restless as she spoke, kicking her legs over the edge of the refurbished casino stool.

Amon idly listened, more focused on tying her hair. "Breathe, Dora." He says, trying not to pull any strands. She had this style she wanted to try out, and who was he to deny a girly whim?

"GAAAAASSSSPPPPP- Pfuhh. Oh hey I feel better." She giggles, and he smiles at the sound. Hm. He might need to buy them both a better shampoo- is this what counts as brittle? He can't tell...

"Keep telling me now." Amon murmurs, his thoughts whirring a list together. Shampoo... Groceries... School supplies... She could probably keep that backpack she has for another school season...

"...-So that's why I really like Patron Cog day now because we get free stuff and pizza bites."

"Sounds like fun," he comments as grabs a hair tie, equally mindful not to snap the elastic- they could only afford so many.

And oh, that's right, It was almost time to take Adra to the doctor... He'd have to work around the price somehow, maybe look into insurance again. If he can get it to fall between debt payments, he could-

"YEAH and then they said not to eat candy with an H on it 'cause it was bad or something? some kids got sick because this kid, I don't remember his name but it starts with an R I think, he took it to school on lunchtime." Adra mentions this like it's a remark of the weather, casually picking a scab on her shin.

When the words finally register, Amon stills, and the air in the room suddenly feels prickly. H? As in Halcyon Acetate? He's only ever saw it in teenths- rare, hard-to-get teenths- and now they were making a candied version? For what market?

He was paying too much for a school this careless. One dose was enough to kill a kid- or leave only shells behind, like all the addicts on the streets. He pales when he thinks about Adra near some tiny lowlife skirting around with pocketed poison.

('Don't react. Don't let her see you're upset.') His inner dialogue softly chides. ('Breathe. She's happy today.')

And so he does, stifled and quietly incensed, he manages to wrench his jaw pliant and unfurrow his brow.

"Did you do my hair good? I can't see it." Adra's pixie tone is enough for him to recall this is a lighthearted moment. One the siblings haven't had in months, now. The room gets some color again, his ancient tenement shining in stained, stale, dimly lit glory.

"Adra?" He says, sounding perfectly level. He has to be.

"Yeah?"

"How about we stay home from school for a week or so?" He smiles in case she looks back at him.

"YAY! -Wait, why?" Her eyes glitter with mirth he hopes never goes away.

"Well... It's my Patron day gift!" Amon prays that she buys it- and she does, bursting with enthusiasm.

"Gasp! Momo! I knew you'd get me something! I love you!" He can feel the words needling deep in his chest. Like a soft tink on cracking porcelain.

"Love you too, Dora." He hugs her close, trying to swallow down the knot in his throat, the new worries on his shoulders. Then he smiles, a bit wider than before, a bit more strained. Thankfully she isn't old enough to notice.

"Now, let's get a mirror so you can tell me how I did."

"Yeah!"

[twosides--samecoin]

chapter 1 - spotify playlists - chapter 17

Med-Tek ended in failure - RJ is shattered. Jack Ward, Sole Survivor of Vault 111, pushes him onto a vertibird in search of Plan B - a remote Vault once plagued by Duncan’s illness. After two weeks of kicking RJ's ass, Olivia Dallaire - a sniper just as talented and cranky as he is - agrees to move to Boston. Her presence forces both Jack and RJ to face problems they can no longer outrun: How do they move on from survivors’ guilt (and be the men Olivia needs them to be) when the Wasteland only seems to tear families apart?

RJ and Olivia are not in the mood to party. The only thing Jack wants to do (aside from fulfill Nora's last wish) is clear the tension between them- Even if it takes a village.

This chapter examines a lot: a flashback to one of Jack and Nora's last conversations touches on wartime US law and her upbringing in West Virginia during F76's portrayal of conflict between mining companies and the unions; the reason why Jack had such strong paternal feelings for Olivia is contextualized. RJ and Livvie are all but forced to confront each other. It's a long one at 13,277 words- Snippet below!

"Well, I'm from West Virginia, may I remind you," said Nora, indignant. "When the Garrahans and Hornwrights brought the robots in, they stole so much more from us than just jobs. The only time in my life I saw my dad cry was when they turned on the Rockhound and drilled into Mount Blair. If we had robots on the farm, no matter how much easier it would have made things, the mining union boys would have set our land on fire for scabbing. And after the union lost and the cloud stopped breaking over Welch and everyone started gettin' sludge lung, they still refused robots even when a couple Miss Nannies could have made the clinic lines shorter,"

"I know, babe, I didn't mean it like that-"

"Some of the people we grew up around were right about robots for the right reasons, but sometimes they were wrong about a whole lot else," she continued. "I mean, I caught all kinds of hell when I got out and went to Baltimore instead of stayin' and.. Some people I grew up with have to put on gas masks to go outside just so they can go get high in a shack somewhere in the mountains, you know that?"

"Yeah, and I'm not snorting Buffout on a construction site in Brookline with fake union papers like some of the guys I knew, but-"

"But what, Jack? We made it- We get to afford things like a house and babies and we don't have to buy the cheapest store-brand soup for dinner, and.." she threw her hand up. "And we can afford Codsworth. I know you don't like him yet, but we could really use his help while I'm at work!"

"Hey, I can do all the stuff he can- And things are pretty tight, I mean, we're lucky I won enough purses to afford this place, and even that barely cut it. I can work- I bet I still have a couple good fights in me. And, the Army keeps sending me mail about civilian positions, which would pay more than the pension, so why don't I-"

"Absolutely not. You retired from boxing on a high note, and you stopped before they lifted the drug prohibition. I'm not watching you get dragged back in only to get concussed by some 'roided-out kid on the come up. And the Army'll see you're power armor trained and ship you back to Anchorage. I need you home, Jack, my heart can't take it-"

"I'm not going anywhere- I did my mandatory. They're gonna have to try real hard to make me go on a second tour."

"Jack, the way the world is today, I just.. I just want my family as close to home as possible. I don't trust that you won't be lied to and forced to go back to the front. If things get worse, I don't want us spread out all over the world. They're building that Vault up the hill, and-"

"Oh, not the Vault thing again, c'mon- It might be a huge waste of-"

"A huge waste of money? Guaranteein' my family's safety will never be a waste of money,"

"Okay, fine, fine. I get it." Jack ran his hand through his hair and sighed. "I agree, but.. I feel really guilty that I'm sitting on my ass watching cartoons with Shaun all day while you're working as hard as you are. And Codsworth's doing everything I could be doing. I asked to split chores and he looked at me with his, his fuckin', ten eyes like I was crazy. I wanna provide for my family too, y'know?"

"You provide for us every day, Jack," she placed her hand on his cheek. "After everything life's put you through, the only job you have is to rest and be the best daddy to my babies that you can be."

"But it's not enough, Nora," he pleaded. "The sooner I get a job, the sooner we can bring our baby girl home!"

"She's gonna be here before we know it, whether that's a year from now or five."

"But you said you wished you could fast forward. Isn't me getting a job kind of like pressing the fast forward button?"

"Maybe, maybe not. Adoption's about more than having the money. We might be ready with a new house and the whole works for a few years before we're approved."

Exhausted, Jack put his arms around his wife and buried his face in her hair.

"I know, I just.. I want to give you everything you want,"

"You do," she rested her cheek against his chest.

"I-I don't know. I feel like I'm never getting it quite right. I hate feeling like there's always something out of reach. Y'know, sometimes, I wish I could just go out and kidnap a baby from the hospital, and-"

"Jack Atticus Ward, you wouldn't dare,"

"Well, if it makes my wife happy, fuck it-"

"Not at the expense of someone else's family, Jack,"

"I know, I know. I don't mean it. I mean- If you wanted me to, I'd do it."

They paused and held each other as the laundry machine rumbled.

"Tell me what to do," Jack mumbled. "Please tell me what needs to happen next."

[dullgecko]

Okay.. SO SHADOW SORCERER RIZ GUKGAK BECAUSE OF HIS CONNECTION WITH KALINA (also Baron or Kalina is his shadow cus I just think that’s silly)

You won’t see him unless he wants you to, and even then he’s hard to spot. You feel like watching from afar, but little do you know he’s looking right over your shoulder.

(Also maybe this Riz is a little evil idk man I love making shit up)

Riz is 8 and his father dies. There's no reason for it, sometimes goblins just get sick and don't get better again. For some reason though his job won't pay out his life insurance. They won't tell them why but it means they're very suddenly a single income household with zero safety net.

So, funeral over with no time to mourn his mom had to go back to work. Picking up extra shifts in order to meet rent while Riz was left home. The young goblins anger at the whole situation only growing with every instance of his mom coming home exhausted beyond what he even thought possible.

They can't afford a babysitter but at least Riz isn't completely without a friend. One that only he seems to be able to see that tells him secrets. Tells him that the council of chosen is wrong, that it was their fault they never got what they were owed after his dads death. He listens, because why wouldn't he? He's not stupid and investigates everything Kalina tells him, and it's all true as far as he can tell.

He doesn't end up going to Aguefort, choosing instead to go to Mumple where he can keep a low profile. Kalina teaches him everything he needs to know to be a scarily effective sorcerer using his own inate magic. Goblins in the fae wilds used to serve the queen of wind and shadows after all.

He doesn't make any moves his entire first year of high school, only following the stories of a group of kids from Aguefort trying to find some missing girls with mild interest as he works on his own project. Those kids end up being useful though, their fight with a dragon on school property affording him the distraction necessary to sneak in and steal the Nightmare Kings crown.

He's rewarded for his efforts, gaining a familiar of sorts in the form of a skeletal goblin puppet. He names it Baron, mostly because of its ridiculous flouncy outfit. The only problem is that he seems to have attracted the attention of that strange group of kids, one of them the daughter of some of his allies that Kalina led him towards.

Theyre always one step behind though, right up until his idiot allies kidnap their daughter from Leviathan. They might be his enemies at the moment but he's appaled by what he sees when he goes to the tower. One daughter on the verge of madness from sheer exhaustion and the other about to be tortured in the same way. They're just kids, like him, and it makes him feel a little sick.

The new one sees him when he slips into the room but he says nothing, even when she starts hurling abuse at him. He has good reasons for what he's doing, they're saving kalinas goddess after all and it can help him get his revenge against the Council, but what they're doing to this girl is just sadistic. He sabotages the sphere on his way out of the room, stilling its rotation for long enough for her to rest as he makes himself scarce and leaves.

He doesn't see them again until they're in the forest, plan almost complete when they're interrupted. The fight was brutal but he was holding his own right up until a teifling said something that made him pause. She had met his dad somehow (in hell apparently? But he wasn't being punished?) and she had a message from him.

He let his arcubus drop limp to his side, leaving himself open to an attack from their cleric (if you could call a greater restoration an attack). He felt kalinas grip on him vanish in that instant, while simultaneously reeling from the news that it had been HER that had gotten his dad killed.

Hed done all of this, hurt so many people, all on the guidance of the person responsible for all his suffering? He wasn't going to let that stand. He knew a thing or two about his mentor, knew she weakened when viewed by more people and helped these strange kids execute their plan. Killing the familiar himself with a shot from his arcubus and helping them win.

Their cleric managing to restore the goddesses true form had been a surprise and he felt a bit.... weird... standing off to the side as they celebrated their victory. Not knowing what to do without kalina in his head anymore but also a little scared to move after the idiot elf got her magic stripped and a van with hands set on her.