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

[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.

[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

[justcat-judging]

𝐒𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐝 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 - 𝐍𝐚𝐦-𝐠𝐲𝐮

⋆. 𐙚˚- Gyaru reader who struggled financially and mentally after her mom died because of cancer and her dad leaving her when she was still little. She worked in club Pentagon for money so she could pay off some rent and dept but ended up messing her and joined squid game.

⋆. 𐙚˚- A/n: I know squid game fandom ended but I don't care and I wrote this purely for me because I can't find a single nam-gyu x reader that satisfied me so that's why I made my own.

⋆. 𐙚˚-word count 2.8k,.. Part 1.

You used to be a bright kid. Loud, dramatic, borderline annoying—just the way your mom liked it. You’d dance around in your living room with sticker-covered notebooks and shiny lip gloss you definitely weren't supposed to be wearing in elementary school.

Back then, being called "fake" made you feel powerful.

Fake tan? That's right.

Fake lashes? Better than yours.

Fake smile? At least you could still smile.

Your mom was your whole world. She never judged your style, never told you to "tone it down." She was the one who paid for your first bleach job, even helped tone it so it wouldn't go piss colored yellow.

You wanted to become a nail tech—open your own salon, do nails and makeup for other gyaru girls who just wanted to feel pretty in a world that told them they weren't "decent."

Then cancer hit like a freight train. No warning. No time.

She was gone by the time you turned 19.

Your dad had vanished long before that. Some old flame of a man who hated responsibility and left when the bills got heavy and your mom stopped smiling in pictures.

After the funeral, you tried to go back to beauty school. You tried to smile. You even tried skipping class one day just to be "normal" sad, not shattered.

But the bills piled up. Your part-time at the salon wasn't enough. So you dropped out.

That was your first real fall. It didn't feel like a choice. It felt like gravity.

At first, you told yourself it was temporary. Just until you saved up enough to re-enroll. You worked coat check, then moved to the floor, then started hostessing once you learned how to fake-laugh at men who didn't know your name but loved how short your skirt was.

That's when you met Nam-Gyu, one of the club's main promoters.

You didn't speak often. He wasn't the type. He had the quiet kind of confidence that didn't need to shout. He'd show up with a group of rich customers, flash his phone at the bouncers, and disappear into VIP like he owned the place.

You figured he saw a hundred girls like you. Loud. Flashy. Easy to replace.

But sometimes you'd catch him watching you when he thought you weren’t looking. And sometimes you weren’t sure who felt more exhausted—you, or him.

A year in, the nights started to blur.

You started drinking to stay awake.

Pills to stay skinny.

Cigarettes to keep your hands from shaking.

Coke when a VIP offered it like gum.

You told yourself it was just part of the job. That everyone was doing it.

Eventually, When your ex scammed you out of your savings, you snapped.

You didn't cry. You just stared at your cracked phone screen, smoking outside the club on a Tuesday night, wondering if you had enough in your account to even afford the train ride home.

That's when he showed up—the Salesman.

Pressed suit. Briefcase. That sterile, unreadable smile.

“Would you like to play a game?”

You should've told him to screw off.

But you didn't have anything left to lose.

So you played.

Every time he slapped you, something inside you cracked. And every time you slapped him back, it didn't make you feel better. It just reminded you how far you'd fallen.

He handed you a card when your cheeks were flushed and your throat burned with shame.

"You’re a good player," he said. "Here go to that location to play for money."

You did.

You woke up in a concrete room, still tasting regret.

And there, across the crowd of desperate strangers and broken faces—stood Nam-Gyu.

Same face. Same unreadable eyes.

Except now, you werent just coworkers.

Now, you were players.

The silence shattered when the heavy metal doors creaked open.

All eyes turned.

The man who entered wore a dark, geometric mask—cold and unreadable. Two pink-suited guards flanked him, stiff and wordless like props in a horror show.

"I would like to extend a hearty welcome to all of you,"

he began, voice smooth but distant.

"Everyone here will participate in six different games over six days. Those who win all six games will receive a handsome cash prize."

Your brain barely registered it. It sounded rehearsed. Like someone reading out a party invite to a funeral.

Then—

"Excuse me,"

a woman near the front barked, arms crossed under her shapeless tracksuit.

"You said I'd be playing games but you partically kidnapped me. So how can I believe that?"

"I apologize,"

the masked man replied instantly. No effort, no care. Just protocol.

Yeah okay, you thought, side-eyeing the fluorescent lights. If this is a party, where's the fucking glitter?

That's when someone shouted—

"What's with these shoes? My shoes are limited fucking edition! They're hard to find!"

You turned.

Purple hair. Tattoo. Angry.

You squinted.

Wait.

That guy…

Thanos?

Your stomach twisted a little. You'd seen him before. Back when you worked in that seedy club—the one with sticky floors and too many fake IDs. He came in once, belligerent and slurring something about "VIP crypto booths."

He didn't remember you. Good.

Then came another voice—this time a girl, probably around your age, eyeing her green jumpsuit like it was radioactive.

"These don't fit and the color sucks. Can I just have what you’re wearing instead? I like pink."

You held in a snort.

Me too, you thought, but I doubt they do cute sizes.

Behind the chaos, you spotted Nam-Gyu.

Hands in his pockets. Leaning against the wall. Watching.

Not panicking. Not talking. Just… sizing everything up.

You turned back to the masked man as he continued.

This wasn't a game.

It was a setup.

And you'd signed your name on the dotted line.The rules were laid out.

No one really asked more questions.

Too scared. Too broke. Too tired.

One by one, people lined up to sign their names on the contracts.

It felt official. It felt final.

You hesitated for a second before scribbling yours down—glossy nail clacking the pen.

Then it started.

A voice—way too loud for this sterile room.

"The amazing Myung-Gi from MG Coin? Is that you?"

You turned your head.

Thanos. Purple hair. Already pissed.

A few steps away stood Myung-Gi, arms crossed and eyebrows raised like he was above it all.

"Who are you?"

Myung-Gi replied, all mock-confusion.

"You may not know me, but I know you. MG Coin. I was subscribed to your channel. And I lost a shitload of money, asshole."

People paused mid-signature. You could feel the tension crackle in the air.

"So did I," Myung-Gi said coolly. "You've got the wrong person."

"I watched your content all day, every day. Now I even see you in my dreams, motherfucker."

Your eyes flicked to the side as Thanos turned to someone next to him.

"What’s your name again? Namsu?"

"Nam-Gyu," came the calm reply. "From Club Pentagon."

Your heart skipped. You hadn't heard that name in months.

The club where it all spiraled.

Of course Nam-Gyu knew these two. Of course this was happening.

"Right," Thanos nodded darkly. "Thanks to you, I bonded quickly with Nam-Gyu here. Because we share the same pain."

"I thought the sons of bitches who made that coin fled to the Philippines with the money," Nam-Gyu said. His voice was low, neutral. But something sharp hid behind it. "So why are you here? Did they cut you loose?"

"What do you want from me?" Myung-Gi snapped.

You exhaled. Loudly.

So much testosterone, you muttered in your head. It's giving man-child meltdown.

Then—

"You’re responsible for the final decision on your investment," Myung-Gi added defensively. "Didn’t you hear me say that at the end? You said you watched every day."

"Hey, calm down," Nam-Gyu warned.

"You asshole!" Thanos barked, lunging.

"Alright now—" Nam-Gyu said holding back Thanos who grabbed myungi by the collar.

"Get off me! Let go of me!" Myung-Gi yelled, getting out of Thanos grip.

"People are watching," Nam-Gyu muttered, firm. "You don't want to be on the news."

"You better do well," Thanos spat, backing off, "because I’m coming to get my money back."

"Come on," Nam-Gyu said, grabbing him by the collar and dragging him off before a pink guard got involved.

You sighed, loud and exaggerated.

Men. Always fighting over money they never had.

And now?

They were all locked in the same broke, desperate nightmare as you.

______

The stairs looked like a kid:s dream—or a gamer’s fever dream.

Candy-colored walls in pink and green. A maze of impossible angles.

It was like someone took a playground, melted a Rubik’s cube on it, and called it a hallway.

You didn't say anything, just followed the pink guards as they led everyone up, down, and around through the staircase purgatory.

Eventually, you were guided into a small booth area—each with a photo machine inside.

Automatic photo booths.

So we're taking passport pics before gambling now?

You scoffed to yourself, flipping your hair.

Then the screaming started.

"I'm Gyeongsu! Big fan! I've been to several of your concerts! Please take a picture with me!"

That voice came from a tall dude with starry eyes practically throwing himself at Thanos.

Here we go, you thought, crossing your arms.

Then it spread like a virus:

"Me too! Me too!"

"Wait, Thanos, take one with me too!"

"I love your music!"

Phones or not, people were treating him like the main event.

"Hang on, guys," came Nam-Gyu’s voice—low but sharp. "Let's make this easier for Thanos and take one picture together."

And of course, people started agreeing.

"Yeah, one big group photo!"

"That’s smart!"

"Let’s do it!"

You sighed.

Loudly.

They're acting like we’re at KCON.

Still, you adjusted your jumpsuit a little and tilted your chin.

At least I look hot today, like usual.

Just as Thanos raised his arm to strike a pose—

A voice cut through the air like a blade.

"You are not allowed to do this,"

a masked man said as he stepped forward, hands clasped calmly behind his back.

Thanos grinned anyway.

> “You wanna be in the picture? Come on.”

"You must take your picture one by one,"

the masked man replied, tone absolute.

Groans erupted.

"Aw come on!"

"You guys took our phones!"

"Can’t we just—?"

"No exceptions," the masked man snapped.

Silence.

You rolled your eyes so hard you almost gave yourself a migraine.

You lost count of how many damn stairs there were.

Bright, twisting staircase that led to more staircase. The place looked like a Candyland prison designed by an evil toddler.

Finally, you spilled out with the others into a blindingly open space that looked like a child's sandbox on steroids.

A massive doll stood far away. Creepy. Motionless. Watching.

Then a smooth, monotone voice echoed overhead:

"Welcome to the first game. Please wait a moment in the field."

The group spread out in a mix of curiosity and confusion.

"All that for this?!"

"My knees are about to give out."

"A whole stairway to hell just to stand here?"

People were already whining, and you were about to tune them out—until you heard a familiar voice again.

Loud. Dramatic.

Of course.

Thanos, guess he really is the main event.

"Hey, Señorita. Don't you know who I am?"

You glanced over.

It was him again, talking to the same girl who'd whined about the pink tracksuit earlier. She raised a brow.

"Do I have to?"

"No, you don't," he grinned. "We can get to know each other. Tell me about yourself."

"Are you hitting on me?" she asked, clearly over it.

Then he struck a pose and launched into something… horrifying.

"In the sea of faces, you caught my eye…"

"My beauty, my flower, blooming among weeds…"

"Red, orange, yellow, green—I'm legend, Thanos…"

"Look at us in this blue-green… now give me the green light."

"I like you!"

Oh god. Was he rapping?

You winced so hard your lip gloss cracked.

Secondhand embarrassment. Terminal stage.

You turned around, needing to get away from whatever mating ritual that was—and ended up bumping straight into someone.

Chest. Firm. Familiar.

You looked up.

Nam-Gyu.

He blinked down at you lazily, hands still in his pockets.

"What," he asked, "did you walk into me just to get away from that?"

His chin subtly nodded toward Thanos's little concert.

You gave him a look.

"Wouldn’t you?"

He smirked slightly. Just for a second.

Then the loudspeaker buzzed again.

"Players, the first game is about to begin."Everyone was already standing in the field. Confused. Chatting. Joking around.

"The next game is probably tag or some baby game."

"They said we’d play six? This’ll be easy."

"Can we get water first? My mouth dry as hell."

No one was taking it seriously.

You stood still beside Nam-Gyu, arms crossed, eyes on the creepy oversized doll in the distance. The silence made your skin itch.

Then—

"Green light!"

The doll's head turned with a loud click.

People around you started walking.

And then:

"Red light!"

Everyone froze.

Except one guy near the front—tall, loud, and way too enthusiastic.

"STAND STILL!! DON'T MOVE!! SHE'S LOOKING!!"

It was some dude screaming like it was life or death.

"Oh my god is that player 456?" someone muttered.

You rolled your eyes. Why's he yelling like we're in a cartoon?

Next to you, Nam-Gyu didn't move a muscle, his hands still buried in his jumpsuit pockets.

Another round passed.

"Green light."

"Red light."

Suddenly—

Bang.

Everyone froze—not from the game, but the sound.

You turned your head slowly.

One of the players had collapsed. The girl from earlier—the one who’d complained about her jumpsuit, the one Thanos was hitting on.

She lay there—blood soaking into the sandy ground.

"She moved," someone whispered.

"A bee landed on her neck."

Panic cracked through the crowd like lightning.

"WHAT THE HELL—"

"RUN!"

"MOVE!!"

They did.

And the guns opened up.

One after another—bodies dropped, people screamed, the doll spun its head like some nightmare music box.

You didn't scream. You didn't move.

You couldn't.

Your heart was pounding out of your chest, but your feet stayed planted.

You glanced sideways.

Nam-Gyu was still beside you.

Silent. Stone-still.

Time warped.

Round after round passed, and somehow—you made it. Your foot hit the line.

Safe.

You gasped softly.

Beside you, Nam-Gyu's breathing was shaky, hands now visibly trembling.

You didn't say anything.

You just stood next to him, quietly.

Because what could you say after watching a girl die of a stupid bee?

[annegamesandyarns]

Author's Note: character x reader, with reader's pov being in the first person.

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

Sounds of explosions filled my ears while dirt and other debris erupted around me as the IEDs and claymores went off. The whizzing of projectiles could be heard everywhere. Making sure my mask was on securely, I made a dash for the next cover I could reach. I ran and slid to get behind a broken wall. I spotted the next place I could reach, even though it was a bit risky.

"Come out, come out wherever you are. Heh, what's that matter little lamb? Too much for ya?" The voice mocked me over the speaker. "Maybe you should have stayed home, and baked cookies with your mommy. You won't survive out here. You're weak. A nobody. How the hell did you get on the team anyways?"

I bit back my frustration. Now was not the time. *Deep breath, he's just baiting you. Just need to make it to the mark.* I silently reminded myself. I couldn't afford to mess this up. I crawled under the car to maintain cover, quickly checking for any explosives as I went. Foolish? Definitely. But it would've been too late if it had been rigged to begin with. Looking around, double checking that the coast was clear, I got out from under the car and ran inside the building as I checked for traps along the way.

The speaker crackled somewhere nearby, "Oh, look at that. You made it inside. I'm *almost* impressed. Too bad you won't get very far. Then you'll be a disappointment to your team. Your family. Everyone in your life will know you are a failure. You can't do this. You're not good enough." The voice hissed as I gripped my rifle a little tighter while fighting to keep my heart calm and my breathing even.

I tuned him out and crept from room to room, clearing each one out. I disengaged at least four traps while he taunted me. Sweat dripped down my back and adrenaline was racing through my veins. *This is the song that doesn't end. Yes it goes on and on my friend...* I silently sang to myself to keep his words out of my head. If I couldn't keep my head empty, I could at least auto-pilot my thoughts away from what he was trying to do.

Several nerve racking minutes later I reached my target and secured the intel when a buzzer sounded. "Good job Private. You actually got through the simulation for once." Ghost's voice sounded over the loud speaker.

I let out a huff and chuckled, relief flooding me when I suceeded for the first time. "Little lamb? Really LT? You're off your game today, the only thing that's disappointing is the lack of dad jokes you normally have." I said as I looked up when he and Captain Price approached. "What did you do? Take it easy on me or something?"

"It's to build your confidence, and to see how well you pay attention. Not everyone is going to go through an identical training simulation, because no mission or deployment is going to be exactly the same as a previous one." Price reminded me. His voice a bit stern, like a teacher instructing a student.

"We can make you do it again if you like." Ghost threatened. It was hard to tell when he was being serious, and when he was joking around. Judging by the look on Price's face, Ghost was joking around. But I wasn't going to stick around to find out.

"No, thank you. I'm good. Oh look, just in time for lunch." I laughed nervously as I raced off to the chow line. I thanked my lucky stars I got through the morning's training session with a win.

[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.

[invisibleraven]

kisses while being so frustrated with the other - kinda says Luke/Bobby to me.

Bobby's lola always said he had the patience of a saint, but he was often sure saints didn't constantly want to murder their partner. No, don't get him wrong, he loves Luke with his whole heart, and them being together has made him happier than he ever thought possible.

It's just-Luke is Luke, and sometimes he forgets about things because he got caught up singing or playing, or writing a song. And Bobby loves how talented Luke is-he's the one that is going to propel Sunset Curve into greatness.

It's just-Bobby works during the day to keep food on the table, and a roof over their head. To keep the live in nurse taking care of his lola employed so she doesn't have to go into a home that he really can't afford. All he asks is that if Luke wants to stay home to hone his craft, he take care of the place.

So when he comes home to find Luke strumming at his guitar with the dishes not done, or the laundry still in the washer from that morning, he gets a little ticked off.

The song is a banger, to be sure, but he would still like to have a clean plate to eat off of and clothes to wear the next day.

"I'm sorry babe," Luke said, giving him his best puppy dog look, which still works somehow, much to Bobby's annoyance. "I just got so caught up. I promise I'll get it all done tomorrow, or you can hide my guitar."

"Like you wouldn't just use one of mine or go borrow Reggie's," Bobby snorted. But he granted Luke a kiss and asked that he please remember the chores.

Most days, Luke does follow through, even sometimes getting supper or letting Bobby pick what they watch that night even though he finds sports supremely boring and usually falls asleep during the weird foreign arthouse films Bobby enjoys. But hey, it's not like Bobby hasn't drifted off when Luke goes into a fugue state chronically Rush or dozed during yet another showing of The Wall.

But then they finally have enough time to record a demo, and it all goes to shit.

Luke gets crazy frantic, re-working old songs, second guessing every melody and rhyme scheme, and Bobby often doesn't even see him because he's out in the studio.

"You coming to bed any time soon?" he asked.

"As soon as I rewrite the bridge to get Lost," Luke said absentmindedly.

"Didn't you do that last night?' Bobby asked.

"It's still not...good enough," Luke said, his voice trailing off at the end.

"Everything you write is amazing syota," Bobby assured him, even as he silently wished Luke would put it down for a moment, focus on them, and kissed the top of his head, frustration still brimming but not letting it show. "Come on, it'll still be there in the morning."

"Just five minutes, geez!" Luke huffed, pushing Bobby away. "I know you don't care about music any more, but I do."

Bobby flinched back at that. "Luke, I know I don't bleed music like you do, but I still love performing."

"You got a job. In Advertising."

"Because we need to eat!" Bobby exploded. "My parents cut off their money after I turned 18, and so it's up to me to support not only myself, but lola, and you, may I add. Once the demo gets us a goddamn record deal I will gladly quit this godforsaken job, but until then, I need it."

"Lex and Reg don't have jobs."

"Alex is living with his boyfriend whose very wealthy father is paying all their bills and supplying them with whatever they need. Reggie is working like five jobs, but they're stuff like mowing lawns, dog walking, and piano lessons so he can stay off the streets or worse, staying with his folks!" Bobby threw his arms up in the air. "You...you care about music so much you can stay out here tonight."

He turned to go but then heard Luke call his name, and he turned, expression stern.

"I'm sorry. You know I appreciate you taking me in, taking care of me. It's just-I get so in my head about making it big, proving my mom wrong. Because what if she's right? What if I', not good enough, talented enough to make it big? What then?"

Bobby gathered Luke up into his arms, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, his frustration bleeding out into sympathy. "Luke, I can't see into the future, and I don't know if a record label will ever pick us up. I just know your songs deserve to be heard. But even if they never are, you're still the person I love most in the world."

"After lola," Luke chuckled wetly.

"Well d'uh."

They held each other quietly for a moment, breathing synching up. Luke let out a yawn. "Okay, bed time."

"What about your song?" Bobby asked.

"You were right, it'll still be there in the morning," Luke said. "And then maybe-you could help me with it before you have to go to work?"

Bobby beamed, kissing him for real this time-one that made him remember why he loved Luke in the first place-that sweet boy that could turn his world upside down with a lyric and a smile. "You know what? I'll call in tomorrow and we can work on it all day."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really."

"You wanna stay up and work on it now then?" Luke asked, his eyes sparkling.

Bobby gave him a look. "No. Let's go to bed."

"I'm not tired now, I've got so many ideas!" Luke said, but let Bobby switch out the lights and lead him towards the house.

Bobby just smirked. "Who said anything about sleep?"

[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."

[howlingday]

Community Counseling

Goodwitch: So, what bring you to community youth counseling?

Yang: Honestly, what hasn't brought me here?

Goodwitch: Well, we need to start somewhere...

Yang: Wait, how much does this cost?

Goodwitch: Nothing. It's all covered by the Kingdom.

Yang: Oh... Okay... And if I need a hug, do hugs cost extra?

Goodwitch: Extra what? As in charging for a hug? Then no.

Yang: Oh, right, yeah. Okay, let's start...

Goodwitch: So, how is everything at home?

Yang: Well, my parents got divorced about a month ago.

Goodwitch: Divorce can be very hard.

Yang: Well, no, I'm not a Faunus, so I'll get over it. It's mostly my dad, really.

Goodwitch: Is he taking it really hard?

Yang: More like he's taking it out on me. He threatens me every day of the week.

Goodwitch: Threatened in what way? If you don't mind sharing, that is...

Yang: He said he'd... smack the pretty off my face and sell me to Oni Yuri for a bag of rice.

Goodwitch: Ah, that's a... very Color-War threat

Yang: Yeah, so I need to help out with the bills or else... He'll get really mad and have a heart attack from some chronic heart thing he's got.

Goodwitch: I see... Anything else with him? Other concerns?

Yang: ...He wants to fuck my friends.

Goodwitch: H-He what?

Yang: Well, I'm naturally gorgeous, so it only makes sense for my friends to be hot, too, but he's not related to them, so I guess it's a green light for him.

Goodwitch: But... Your father doesn't want... with you, right?

Yang: No, no, my dad doesn't want to fuck me. He doesn't even like hugging me, so... Silver-lining, right?

Goodwitch: Right... So, then it seems the issues at home are stemming mainly from the bills, correct?

Yang: Yeah, I guess you could say that.

Goodwitch: Have you taken any steps towards a job? Have you had a job yet?

Yang: Yeah, so... I first got a job at a diner after my friend put in a good word for me.

Goodwitch: That's good! Anything else about this friend?

Yang: Uh... I mean, I guess she's not ACTUALLY actually my friend. She's mostly getting fucked up on sugar or something, but she's still cool, though.

Goodwitch: And... are you on drugs at all?

Yang: Heh... Are we ON the floor?

Goodwitch: ...Going back a bit, I take it the diner didn't work out? What happened next?

Yang: Yeah, so, the diner didn't work out because I found a new job that made me late to the old job...

Goodwitch: And do you like your new job?

Yang: I... like the pay.

Goodwitch: And what is it?

Yang: ...Like, what do I do for it?

Goodwitch: Yes.

Yang: And you... You can't tell anybody, right?

Goodwitch: This is sanctioned therapy. Anything and everything said here is confidential. So, what do you do for this job?

Yang: I... I let guys touch my feet for lien...

Goodwitch: ...Excuse me?

Yang: N-No, it's like- They give me a lot of money to stand on them, step on them, kiss my toes, and be nice when I talk to them!

Goodwitch: A-Alright.

Yang: A-And at first, I only did it a little but then they just kept coming and coming and coming, not on me, but to me- Like, one guy just gives me a fifty for every time he jerks off to me! And they all have my number and they know where I live and they just keep offering me more and more lien to where I can't say no!

Goodwitch: Why can't you say no?

Yang: Because the money was so good I got used to spending it, and all the bills my dad needs me to pay! And if I don't make enough lien, it's going to stress him out, and the stress'll give him a heart attack, and he'll die, and if he dies, then I won't be able to afford the mortgage, and I'm gonna end up living on the street withdrawing from my pill addiction while losers suck on my tooooooooooes~! (Sobs)

Goodwitch: I... can see why it'd be hard to talk about this with someone.

Yang: Nobody wants me for me! Not even my best friend wants me 'cause I'm a foot whore~!

Goodwitch: This... certainly seems like a lot. Just how much are these men paying you to make it so necessary to stay?

Yang: (Sniffles) It starts at, like, 200L.

Goodwitch: No, I meant for a regular job to be an option, what's the monthly income?

Yang: Oh... Probably like...

Yang: Like 6 or 7 thousand a month?

Goodwitch: WHAT?!

Yang: Is- Is that bad?

Goodwitch: That's twice what I'm getting paid! Why'd you come to free counseling?!

Yang: Because... Because I didn't know where else to go-

Goodwitch: OH, SHUT THE FUCK UP! You could afford to pay it! This session is over!

Goodwitch: (Storms out, Grumbling) 80,000 a year... Unbelievable! (Leaves)

Yang: ...

Yang: But... But...

Yang: HE MAKES ME PAY FOR THE FOOD NETWORK~!

[moosemonstrous]

FranticFanfic #3: Legendary Shakes

FEATURING THE CHARACTERS: Robbie Reyes, Eli Morrow WRITERS: @cicada-candy, @moosemonstrous, bluerose RATED ALL AGES

Made with FranticFanfic! No edits, posting as is :)

(If you want to join in on one of these, give me a shout! I'll let you know next time we get one going!)

If they could agree on anything, it would Never be the menial necessary aspects of everyday life. The black, growling dodge charger rolled into the skinny drive-thru lane, its occupants' sights set on one thing: Extreme Caffination in the wee hours of the morning.

---

'I want to try the one with a skull.'

Robbie glanced at his own expression in the rearview mirror. With nobody else around, he could sometimes see Eli in the reflection rather than his own face, but all he got this time was a reminder he hasn't had a good night's sleep in several days. The bags under his eyes were beginning to turn purpleish.

"I'm not paying an extra two dollars just to have a Monster poured into my coffee," he gritted out. They were next in the queue to the drive-through - he would rather get this sorted before Eli tried to take over while he's ordering.

'You're the most boring fucker on the planet, did you know that? Get the goddamn skull coffee, live a little. Jesus.'

"Why the hell are you so set on this? It's just a different cup, and an energy drink."

---

"Future coffee's the only interesting thing in your life right now," Eli replied.

"It's expensive, and I could make it at home," Robbie persisted. "Half of these cost enough to buy three black coffees from somewhere else."

"It's got a skull, it's the type of coffee you like, you already know you like it," Eli said. "Get the skull coffee. Can't you afford to splurge on your dear old Tio?"

Robbie snorted. Dear old Tio -- conveniently forgetting his own family nickname.

The wheels of the car in front of them spat up cold oil from a puddle in the drive-through onto Robbie's front bumper, and he shivered as it drove out of their way, leaving the window open. Eli gripped the steering wheel, sending a shock of pins and needles through Robbie's arms.

"Fine," Robbie hissed. "If it makes you shut up."

He pulled into the drive-through window, the Charger's height leaving only a narrow band of space to reach up to the counter.

"What can I get for you," the person inside drawled.

"One coffee -- the one with the skull," Robbie said. Eli tried to reach for his voice, but Robbie gritted his teeth to keep anything from escaping.

"Alright, one Leyenda Major coming right up," they replied.

Robbie's eye sparked at the name, and his engine revved.

"Finally, a bit of recognition around here," Eli exclaimed. "Good for you, kid."