#he has anxiety and impossible standards for himself

[sunderwight]

Thinking about how lucky it is that Shen Qingqiu (SY version) never gave Luo Binghe the wrong impression that he wanted a harem.

Like imagine they've having a conversation and Shen Qingqiu makes some offhanded comment about a harem is all well and good, but he thinks it should definitely be of a manageable size, hint hint, with individuals who get along harmoniously and support their primary spouse, hint hint, and marrying almost everyone you hook up with is just bad form because it's inevitably going to cause friction and it'd be nearly impossible to properly look after that many extra spouses, hint hint.

Luo Binghe picks up on the hints but draws the entirely incorrect conclusions. Combined with his previous inquiries into what kinds of women his shizun likes (SQQ, not wanting to ever be seen as LBH's potential romantic rival and eager to free himself of the original's lecherous reputation: I have no interest in any women whatsoever!) and some subtle inquiries about when a person should settle down (SQQ, with unexamined anxiety at the prospect of his dear disciple heading out into the world: not too soon! a man should establish himself well and figure out what he likes first, and take his time!), Luo Binghe concludes that his master has been biding his time and is building up to constructing a reasonably-sized harem of malewives.

Because apparently, Shizun believes that a man in a position of significant power should inevitably want such things. And disciple Binghe isn't thinking of "a position of significant power" as "effective god-emperor of the whole world", his current ideas of such things are more along the lines of "peak lord" really. Also why should Shen Qingqiu make so many comments about how Luo Binghe must surely be anxious to start taking lovers or daydreaming about having a billion wives unless he just thinks that's the standard for everyone? Because that's what he wants?

It was chaotic enough when just one of these guys was bracing himself for the inevitable harem-building, but if Binghe also expected he was going to have to supply Shen Qingqiu with a stable of other men, hoo boy. Binghe telling himself that he's fine with it. As long as he's first wife, Shizun can have others. Getting particularly vicious towards new guys Shen Qingqiu meets, like okay he's resigned himself to Liu Qingge, and probably maybe also Yue Qingyuan, and in those cases definitely having to fight them tooth and nail for primary spouse position (his plan is to become the undisputed master of the domestic sphere and thereby outrank them on that front, even if he can't beat their peak lord credentials), but anyone else is someone he can potentially chase off and Shizun will still have his reasonably-sized harem. If Gongyi Xiao wants into the harem he's going to have to earn it, and he's getting bottom of the pecking order!

Binghe, after they finally get together, trying to have frank discussions about the inevitable harem. Shen Qingqiu putting on a brave face because he, of course, thinks Binghe's talking about his own harem. Getting confused as to why Liu Qingge is suddenly factoring into the conversation. Then reaching entirely the wrong conclusion because oh right, Binghe is gay now and Liu Qingge is extremely pretty. Makes sense! Definitely not what Binghe means but it makes sense!

Actually this would be a hilarious way for bingliushen OT3 to happen. Just a complete comedy of errors where bingqiu are both trying to secure Liu Qingge for each other without ever concretely establishing that either of them wants him, even though they think they have.

[hollyseb]

A COLLISION OF FATE - CEO!BUCKY X ASSISTANT READER (one-shot)

warnings; swearing, minors dni

2.4k words

summary; As an assistant to the powerful CEO Bucky Barnes, you’ve always kept things strictly professional—maybe even a little distant. But when a chaotic morning commute turns your world upside down, you find yourself relying on your boss in unexpected ways.

authors note; this is my first fic in a while so please let me know what you think!

Fuck.

You couldn’t help but pull the bed sheets over your head as your alarm sounded. You’d slept terribly, anticipation stewing in your chest all night long. A huge day at work loomed ahead. Your boss trusted you with organising a client meeting for a massive company project, and despite your meticulous preparations, anxiety gnawed at you relentlessly.

This marks your fourth month as an assistant to Mr Barnes, CEO of Barnes Industries. Your boss embodies power and leadership, standing well over six feet. He has a presence that’s impossible to ignore, although you often find yourself trying to; avoiding his piercing gaze, shrinking away from his broad figure. He intimidated you.

You’d learned to anticipate his needs, not just to impress him but perhaps as an attempt to keep your conversations to a minimum. Although you had managed to settle into your role, growing accustomed to your boss’ high standards, you often felt a sense of apprehension. You were overwhelmed by how important he was. Mr Barnes wasn’t just your boss - he was a force of nature.

The two of you maintained a strictly professional relationship, even lingering towards slightly cold sometimes. You liked to do what he needed you to do, and then get out of his way. However, every now and then, you’d catch him watching you with a look that lingered a moment too long. You’d always assume there was something on your face, or a smudge on your shirt, anything that might explain why he was staring. But when you checked, there was never anything there.

For Bucky, it started with the little things. He noticed how you always made sure his coffee was exactly how he liked it, down to the last detail, even on the most hectic mornings. You remembered the smallest preferences he had, the things he rarely even thought about himself—like the way you would quietly replace the pens in his office with the specific brand he preferred, or how you always ensured there was a bottle of his favorite water in the conference room before every meeting. These weren’t just the actions of a diligent assistant; they were gestures that spoke of someone who genuinely cared, someone who paid attention to him in a way that no one else ever had.

Your snoozed alarm began to sound again, piercing your thoughts like a violent shriek. Just get through the meeting, you told yourself, before ultimately deciding to drag yourself out of bed. The thought repeated like a mantra. Is it normal to feel this worried about disappointing your boss? You thought, before swatting away the idea. You didn’t need to focus on that for now.

A hot shower did little to wash away the anxiety that clinged to you. Your movements were robotic as you went through your morning routine, driven by the pressure of the meeting.

With a sigh, you reached for your phone, the screen lighting up with a soft glow. 7:45 AM. It felt as though the numbers were taunting you. You ran a hand down your face, bracing yourself for the day.

Time to go.

After locking the door to your small, cozy apartment, you made your way down the narrow, communal staircase. The morning air hitting you with a welcomed bite as you stepped outside into the car park.

You slid into the drivers seat of your aging Mini, the familiar creak of the door and worn leather seat beneath you provided a familiar comfort. It wasn't much, but it was yours, the car you'd had since you were 17. You shifted into gear and gripped the steering wheel, the hum of the engine almost grounding you.

Just get through the meeting, you repeated, merging into the flow of morning traffic. You let your mind drift to the day's plans, mentally rehearsing the things you had to organise when you arrived at the office… calling the clients to confirm their attendance, setting up the meeting room, dropping the itinerary off at Mr Barnes’ desk.

As you approached a red light just a few blocks from the office, you felt a fleeting sense of calm. Your heartbeat, which had been a relentless drumbeat of anxiety, finally began to settle into a more regular rhythm. The office was so close, the meeting so imminent. All you had to do now was make it through the last stretch of traffic and face the day.

Without warning, a loud, violent crashing noise shattered the calm. The force of the impact threw you forward, your seatbelt straining against your body painfully. The contents of your bag spilling into the passenger seat footwell alongside the sound of crunching metal. Your mind was blank, struggling to catch up with what had just happened.

What the -?

Your heart raced, your breaths leaving in shallow and quick successions. The realisation hit you like a second wave of impact - you’d been rear-ended.

You gripped the steering wheel like a vice, catching sight of your pale face as movement caught your attention in the rear view mirror. the driver of the car behind you was already out of his vehicle, storming towards you.

Rather than waiting for you to get out the car, he began shouting at you through the closed window. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He shouted, his voice echoing violently.

He looked to be in his mid thirties, dressed in a wrinkled suit, face red with anger and eyes practically bulging out his head.

You took a deep breath, adrenaline surging through your veins. Stay calm, don’t escalate. You unbuckle your seatbelt, ignoring the dull pain of where it had dug into you, stepping out your beloved car.

“Do you even know how to fucking drive?” He yelled, arms flailing. “I’m going to be late for work because of you, stupid bitch”

You were taken aback by his blatant profanity. Humiliation rising in your body as bystanders gawked at the interaction.

You blinked, your nerves fraying under his aggression. “I was stopped at the light. You hit me,” you said, voice trembling.

”Bullshit!” He spat, inching towards your face. “You stopped like a fucking moron and now look at my fucking car!”, he pointed in the direction of his vehicle, a sleek black BMW, barely scratched.

The sight of your car, however, made your stomach turn. The bumper was shrewd across the concrete, the metal contorted dramatically. You’d come off much worse than him. You could feel tears burning at the corners of your eyes.

“This is all your fault!”, he spat, voice dripping with venom. “You’re going to pay every cent for the damage you’ve caused.”

Before you could respond, he lunged closer, jabbing a finger in your face. “Do you even realise how fucking pathetic you look right now? Crying because you’ve ruined my car-“

The man was interrupted. A firm, authoritative voice cutting through his ramblings like steel.

“Is there a problem here?”

You looked up, your heart pounding, and there he was - Bucky Barnes. The sight of him hit you like a tidal wave. For a split second, you were frozen, breath catching in your throat.

Bucky’s sharp blue eyes were fixed on the angry driver, his expression a mask of controlled authority. Your eyes shifted between the two, noticing how Bucky towered over the man.

The man’s voice was quieter than before, his composure tense. “Who the hell are you?”

Bucky stepped closer, his gaze unwavering. “I’m her boss,” he said, his tone calm but edged with a warning. “And I suggest you step back before you make this any worse.”

The anger in the man’s stance faltered, replaced by a grudging recognition that he was outmatched. With a final glare towards you, he stormed back to his car.

You exhaled, realising you’d been holding your breath. “Thank you,” you murmured, voice shaky from adrenaline.

Bucky’s gaze shifted to you, his eyes softening a fraction. “Are you okay?” He asked, his voice low and filled with a warmth which contrasted the icy authority he had shown moments before.

You watched the way his eyes trailed down your shaking body for any obvious signs of injury.

You nodded in response. “Y-yes, I’m okay. Just a bit shaken”, a forced smile pursing against your lips.

He leaned down slightly, lowering himself to your height, his face inches from yours. Placing a hand on each of your shoulders. “You don’t have to put a brave face on with me. Are you really okay?”

The depth of his concern was more than you expected, combined with the gentleness of his touch, you felt like your head was spinning.

”Thank you, Mr Barnes”, your voice barely more than a whisper, “I’m okay, I promise”.

Bucky’s expression softened even more. “Let me take you to the office. I’ll sort you out and make sure everything’s taken care of.” Bucky said, his voice low and earnest.

His words soothed you. He placed a firm but gentle hand on your mid-back, guiding you towards his car. The warmth of his touch was a comforting contrast to the cold air. You found solace in the protective way he guided you.

When you reached his car, Bucky opened the passenger door for you with a quiet, practiced grace. His movements were deliberate and careful, as if he wanted to ensure you felt as secure as possible.

Bucky closed the door gently and walked around to the driver’s side. As he settled into the driver’s seat, he adjusted the rear view mirror, his gaze flicking over to you. “You don’t have to call me Mr. Barnes, when it’s just us two. James will do.”

You met his gaze in the mirror, feeling a sudden rush of warmth. You faltered for a split second under the heat of his stare. “Okay, James”, you said quietly.

He gave a small, approving smile, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. “That’s better,” he said, his voice low. “Let’s get you to the office.”

Your boss wouldn’t let you know, but the way you trembled when that man was yelling at you, the way his words reduced you to feeling small and insignificant, made Bucky’s blood boil. His usual calm and composed demeanor was barely holding back the fury simmering beneath the surface. The sight of you being treated so harshly, so unfairly, sparked something primal in him—something protective and fierce.

Arriving at the office, Bucky parked with a practised ease and opened your door, offering a supportive hand as you stepped out. Eyes glazing over you again to see if you were moving with any discomfort.

As you walked into the building, you were met with a flurry of activity. Bucky led you to your room, settling you into your office chair with a soft, reassuring hand on your back.

“Take a moment to breathe,” he instructed, his voice a mix of warmth and authority. “I’ll handle the meeting for now, okay? You’ve had a rough morning.”

You nodded gratefully, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders. Bucky made a few quick phone calls and sent some emails, managing the meeting logistics with the efficiency and competence that defined him.

Throughout the morning, Bucky periodically checked in on you. Each time, his concern was evident, his questions simple but genuine. “How are you feeling? Do you need anything?” he would ask, always with that soft, protective tone.

By lunchtime, Bucky made sure you had something to eat. He watched with a mixture of satisfaction and relief as you ate, noting the gradual return of color to your cheeks.

As the workday wound down, you wrapped up your tasks and prepared to head home. Bucky had been a steadfast support throughout the day, ensuring that you felt taken care of and that everything went smoothly despite the morning’s chaos.

As you gathered your things, Bucky approached with a rare, genuine smile. “How are you holding up?”

“Much better, thanks to you,” you said, returning his smile. “I really appreciate everything today.”

”Well I would love to drive you home, but I still have a few more things to wrap up. One of my drivers will take you, okay?”, your boss said, leaning against the door frame of your office.

You opened your mouth to politely decline, feeling that he had already done enough for you today. However, you faltered when he raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge in his expression, you knew there was no point in arguing.

“Alright,” you agreed, feeling a warmth spread through you at his insistence. “Thank you.”

“Good,” he said, satisfied, a part of him wanted to grin at your obedience as he circled back to his office.

The ride home was quiet, the events of the day replaying in your mind. You were exhausted, but there was also a strange sense of anticipation that you couldn’t quite explain.

When the car pulled up outside your apartment, you thanked the driver and stepped out. The cool evening air was refreshing after the long day, and you were eager to wash the day away with a hot shower and a bottle of wine.

But as you approached your apartment building, something caught your eye. Parked in your usual spot was a familiar-looking Mini, only this one was brand new. The gleaming paint, the spotless interior—it was unmistakably the same make and model as your beloved old car, but this one was perfect in every way.

There’s no way, you thought.

Your heart pounded as you took a hesitant step closer, your mind racing to process what you were seeing. There was no mistaking it—this was a gift, one that had been carefully chosen to replace what you had lost earlier today.

A note was tucked under the windshield wiper. With trembling hands, you pulled it free and unfolded the paper. The handwriting was unmistakable.

You’ve had a rough day. I hope this makes it a little easier. – James

A rush of emotions overwhelmed you, and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. You never expected something like this. Bucky hadn’t just replaced your car—he’d chosen something that he knew would mean something to you, something that was a perfect reflection of who you were.

As you stood there, staring at the car that now felt like a symbol of so much more, you couldn’t help but feel that the boundaries between you and Bucky had shifted in a way that couldn’t be undone.

A collision of fate.

————————————————————-

TAGLIST!

@sashaisready @matchat3a @writingpastmybedtime @melsunshine @lex-the-flex @himawariizephyr @jbbarnesgirl @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @sagebarness @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @selella @armystay89 @globetrotter28 @iwritewithpenandpaper @casa-boiardi @winterslove1917 @buckydarling09 @kandis-mom @scott-loki-barnes @mrsevans90

[londonfog-chan]

I Will Not Keep My Mouth Shut About this High School Romance Between Eddie Munson x Reader (Headcanons)

Why lord? Why are we not talking about this?

I’ve dated metalhead guys in the past, and believe in me when I say these fuckers move fast.

Eddie is no exception to this rule. He loves hard and quickly, especially if you’re into the same things he’s into as well.

I’m talking balls to the wall insanity like: the day won’t even be over and he’ll have already asked you out, kissed you, offered you weed, and secretly be planning the names of the four kids he wants with you.

Mans is delulu as fuck for you.

As much as he has his passions there’s just something about the fact that you actually gave the town freak unconditional love that makes him desperate. Corroded Coffin, Hellfire Club, he’d pick you over them any day if it meant he got to keep you.

Guarantee, you’ll already have gone all the way before the weekend is up of that first week of the relationship.

Cherry boy cherry boy cherry boy.

But he knows what he’s doing. It will have been awkward but the best part is now “Rainbow in the Dark” makes you feel all hot under the collar and “Shame on the Night” makes you laugh and reminds you of the awkward panic cleaning up after.

The epitome of live fast die young. He will throw his life away if you ask him to, so make sure you use your powers wisely.

At some point Eddie will ask you to run away with him. He doesn’t give a shit where, so long as it’s with you.

Shared interests are probably how the two of you met in the first place, especially if you’re like me and unable to beat the weird kid allegations. You drifted towards his club because you for whatever reason were an outcast too.

Eddie would probably crush on those who are conventionally pretty, popular, the epitome of the 80’s beauty standards. That’s just human nature. But with you… it’s so much more different.

You’re like his nerdy fantasies come to life, like the princesses he writes about in his campaigns that are a mix of dark, dangerous, able to hold their own and fight for him and with him. Think of if you will a sexy bombshell rotoscoped into those old metal music videos. Facing the world wearing only red lipstick and a cocksure expression.

He would get along so well with someone who wasn’t afraid to let their wild side show, or to express it. But at the same time if you’re more shy and reserved, he is determined to help you come out of that shell and be the best possible version of yourself.

It’s impossible not to match his excitable energy, it’s just so goddamn contagious. It might scare you how far you’re willing to go for Eddie and how quickly you might find yourself changing. Because believe me, you will change, and it will be for the better.

Eddie will always be your number one hype man.

He will literally be so excited about everything you do because it’s you! The person he loves more than anyone in this whole entire world.

Eddie will literally put up with so much for you. Even if you guys fight he will struggle to maintain his composure because he does not want to fuck this beautiful thing up.

Drives himself up the wall with anxiety about it too. But that’s the thing about Eddie’s dynamic with you: is that he will do what it takes to keep his fucking cool around you.

Your fights are infrequent but can get explosive if there are unsaid insecurities. So to avoid this: keep honest with him. About everything. Don’t lie to him, because as fast as he fell for you, lying is the quickest way to break his trust and send him packing.

One of his flaws in the relationship is that his insecurity that this will all go away will make him all that more prepared to leave if you have a massive blow up fight.

Like he’s already preplanned his exit strategy and everything.

But the longer you’re together, the more comfortable he gets and eventually he settles down from jumping the gun into taking things one day at a time.

He’s a fucking keeper. And all I’m gonna say is you better start training with swinging a blunt weapon because once you have him, you’re going to be right there in the Upside Down fucking up some monsters keeping them away from your man.

[emonydeborah]

they're his work parents

They look like THEY are Spock's parents

[strangerstilinski]

eddie the hero

summary; the holidays bring about daddy issues of the decidedly un-sexy variety, but eddie is a total sweetheart and a goofball to boot. (this is very self indulgent.) 2.6k warnings; some angst but a very very fluffy end, trauma from overly-critical parents, eddie being sweet, some blood, a brief anxiety attack maybe?, i think reader is written gn (eddie refers to reader as a fair maiden but like jokingly? so do with that what you will) a/n; turns out, a combination of being home for the holidays and listening to mean by miss swift on the drive out brought up, uh... this. shout out to my dad for being himself over this holiday season, and shoutout ruby for very delicately insisting (repeatedly) that i get my shit together and simply.. make something of this trauma dump. so here it is; a wee bit of angst with lots of fluff to round it all out.

The kitchen is in chaos.

You've got about a hundred different things going at once in an effort to get everything ready for the holiday dinner that you and Eddie agreed to host. The smell of cinnamon from your morning baking endeavors still lingers in the air, though it's slowly being overtaken by rosemary and and the earthy scent of fresh vegetables. The hair at the nape of your neck is beginning to feel a bit stifling with heat from the oven already warming house, and you make a mental note to crack a window once your friends and family begin trickling in.

It's a little overwhelming, but you're doing your best to get what you've deemed the more detailed-oriented aspects of preparation done while Eddie is busy in the shower.

You intend to be finished by the time he's done getting ready. A mental plan has been laid out. You'll have the knife in your hand washed and dried and put away before he even emerges from the bathroom— no problem.

There was a problem though: you hadn't been quick enough.

You're in a zone of sorts. So much so, that you don't notice the footfalls of your boyfriend making his way down the hallway toward the kitchen. When he speaks from the doorway, his voice takes you completely by surprise.

"What are you doing?" Eddie's voice is soft as ever, though you're unable to process the gentle innocence in the tone of his question.

The realization that you've been caught has the heat in the kitchen very suddenly feeling entirely too warm. Your collar is entirely too tight around your neck while your mind whirls with sudden anxiety.

It's as if Eddie is no longer there. Instead, your ears are filled with the echo of your father's voice, the condescension in his tone ringing sharply in your skull.

"What are you doing?"

"Why are you doing it like that?"

"It's not that hard, bud. Just do it like this and it'll be better. How many times do I have to tell you-"

His voice would toe the line between irritated and amused, narrowed eyes making you feel a fool. It would prompt a frustrated prickle behind your own eyes and a tightness in your jaw when he'd show you the way you should've been doing it in the first place.

You heart races now with that unhealed scab of your father's never ending dissatisfaction. His impossible standards. His mean little digs and criticisms that masqueraded as him merely wanting you to be better.

Because you could always be better.

Growing up it was sports, your effort in school, it was the way you putted in mini golf, it was 'why on earth would you not dry the glasses when you washed dishes? That's just stupid because now they'll air dry with spots and-' From there began the slow evolution into the way that you drove your car, the way you spent money, how often you called and what time of day you called when you did..

Nothing you did was enough. In his eyes, there here was always something wrong, something that could be improved.

It's entirely possible that the stress of the holiday is getting to you already, if the way you've very quickly begun to spiral is any indication. And though there's nothing more than curiosity in your boyfriend's question, the familiarity of it makes you flinch nonetheless.

It happens in a flash. The paring knife in your grip slips and the blade slices the edge of your thumb instead of the potato you'd been getting prepped for boiling. A sharp sting that you barely notice. The sight of the blood that pools quick from the shallow cut has your ears ringing, Eddie's soft curses sounding muffled when they curl at your ears. It's a bit like you're underwater, sounds eerily distorted and brain fuzzy with the heavy beat of your heart.

"Sorry—"

It comes out as nothing more than a murmur under your breath. With a slight delay, you have the foresight to move your hand from above the bowl of already sliced and cleaned potatoes. Wrist now clutched to your chest, you zero in on the drops of blood that have already stained a few of them, red bleeding into the starchy whiteness.

"S-sorry, I just-"

Your voice is shaking as Eddie grabs a kitchen towel, his hands gently cradling your own and dabbing the towel at the cut so he can examine the severity of your injury. His brows are furrowed beneath the wispy curtain of his wet bangs, brown eyes wide with worry. His fingers are free of their normal assortment of rings, likely because he'd come out with the intent of helping you cook. Your eyes flick between his bare fingers and his shower-damp hair, between the roundness of his chin and the frown pulling at his lips — guilt pools heavily in your gut at the sight.

"I shouldn't 've been using a knife anyway, but I couldn't find the peeler s-so I just used the knife. I-I know it wastes more of the potato, I know that's not-" Your breath comes out trembling, your whole body wracking with it as your eyes prickle and burn with embarrassment. Your words come quicker, panicked, "I just wanted to get them done so I could get them in the water and start on the beans, but now I-"

"Hey, hey, hey," Eddie soothes, wide palm coming up to your flushed face where his thumb drags slow over the apple of your cheek while his other hand works to secure the dish towel in your fist to stop the bleeding, "Breathe, sweetheart. You're okay."

"I'm sorry," You whisper, voice thick with tears, "Was s' stupid, I'm sorry-"

"Baby.. Baby, hey-" His voice is soft. He squares his shoulders and follows your movement as he tries to meet your eye, brown finally connecting with shining pools that threaten to spill over. The pad of his thumb catches the first drop the moment that it breaks free, smoothing the moisture along your skin as he repeats the slow back and forth motion over your cheek. "The cut's not bad, it's not very deep.. What's going on, sweet thing? What's got you so worked up?"

Your next breath catches and it has your whole body quaking when it eventually whooshes out of your chest, a pitiful little sniffle escaping you in response to the sudden influx of tears.

"I- I was doing it wrong. I know- And then I- I got blood all over the potatoes-"

"We can wash the potatoes." Eddie says all too easily, though his voice still has that anxious edge to it that does nothing to make you feel better.

"We can.. We can wash the potatoes.." You repeat cautiously, as if the thought hadn't yet occurred to you.

"Yeah, baby. We can wash the potatoes." He echoes gently.

A shaky breath falls past your lips as you nod, "Sorry." You say again.

"I'm sorry," He insists with a shake of his head, "I came in here like a bat outta hell while you were holding a knife, and I scared you into hurting yourself. I was just- Potatoes we're supposed to be one'a my jobs. And, uh-" A grimacing excuse of a smile pulls at his lips, his eyes drifting to the discarded knife that lay at the bottom of the sink, "Well.. You couldn't find the peeler because it's in the dishwasher-"

You have to fight back a sigh at his admission, "Eddie-" You admonish weakly.

"I know, I know. It's not dishwasher safe. I know that, I do," Eddie says in a rush, "You've told me a million times, I just forget in the moment. I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm sorry."

His earnest apology has you reeling a bit. The fact that Eddie's instinct is not just to apologize, but also to explain away his mistake with guilt dripping heavy from his words-

You suddenly feel a bit like a monster. A cruel, perfection-driven bully of your father's creation. It has a fresh wave of tears pooling in your eyes and threatening to well over.

"God," The word comes out a choked sounding thing, buried beneath the tightness in your throat, "I'm sorry, Eddie. It's not a big deal, really, 's just a peeler. If the dishwasher ruins it we'll just buy another one for, like, a dollar."

"Yeah?" Eddie treads, a cautious smile pulling at the corner of his mouth while his thumb continues to drag soft over the wetness spread across your cheekbone.

"Yeah," You sniffle around the word, panic and realization settling in and promoting your chest to heave with quick breaths, "Jesus. Y-You shouldn't be worried about my reaction to something so.. So stupid. Fuck. I- I'm just like him-"

"Woah, woah, woah. Baby, hey.. Just like who?" Eddie interrupts with a renewed sense of urgency, "What're you talkin' about?"

"My dad-" You sob, shoulders trembling with it.

"Oh, baby, hey. Hey-"

In a flash, Eddie is guiding your head into the crook of his neck, wetness transferring onto his skin as a dam breaks and your body trembles with a series of heavy sobs. You slot into the space below his jaw just as perfectly as you always do, the two of you fitting together like puzzle pieces.

He smells like shaving cream and the conditioner you'd bought him especially for curly hair. The combination of the rich masculine scent on his skin with the sweet citrusy perfume clinging to his damp hair makes your head spin as you try valiantly to follow his soft demands for you to calm down.

His voice rumbles soft over your ear as he shushes you, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to your temple all the while. The towel wrapped around your fist tightens when Eddie's bigger hand encases your own, a slow sway overtaking your body as he urges your weight to shift from foot to foot in a soothing motion. He rocks you back and forth, your socked feet shuffling against the kitchen tile, your boyfriend's chest pressed tight to your own.

A wide palm smooths up and down your spine, a tune that sounds distantly familiar rumbling over your ear when Eddie begin to hum softly into your hair.

A minute passes, shuddering breaths come and less, the heaving of your chest and the tears in your eyes settling until each sniffle feels more embarrassing than anything else. A weak laugh bubbles up from your throat as you hone in on your boyfriend's socked feet nudging at yours with every shift side to side, your fist tightening around the blood-stained towel for a moment before you're hooking your own fingers around the back of his hand, palms clasped together.

"'re we slow dancing right now?" You ask a bit breathlessly, finally lifting your head from the curve of his neck to peer up at his with swollen, reddened eyes.

"Mhm," Eddie hums and drops his forehead against your own. That hand on your spine hikes you up against him, air forced from your lungs and another bubbling laugh pushed up your throat.

"You trying to woo me, Munson?" Your tease comes out a bit raspy from all of the crying, but you watch a grin pull at his lips regardless.

"Why?" Big brown eyes flick between your own, a little cross-eyed with how close your faces sit, "S'it working?"

You bring your free hand up to curl around the back of his neck, fingers slipping beneath his wet curls to ensure his forehead doesn't leave yours.

"It might be.." The words come out in a murmur.

You're feeling a bit mesmerized by his proximity, even after all this time. A sudden spin from your boyfriend has you stumbling over your feet, the only thing keeping you from losing your balance completely being the steadying hand that quickly finds a place on your hip and slides back to the base of your spine.

"It might be?" Eddie repeats with a scoff, "Oh, it might be, you say." A small huff of laughter escapes you and puffs out against his chin as he continues on, "Well I guess I'll just have to up the ante then, won't I? What shall I do, my fair maiden? What is it you desire? I could finish this lovely holiday dinner by myself, provide thee with sustenance-"

It's you who scoffs this time, "Right, hilarious. Our friends and Wayne will be here in less than two hours-"

"Or perhaps I'll wait until nightfall, pluck a star straight from the sky for you. Because what other courting gift could be better suited for a maiden who shines so bright-"

"Eddie," You can't help but laugh at his dramatics. The drying tear streaks on your cheeks are long forgotten now, the ridiculous man in front of you is nothing if not an expert in getting your whole attention focused on him.

"No. No, you're right. That couldn't possibly be enough to prove my endless love and devotion," He makes a show of shaking his head as he releases you from his hold and takes a step back. A sidestep has him bumping into the sink basin, a wide grin already pulling at his lips. "But this!" He announces as he snatches the bloody paring knife from the sink with a flourish, "This cursed object! Laced with evil, I'm sure! This blade that has brought harm upon you!"

You watch Eddie dispose of the knife with a smile pulling at your lips, and you only spare a small wince at the fleeting worry that it might tear through the plastic bag lining the inside of the garbage can. Eddie drops to his knees in a flash, dark denim coming into contact with the kitchen tile at your feet. His hands grip at the backs of your thighs as he looks up at you with wide eyes, the brown pools swimming with mischief and humor and love.

"-It is dealt with, my dear. It will never hurt you again. This I swear-"

The blood-stained towel falls to the floor as you take his head in your hands, carefully avoiding the drying cut on your thumb. You're swallowing down laughter as you guide him to his feet again. Your heart feels full enough to burst, and Eddie's expression of faux-seriousness is almost enough to push a giggle from your lips.

"Oh, my hero," You whisper with all of the dramatisation you can manage, "My big, handsome savior. Whatever would I have done without you here to protect me? How can I ever thank you?"

Eddie brings his palms up to your cheeks in a flash, and you know it must be a ridiculous sight. The current disaster zone that is the kitchen; ingredients lining every available inch of countertop space, a pot of salted water very nearly boiling on the stovetop, and the two of you standing at the center of it all — cradling one another's faces with all the care in the world.

Brown eyes flick slow over your face, the freckles on the bridge of Eddie's nose catching your attention all the while.

"One million kisses." He proposes.

A laugh does escape you now, though it's a giddy one, slightly flustered by just how sweet the man before you is. Your cheeks feel warm with it as your uninjured thumb drags soft over his cheek.

"One million?"

"One hundred million!" He counters immediately.

"One hundred million?" You repeat in disbelief, "Now, what's a guy like you going to do with one hundred million kisses should I give them to you?"

"Maybe you're right. Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Eddie nods valiantly, "We could start with just one, and work our way up."

"That sounds more than reasonable," Your cheeks are beginning to ache with your smile.

You push up onto your toes to brush your lips over his, scarcely touching. But when Eddie pushes forward, you rock back in an easy move, your mouth remaining just out of his reach.

"I am going to need that knife to finish dinner though," You whisper, the hushed words rushing over his lips in one breath, "The others are too dull-"

"Consider it retrieved and washed," Eddie says easily, "As soon as I get my kiss-"

It ends up being more smile than kiss, in the end, but there will be millions more to make up for it.

[certifiedcodbabygirl]

Hi Sweet🖤

could I please request some Bodyguard!Price x Socialite chubby f!reader?

• He's late 30's, she's mid - late 20's

• despite being a socialite, reader is anything but social. She's introverted house plant with hobbies including being alone and keeping to herself.

• She's been through bodyguards before , because she hated being treated like a daft rich person so Price comes in under the impression she's spoilt and impossible until he sees a whole different story.

• Price goes from 'I'm gonna hate her guts' to 'I want to be in her guts'

• Please add forced proximity (living together), and give them that teeeension 🥺

• nsfw is 1000% welcome if you're keen.

There's no rush for this at all if you decide to do it, whenever is convenient for you is fine by me. Please write this however you feel is most comfortable to you. I'll appreciate it all the same 🫰🏼

Thank you🥀

Sorry this is late!

At first he doesn't like you. Flat out. Retiring early from the military caused him to need a sort of transition job so he figured he'd take on being a bodyguard. He definitely has the credentials, so why not?

He's not a fan of rich people, but hey, money is money. What he wasn't expecting was to be set up with a pretty thing like you. It almost made it worse. He figured, given your lifestyle, that you'd be like the others.

You're quiet, direct, and come off a stuck up. You never keep conversation going, and he doesn't bother to finish. It's his job. He keeps you safe. That is all he is required to do.

It all changes when you go to a social gathering, a political part to celebrate a successful election as of late. He hadn't seen you in a social setting before until now. You're just like how you are at home; Quiet, reserved, not talking unless needed to.

He realizes your behavior towards him isn't one of defiance, or being stuck up, but one of nature. He realizes it's possible social anxiety. It would make sense. You were pressured from a young age to be surrounded by people, standards higher for you than other people, every movement being watched.

His attitude towards you changes almost immediately. He makes you tea (or whatever drink you like most) for you before you wake up. He watches tv with you in the living room, allowing you to warm up to his presence in a more comfortable way. Conversation starts slowly, but eventually you become close. You apologize for being so closed off and unwelcoming at the beginning, but he reassures you that he understands and came to realize you just needed time.

It isn't until around 8 months that he begins to notice you. He walks by your room to the guest room (basically his now) when he hears a whimper from yours. It doesn't sound like pain, but he pauses outside your door just incase. It isn't until he slows his breathing that he notices the soft buzzing coming through the door. Your whimpers sound more strained, trying to keep quiet but you let out a moan as you gently swipe the vibrator over your clit. You turn it off, panicked that he may have heard you, but turn it back on when you notice there's no noise.

He stays for your climax, unable to move if he wanted. His cock is restrained in his boxers, painfully tight. You sound so pretty as you cum, he can't help but his heads feels all fuzzy. He quickly walks to the guest room, not even bothering to quiet his footsteps. He cums so hard that night, imagining your pretty lips wrapped around him. All spread out below him, pussy gripping his like a fucking vice.

A month passes by since that night and he can't help but get hard every time your hand brushes against his arm, unable to keep his mind off of if that's the hand you used. He excuses himself every time to go wait for his cock to soften before being around you again. It gets to a point where you begin to think he doesn't enjoy being around you.

He overhears you talking to a friend on the phone about how he's been distant. You admit to her that you like him and don't understand why he's acting like this again. His stomach sinks a little when he realizes it's upsetting you, but he walks away before you see him.

Later that night, he hears the buzzing coming from your room again, but it's different this time. Your whimpers come out as pants, his name tumbling from your mouth as you begin to feel the knot in your stomach form. He groans and pushes the door open. You yelp and try to cover yourself but he yanks the blanket from you, pulling you to the edge of the bed by your ankles.

"You been hidin this from me, love?" He taunts, spreading your legs and taking a look at your pussy, "Look at how wet she is. Why're you hidin her from me? It's okay, I'll treat her good" He says before getting on his knees and showing you how much he wants you.

[katerinaaqu]

The Humanity of Odysseus: Fear, Pity and Honor (an analysis based on Sophocles's "Ajax")

This analysis has been suggested/requested by my amazing friend @artsofmetamoor with whom we are dealing with various of projects, mainly W.I.T.C.H high fantasy related material! Please visit her profile and check her amazing art!

So as you see from various accounts and much more my recent analysis in regards to whether Odysseus is someone without actual essence of right or wrong, we have one of the few cases in which we have a more complicated Odysseus rather than the usual anti-hero figure we have in post-homeric tradition. Sophocles in his tragedy "Ajax" tells the story of Telamonian Aias, how he lost his sanity when he became furious that the armor of Achilles was not given to him. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that Odysseus opens and closes the tragedy by being in both the first and the last scene. In the first scene we have one of the most hilarious (and daresay extremely modern even for today's standards) dialog between Athena and himself. Athena has just explained to Odysseus what happened to Aias and then proceeds to call him, earning this HILARIOUS reaction by Odysseus!

Odysseus: What are you doing, Athena?! Don't call him to come out! Athena: Easy there! (Lit: Hold up, or Keep your posture), are you taken over by cowardice? Odysseus: Don't, by gods! If you please, let him stay inside! Athena: What's the matter? Isn't he the same man he was? Odysseus: A man who was an enemy, especially now

(Translation by me)

Okay, other than the fact we have the absolutely HILARIOUS moment of Athena going in a "What are you? Chicken?" mode with Odysseus (which has me laughing to this day!) we also have an increasingly panicking Odysseus! From the moment he hears Athena go "Hey, Ajax!" from outside you can almost see him jumping out of his skin! We even have him go increasingly more panicked when he says "By gods, don't!" like the last thing he wants is to come face to face with a 2m tall behemoth of a man who not only has a personal grudge against him but also now he is mad and murderous. And his anxiety is also shown by some low-key homor he does even when Athena talks again:

Athena: Certainly isn't it the sweetest taunt, the taunt of one's enemy? Odysseus: For me is enough that he stays inside his chambers! Athena: Are you afraid to see the madman? Odysseus: I wouldn't be so terrfied of him if he were sane (Lit: If he were in fact, sane, I would lift my fear) Athena: But now he won't see you being present near Odysseus: How? If he sees with his own eyes?

(Translation by me)

Okay we have once more Athena being cheeky (like a very interesting trope) basically sayng "why? don't you want to laugh at your enemy?" and Odysseus answering with equal humor in a "thanks but no thanks!" manner! Like "nah I'll pass!" but I find it also interesting how honestly Odysseus speaks with Athena. If other people call him coward he retaliates and in fact most of the time he is prudent but now he is truly terrified and he is not afraid to admit that to Athena who, let's face it, knows his soul. He is so afraid to the point of forgetting that gods can do stuff humans find impossible and he even asks her how she would achieve that Aias won't see him. He doesn't ask if she will protect him. He asks HOW she'll do it! XD

Athena: I will darken his eyes so he won't see clearly Odysseus: Indeed, everything is possible when the gods are acting Athena: Then, be silent now and stay where you are! Odysseus: I'll stay: even if I'd rather be anywhere but here!

(Translation by me)

Honestly...I love this to no ends! Odysseus finding some composture in a "Oh! Right!" mode as he remembers it's Athena we are talking about, Athena basically be like "Shut up and stay still!" mode as if she talks to a dog and Odysseus whom I can so imagine mumbling that last part to himself is just an amazingly human roller coaster for Odysseus who even if he has the wits that all people would wish to have, he still is blocked by fear like everyone else. And then we have another amazing detail and scene here;

Aias comes out in all his mad glory, covered in blood of the sheep he killed and holding a bloody whip. Athena asks him questions and Aias answers how he ellegedly killed the greeks and how he captured Odysseus in his tent! He then proceeds speaking on the gruesome death he has in store for his rival, that he wil whip him to death (And again cheeky Athena inserting some dark humor like "Don't hit the poor man too hard!") She then turns to Odysseus as if expecting praise! She basically asks him "Well? What do you think of the power of the gods?"

And how does Odysseus respond?

Odysseus: Well, I don't know of anyone: however I pity him, the poor man, even if he is an enemy, for he is taken over by this devastating delusion. Neither do I think myself better than this purpose; I can see that we who live are nothing more than deaf shadows.

(Translation by me)

Not only does he recover from the shock and fear even after he heard all the horrendous things mad Aias wants to do to him but he now pities Aias; He knows he used to be a powerful dignified king who is now reduced to a shadow of himself in madness and he pities his condition but he also PUTS HIMSELF IN HIS SHOES! He sees that he as well can easily become him! He admits that he doesn't feel any better than him, that he is also weak before the gods and he even speaks on how humans basically are pointless, temporary existences on earth compared to the immortals.

Athena even closes the scenes with a threat. She threats Odysseus never to be blasphemous to the gods because the gods can do this and much more to a man. In a way we also have a foreshadowing or an "easter egg" of the Odyssey here. In a way that threat or warning coming out of Athena coming in place.

However his humanity for his elleged enemy doesn't stop there for later he is the only one of the offended party of greeks to actually insist upon allowing Aias to be buried with honor. I will not speak on the moments where he says some of the most iconic things like "I hated him when it was honorable to hate him" which was done by another tumblr creator @ilions-end here

The clip that this analysis talks about is not his unparalleled diplomatic nature but rather the humaity that we analize here. And some of the phrases he uses to put himself in Aias's shoes as well as the people who love him and want to see him get honors after death. One of the phrases he uses, which seems to reflect to the words he gives to his wetnurse Euryclea (you can see in my other analysis) in which basically he advises her not to take pleasure upon the face of death. Sophocles seems to place a similar word to his mouth here with:

Odysseus: Do not rejoice, Son of Atreus, to take benefit from something not good

(Translation by me)

Basically Odysseus here shows once more the other side of his; the need to be just to others. He advises Agamemnon that he should never be happy by taking revenge with an unholy act such as leaving someone without a decent funeral. Despite the fact that in Iliad for example in the heat of battle he often threatened to leave someone without a funeral, in reality here in a calm environment he realzes that one must be just before the gods. Despite the fact that Aias threatened to do unspeacable things to him, he seems to recognize not only his pain and misery but also the nobility of his spirit to which he feels sorry to see derranged like that. Odysseus KNOWS it is not noble or right to leave someone yet alone such an honorable man without a funeral and he knows the consequences of that act would anger the gods and make them become something they ellegedly should be looking down upon.

Odysseus advises against feeling joy with such type of revenge.

Of course one can argue that it would be for his own personal benefit as well to do some last act of kindness to the man that felt wronged by the decision to hand the arms of Achilles to him (and depending on the source seems that the anger was quite righteous). However it seems to me that it is his genuine drive to do it right at least in the end, in a way showcasing one more time the complexity of character in Odysseus; a man who often makes severe mistakes or even brings controversy to the table but at the same time he has a large fose of humanity inside him and a strong will to make things right

Quite frankly Sophocles is ranking as one of my favorite post-homeric sources for Odysseus's persona and inspiration apart from my top favorite Homeric version exactly for this reason. Because we can experience the many different human emotions of this character called Odysseus of Ithaca! In this one play we see Odysseus freeze in fear even his mind having trouble to work for a second in his worry, then he experiences pity and compassion for the man that had murderous intentions towards him and finally the final tribute to that said man; having surpassed all the previous carousel of emotions he experienced and finally seeing clearly what is the right decision to make.

But what do you guys think? Let me know! ^_^

[thezombieprostitute]

The Arrangement - Part 12

Summary: Jake's done a lot of things to keep his sister, and then his niece, safe from his parent's influence and manipulation. If he wants to keep them safe, he has to marry you.

Warnings: Anxiety, Bad parents and siblings, Talking about abuse. Let me know if I missed any!

Part 11 - Part 13

Series Masterlist

It had been just over a week since your wedding. You and Jake have improved your communication. He's also managed to really set himself up in the home theater where he'd spent that first night. Apparently one thing your parents got right was the massive pair of recliners specifically for that room. Jake swears they're more comfortable than most of the beds he's slept on over the years. It makes you feel better about taking the master bedroom for yourself. Clay had visited again bringing a few duffel bags of Jake's things, including his computer. The massive screen for the theater worked really well for his setup.

While you were cooking, Clay had made sure to update Jake on the status of his family. Things were working pretty well, but there were going to be a lot of paper trails to hide so that they couldn't be followed. Or at least, not followed easily. Aisha and Cougar had both caught a couple of people following his family around that were confirmed to be employed by his parents. Hopefully now that Jake had his computer he could get some better intel on the parents' finances and connections.

But you weren't privy to that update. Jake and Clay agreed it was safer to keep you in the dark about the details. Though Jake didn't doubt your sincerity, there were still too many unknowns about you.

You really didn't mind that they got quiet whenever you were near. Your mind was already at maximum anxiety with Travis, your brother, still being in the Intensive Care Unit. Your parents had been acting unusually as the week progressed and Travis didn't get better. According to the police report he'd been seen drinking heavily with friends before trying to drive home. Usually one of his friends would be the designated driver and keep everyone's keys but, somehow, Travis had gotten his keys.

And now your parents seemed to be readjusting their life plans, and yours as well. The one time you were allowed to visit the hospital you'd overheard your parents murmuring about "he can't be seen like this," "he'll be seen as weak," and other similar thoughts. It made you worried you and Jake would be even more under their scrutiny, set to even higher standards. Your breath hitched as you realized they may demand a grandchild to help change the public perception of the family to one of hope or something like that.

You and Jake were getting ready for your first public event as a couple. You're helping Jake pick out the right suit while doing your best to answer his questions about what to expect, what is appropriate conversation, how much both of you needed to talk to others before you could leave. You know you're missing things. Jake does, too. But neither of you can think of the questions to ask so you establish a silent signal for help. Jake squeezes your hand three times and you either step in or whisper some advice in his ear. It's not a great system, but it's all you can do for now.

Jake hates how he looks in all of this but he knows it's not about him or his comfort. At least he doesn't have to wear the torture device you call a dress. The thing looks impossibly tight on you. He's worried about your ability to breathe. And the stiletto heels have you warning him you'll be on his arm all night to help you keep your balance. Jake actually takes comfort in that because he really doesn't want to be left alone at this event. Probably any event, but this first one especially.

As the car pulls up Jake takes a deep breath and you attempt the same.

"We can do this, right?" He says quietly.

"I believe we can," you nod. You gently squeeze his hand in reassurance like you did that first morning with the parents.

He nods, "let's do this."

As soon as he's able Jake is out of the car and opening your door for you. The last time he did so you were scared of each other. Now you make sure to give him a small smile of thanks as he takes your hand. The elevator ride to the party is as quiet as the one you took together your wedding night, but less oppressively so. It isn't until the elevator doors open that you both put on your fake smiles. Both of you taking small comfort in the fact that neither of you is suffering alone.

After the first couple hours Jake is ready to punch someone, anyone, just so he can be forced to leave since he's not allowed out yet. He's incredibly grateful you insisted on eating a little something beforehand. The food here is barely edible and dissolves faster than cotton candy. He hates the wine? Champagne? Whatever the hell it is, he hates the taste of it but, in following your lead, he knows he has to at least sip often enough to warrant a replacement glass every 30 minutes or so. Jake was grateful to have your weight on his arm to help keep him grounded.

Especially when Charles Blackwood, a "friend" of his from high school, showed up. Charles had been nothing but a leech throughout all of high school but Jake was desperate for some kind of friendship.

"Jacob! Where have you been?" Charles holds out his hand and Jake grips it firmly.

"I've been okay, Charles. You?"

"Holy crap, you're married now? Is that why you finally came out of hiding?"

"Sort of," he admits.

He goes to introduce you but Charles stops him. "I know this lovely lady quite well," he admits. You avert your eyes. "We were engaged for some time."

"You were?"

"Didn't she tell you?" Charles smirks. "Would've been married for two years now if her parents hadn't stepped in."

"For once I'm glad they did," you interject. "You're a conman who shouldn't be here."

Charles gives a small laugh, "well look who finally grew up. Too bad you didn't pick up on what was going on before I got you into bed." Your cheeks burn with embarrassment. "How are those dolphin projects going?"

"Sharks," Jake snipes. "Her focus was on sharks."

"Ooo, nerd standing up for nerd. How cute."

"You need to leave us alone," Jake fumes. "She is my wife and I won't let you insult her."

Charles scoffs, "since when can you fight?"

"Since boot camp."

That gives Charles pause. He searches Jake's face for tells that he's lying but finds none.

"Yeah, alright," Charles concedes. "Just don't ruin this party for me. Lots of other potential targets."

As soon as he was out of hearing range you let out a breath. "I'm so sorry," your voice quavers. "I should have...I should have told you."

"Told me what? That your ex-fiance is an asshole? That's not something you need to divulge."

"No...that...that I'm not..."

Jake leans in so that you're the only one who hears him. "You're more than just your virginity status. I'm sorry your first time was with him, he doesn't seem the type to make your pleasure a priority, but I'm not upset that you've had sex before."

You take as deep a breath as you can to steady yourself. "Thank you for that."

"So, can we leave the party yet?"

You check Jake's watch, trying not to be obvious about it. "We've got at least another half hour."

"When we do get out of here, would you be up for going out for some real food?"

You chuckle, "maybe delivery? Or take out? I'm not going to be able to eat much in this dress."

"Fair. And thank you for helping me get through all of this."

"Thank you for listening to my advice," you counter.

"Always," Jake affirms.

Part 11 - Part 13

Series Masterlist

Tagging: @alicedopey; @ashdoctor; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn; @embarrasingmf;

@irishhappiness; @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @lokislady82;

@ronearoundblindly; @thiquefunlover63

[c-is-for-circinate]

MCU Rewatch #1: IRON MAN

General Impressions: Yes, good, it holds up, thank god.

I want to write ten thousand words of meta about how this movie redefined the superhero genre of its day. I had to cut this post down SO MUCH, guys, you don't even know.

Not only is it still really entertaining, there is enough in this movie to be really worth picking apart. It's a fascinating entrant into this whole marathon, because as the first movie, it doesn't have anything else in the franchise to fall back on. This was a standalone shot in the dark, an attempt to make a blockbuster out of a superhero nobody had heard of and a washed-up actor who'd last been notable as a random love interest on Ally McBeal. It had to stand on its own merits, no greater universe to buoy it up, and it did.

I am going to have to write a separate post about the things that Iron Man promised us for this franchise, and how the rest of the MCU did or did not deliver. Damnit.

The Hero: Tony Stark is a fascinating guy.

Iron Man does a really good job of embracing him as a flawed disaster of a man who's a victim of his own good fortune: this guy is both the smartest and the richest man in very nearly every room he's ever been in, and it has made him a mess.

His emotional journey is believable and clearly shown. Tony flips his entire life upside down to go from arms dealer to superhero, except the whole movie makes it very clear that literally every step of the way he's being impossibly, inescapably himself with it. The man who doesn't give a shit about his very prestigious award is the same man who doesn't give a shit about his stock prices tanking or weapons dev being the entire foundation of his company. Part of why it works so well for Tony to out himself as Iron Man at the end of the movie is because in every possible way, they're the same guy -- ostentatious, flamboyant, dramatic, incredibly intense about some things and super blase about others, obsessive, superhuman on the skin and very human underneath.

Compared to brooding Christopher Nolan Batman or the pressures and anxieties of Sam Raimi Spiderman, both of whom are constantly preoccupied with questions of Good and Evil, Tony feels like a creature from a completely different genre. It's effective, unique, and well-carried by the movie.

The Villain: Pretty solid!

Obadiah Stane is a well-executed foil to Tony, which is exactly what this movie needs. He's contained and responsible where Tony's wild. He's respectable. And yet, so much of this movie is about complacency. Tony was too busy being a playboy bouncing off the walls to pay attention to who his fortune and his company hurt. Obie paid attention to all of it, and decided he didn't care. The movie ends up saying some interesting things, this way, about carelessness vs. callousness. Tony and Obie working together destroyed a lot of lives, but carelessness can be fixed, if you're smacked in the face with what you've done. Obie looked the man he half-raised in the face and tried to murder him in person when the hands off method failed.

The bit where this sixty-something-year-old multimillionaire businessman decided that what he really needed to do to secure his fortune and future, was personally get in the robotic suit and try to kill Tony himself? That's definitely leaning into genre conventions at the expense of logic. But hey, it's a superhero movie. Sometimes you have to let these things go.

The Ensemble: Thematic and relevant.

There are really only three other characters who matter in the movie: Yinsin, Pepper, and Rhodey. Yinsen is a pretty standard 'older mentor who dies to set the hero off on his journey,' and he fulfills his extremely classic role suitably. Pepper's an intelligent, competent love interest whose emotions towards her boss and friend are believably complex. Both good!

Rhodey is so interesting to me, on this rewatch. He's the one person who's put forth as Tony's actual friend, rather than a coworker, although they both occupy a similar professional space. He tries hard to be a good friend! But Rhodey is a part of the military-industrial complex, and when Tony comes back from the desert and starts to rock the boat -- when he stops playing along, stops wanting to build weapons, stops playing the game -- then Rhodey is there to try and nudge him back. You must have PTSD, Rhodey and Pepper think. You're making strange decisions. We've all been living in and benefiting from this system forever, what's wrong with you that it's suddenly a problem now? It was understated, but well done for what it was.

The Plot: Reasonably sensical!

The plot of Iron Man is easy to follow, maintains good tension throughout, and ties well together beginning to end. I don't have a lot to say about this one that I didn't already cover above, I'm just prepared for a slog through movies where "this plot makes sense" is a sky-high bar, so the fact that Iron Man not only clears that but does so enjoyably and well is pretty great.

The Franchise: It's hard to talk about how Iron Man relates to the movies that came before it when there are none, and talking about how it inspires the movies that come next is a WHOLE separate essay. Skip this one.

VERDICT: A solid 8/10

I know that for the MCU, this is pretty high on the list of movies that manage to be good at all, but I'm entering into this experience with an open mind and a willingness to discover that many of these movies are better than I actually expect. Iron Man is a very good superhero movie. I will probably watch it again someday, and I am not sad I watched it again now.

[betterbooktitles]

The screen I spend the most time with these days is a black LCD monitor attached to a PC in an indie bookshop on Long Island. I spend whole days looking at point-of-sale software called Anthology which also keeps track of the store’s inventory. Often, it’s accurate. Occasionally, it says we have three copies of The Bell Jar that have simply disappeared from the face of the Earth. No one stole them. They were raptured, like socks that never make it out of the dryer.

If you’ve never worked a retail job, let me tell you what it’s like: you come in with a little spring in your step, caffeinated, and ready to greet your coworkers and update them on how terrible your last shift without them was. Though the memory of the previous shift’s slog might give you a little anxiety, and though a hangover can make your fuse a little short, you’re in a better mood at the start of the day than at the end. Tedious tasks like ordering and unboxing books (sci-fi movies did not prepare me for how much cardboard there would be in the future) seem manageable in the morning. Customers seem kind. The items you’re selling feel necessary to human happiness. Whatever is going on in your life is put on pause to manage store operations, and time flies. Then, by 3 PM, whether you had time for lunch or not, you wish you had done anything else with your day — or, better yet — your life. 

While the back-straining work of moving inventory around the store or walking the floor helping customers all day without a second to sit down might make you physically tired, the real work of retail is mental and forces employees to become part-machine. Retail workers have to ask the same three questions (“Rewards?” “Bag?” “Receipt?”) and reply to the same three questions (“Have it?” “Bathroom?” “Manager?!?!?”) for 8-10 of their most worthwhile waking hours. 

In bookstores, there is the added expectation that while you’re participating in this mind-numbing routine, you’re at least able to pretend to like and engage with literature. I'm not arguing that people working at Old Navy aren’t eloquent or as over-educated for their job as I am. If they aren’t teenagers, most retail employees I’ve encountered have, by virtue of talking to coworkers and customers all day, the same high emotional intelligence as the smartest people I know who chain smoke outside bars. Still, my guess is that it’s rare for a customer to see a clothing store employee folding clothes, and think “I wonder what their opinion is of the latest Ann Patchett book” or “I wonder if they read Knausgård and run a book club when they’re not helping me find jeans in my size.” People see booksellers doing the same tedious tasks as any other retail employee and assume they not only possess unlimited knowledge about the state of publishing but also have unlimited hours to read while in the store. Customers hold booksellers to an impossible intellectual standard. When they fail to live up to said standard, they’re subjected to conversations like this:

“You haven’t read the latest Kingsolver?” a customer will ask, “Why not? What about this one? Or that one? It’s so good though! I thought you would have read all of these!” 

What’s a shame is that they think they’re being kind when they half-recommend, half-admonish bookstore employees. Worse are the people who are flat-out rude. Case in point, a man came into the store at hour six of my shift, and without any preamble, treating me like I was a human Google search bar, said the name of an author, then started spelling the name. When I asked for a second to look up what I assumed he was asking for, he rolled his eyes and began spelling slowly and loudly: “PAUL. P…A…U…” 

Sadly, I’m too old to be treated that way and without thinking I raised my hand and said sternly “Don’t do that.” Now some oblivious retired banker is walking around Long Island asking himself why indie booksellers are so mean. My Midwestern niceness has disappeared, my helpful attitude is now nonexistent. I have been worn down by the people I’m paid to be kind to.

Read the rest here.

[fangsforhire]

Hell wasn’t like the movies at all. 

Lucien understood that the perpetual loops of torment made it far worse than any film could portray. He stood on the edge of a rooftop, the chill of the evening wind brushing against his skin, as he contemplated the depths of his own existence. Could a person ever truly grasp that their greatest enemy lay within themselves? Ha, he doubted it as he braced himself, a storm of conflicting emotions raging inside him, trying to summon the courage to step into the one place he had vowed never to enter. Desperate times, however, called for desperate measures, and this wasn’t the first promise he had broken to himself.

The wind howled; a rebellious force that seemed determined to shove him off his precarious perch. He glanced down at the empty pack of cigarettes littered at his feet, remnants of his nerves, and the several bottles empty in his wake, each gulp a futile attempt to calm his nerves. He was no stranger to movement; his life had been a whirlwind of racing heartbeats—running like a wild stallion, driving recklessly, or teleporting with a flicker of will. But to teleport into Hell? That was a conundrum that gnawed at his mind, taunting him with its impossibility. 

He had no choice; he’d have to embrace flight. He needed to cast aside every shred of hesitation and confront his fears directly. The anxiety of unfurling his wings felt absurd, yet it clung to him like a second skin. They had always been there, intertwined with his very essence. While he grappled with his identity, he felt no shame in existence itself. He hadn’t asked to be created, much like no human requested to be born. Yet the world was relentless, and if anyone could resonate with that harsh truth, it was apparently- well… Lucifer.

Satan—his suspected father—was labelled inherently evil by society’s standards. The phrase "the Devil made me do it" served as a feeble excuse, a cowardly attempt to shift blame for vile actions. Lucien loathed that sentiment. He might not personify perfection, but he owned his mistakes, never allowing others to claim credit for his deeds. It wasn’t just fervor that instilled that conviction in him; it was an unyielding sense of integrity.

With their tangled webs of emotions and flaws, humans gave him an itch beneath his skin. Lately, they had surrounded him more than he would have liked. His frequent visits to Lux had morphed into a trial of patience. Initially, he had brushed off the unexpected absence as a mere business trip. But as the days slipped into weeks, relentless frustration morphed into an annoying unease. Where could Lucifer Morningstar be?  It had taken him a few more inquiries and subtle investigations to uncover the truth; the man he was searching for wasn’t on Earth anymore. Ironically, he had even entertained the ill-advised idea of summoning a demon for information, the allure of that risky option swiftly evaporating as memories of their chaotic nature surfaced. So, the only viable alternative remained—he must go there himself.

One final sigh escaped his lips, a deep, shaky breath as he finally accepted his fate. Madness coursed through him as he exhaled and let go of the rooftop’s solid surface. His wings unfurled, stiff and unkempt—a testament to neglect—and with a few urgent ruffles, he spread them wide, embracing the exhilarating sensation of the air beneath them. Though he was out of practice, the mechanics came rushing forth, and soon he was soaring into the night sky. 

With each powerful flap, he drew closer to his destination. His senses sharpened, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he focused on the task ahead. Yet, in his relief, he miscalculated. The eagerness of his approach sent him spiralling downwards, plummeting—a cannonball of chaos—like a meteor destined to collide. He careened into a pillar, the impact sending a cloud of ash into the air as he tumbled face down, the bitter taste of soot filling his mouth.

‘Ah hell ---’

Quite literally. 

[illarian-rambling]

Thanks for the tag @mk-writes-stuff!

Character Interaction Tag

Rules: post the OCs of the people who tagged you and one of your OCs and say how yours would interact with theirs

MK's OC: Belladonna is a noblewoman in her early 20s of a space station floating in the void. She has recently been betrothed to a man she hates and informed that she is going to be replaced as the heir by a new younger sibling she will have soon. Belladonna is a highly anxious, neurotic young woman who holds herself and others whose appearances reflect on her own to an impossibly high standard and punishes herself (primarily via not eating, as she has severe anorexia) whenever these standards aren’t met. She has a kind heart and a clever, incisive mind behind all of her struggles, but years of abuse from her parents have driven her to disbelieve her own value and skills.

My OC: Ivander Montane is a 30 year old corrupt detective from the trade city of Unity. He has blue blood and double-pointed ears, wears fancy suits, and walks with a cane. His estranged family runs the banks of Unity, however he left them years ago, and in doing so, broke a divine contract, which left him cursed to slowly and painfully be transmuted into mist over the course of many years. Personality-wise, he's kind of a privileged shithead. He's got the catty attitude and love of gossip of a middle school girl, and can insult your outfit just as acutely. He doesn't have a sincere bone in his body and is afraid of any form of intimacy. However, deep down, he really just wants a friend and to not be in pain anymore. Show him the slightest hint of compassion and he will crumble. His hobbies include being a hater, fashion, and marksmanship (he's a crack shot with a rune rifle). All in all, he's got the snark of a drag queen, the heart of a lonely noir detective, and a body that's been through a cheese grater.

How they'd interact: Honestly, I think Belladonna and Ivander have a lot to bond over. They're both from abusive, aristocratic familys. They both tend to be effete and neurotic. They both have a complications relationship with power. However, they've also got about a snowball's chance in hell of actually talking these things out. I think Belladonna would be immediately untrusting of Ivander, which isn't a bad move. For his part, Ivander would probably underestimate Belladonna's cunning, seeing only her anxiety. If they ended up as rivals, I think they'd play some absolute mindgames with each other. Death Note level shenanigans. If they ended up as allies, I think Ivander would see a lot of himself in Belladonna. He'd encourage her to reach her potential, to not care what her family thinks, and to curb her self-destructive tendencies, as he knows what roads that can lead down. He'd also 100% try to set her and Cassie up, likely recruiting Nellie to help. Probably though, Ivander would just end up as some weird information broker Belladonna knows and trades witty banter with. Cassie would probably end up throwing him into a wall like undercooked pasta for being a shit.

Thanks again, hope you like this one! I'll tag @kaylinalexanderbooks @somethingclevermahogony @tinywater @pluppsauthor and anyone else who wants to play :)

[box-dwelling]

So I have kind of a weird sprite analysis hypothesis.

So I see a lot of stuff about the Von Karma siblings both grabbing their shoulders like Manfred does. But looking again I think for Miles it's noticeably different.

Here's Manfred

Here's Franziska

And then here's Miles.

So Franziskas is basically a spot on mirror of her dad. But Miles isn't grabbing his shoulder he's grabbing his arm. It's also notably his left arm he's grabbing where the other two are grabbing their right. I don't think these are actually the parallel were treating them as.

There's also what they're used for. Fran and MVK have the shoulder grab as a damage Sprite but with Edgeworth it's something he frequently does during conversation. So I went through and looked at when he uses this sprite and I found something interesting.

Pre the Reval of what happened during DL6, It's almost always involving how he perceives himself to be failing to live up to MVKs standards (and his own) as a procecutor or when talking about his connection with Phoenix or Gregory. Now we can take that as repressed gay thoughts or we can take it as being ashamed of his familial and platonic connection with, respect for, and losses to defense attorneies who MVK does not think highly of at all.

Then after that it's often when he's scared Phoenix or other people are going to think less of him or that they already do. Like how he's scared in RFA about how his car being the crime scene is implicating him in the murdering or how he thinks Lana has betrayed him.

Then in addition to this during FMT it's used very liberally whenever MVK, his practices or what he turned Miles (and also Franziska) into are brought up. It's also used a lot in reference to Celeste which I take as being an issue with bring up suicide given he's talking to a man who is very angry that he just faked his own and the similarities he feels between himself and adrian. It's also used involving de killer and also Maya's Kidnapping. Initially I thought they just needed a serious sprite but looking more into it, I think this is another instance of him being scared of Phoenix's reaction. He knows during these conversations that Engarde hired De Killer. He knows that this is going to hurt Phoenix like hell when he find out. He's also probably scared he'll get the blame. This compounds when he finds out about Maya because now Phoenix's best friend is likely to die because he will probably win this trial. And he's worried that if the rescue attempt doesn't work that blame is also on him.

BTTT is more of the same. Sprite is used when he is directly preventing Phoenix from accessing Maya. Also often in reference to Dahlia and specifically the fact he found out about the trial where she was found guilty. Meaning he knows something about Phoenix he wasn't directly told.

So with this there's some information we can gather. This is something Edgeworth does when he's feeling guilty and scared of retribution. It is fundamentally linking his guilt and fear. But what triggers these emotions changes throughout the games. In the first game it's guilt of not being a true Von karma. In the later games, it's guilt of his previous actions, and also guilt whenever he has to do something that might upset someone he cares for or respects. Now for anyone who has anxiety caused by abuse, this probably looks deeply familiar. It does to me at least. Edgeworth sees any situation where he thinks he's at fault, no matter how small or not to blame he is, and reacts in fear. He is terrified of messing up in any way. He scared that any slip up will be ment with retaliation. This also lines up with what we know about Von Karma. Perfection is an impossible standard and Investigations shows that MVK would verbally abuse him whenever he failed to meet it.

Now I want to say, I don't think this is Edgeworth not fully deconstructing his perfection complex. I think he has. This is clearly a trauma response. It's instinct.

Now I have 2 theories about the action itself. One I'm certain of, the other is a little more head canon crackpot scheme.

Options 1: this is a self soothing thing. He's literally hugging himself. He's closing himself off and putting up a barrier to protect himself.

Options 2: if this was AA4 and I noticed it with perceive, I'd wonder if this was specifically an old wound hes instinctively covering or protecting himself from. Maybe whenever he slipped up Von Karma would enact a physical punishment like a punch to the gut or to hit his arm. The head turn is literally a flinch.

Or he could just be doing it whenever he has gay thoughts idk

[laura1633]

I'm not a huge Lando fan or hater, but tbh I'm pretty shocked by all the vitriol directed at him since the race. Like I don't think landos comments in the interview were great, he could have been calmer, more diplomatic and eloquent. But... he isn't those things? From all the interviews of him I've seen since 2019, the constant traits he shows are that he's anxious, emotional, and not great at stringing a sentence together on his best day (which is probably at least partially related to his dyslexia, a learning disorder that can absolutely impact someone's ability to find the right words and express themselves verbally).

And so this guy, who skews very emotional, who has just experienced a crash and DNFd from the race, is put in front of a bunch of cameras and asked a bunch of questions while hes still full of adrenaline, and is now being absolutely devoured because he was mad and reactive and didn't offer a carefully nuanced perspective in that moment?

I just think people are holding lando to an impossibly high standard.

Response is below the cut again so that people can scroll past but given this ask was a different perspective I thought it only fair to share and respond.

I honestly don't know what type of reaction Lando is getting on social media or in any other space. I had to switch off from everywhere except here when I started to read people talking about Max deserving another crash like Silverstone 2021 which I thought was an absolutely vile thing to say and the sport would be better off without "fans" like that.

The reason I said that I give Lando a lot of leeway is because I have always found him to be awkward in interviews . I don't actually mean for that to come across as rude, as someone who has anxiety and adhd I also struggle a lot with expressing my thoughts, especially verbally. So I suppose awkward isn't the correct word, perhaps a better word is uncomfortable.

I also interpret things differently from some others so when Lando has said in the past "I should have won", I interpret it as him being hard on himself rather than self entitled. I also noticed that when he was talking about the effects of the safety car in Canada and saying he would have won without it a lot of the quotes cut off there whereas I know Lando went on to say something along the lines of "but the safety car helped me in Miami". It's clickbait reporting and I have also seen it happen to other drivers such as Max and Lewis. A lot of the blame can lie with the way things are reported and sensationalised.

To me personally the comments Lando made yesterday went beyond 'not giving a nuanced answer' but that is just my opinion. I should also say that its my opinion as a Max fan and I will always be honest and upfront about the fact that I am biased when it comes to anything to do with Max.

What I will say is that I don't think there was any need for the media to ask about their friendship. They could have just asked about the incident itself. I think the media have been building up and waiting for this moment and that is why we have heard so much about their friendship over the last few months. The media will be loving this as they really seem to enjoy making a soap opera out of a sport.

I make no attempt to say I see this through neutral eyes, I see this as a Max supporter. At the same time I don't think there is any need for people to be targeted and attacked on social media, I wouldn't want that for Lando in the same way as I wouldn't want that for Max. These are real people at the end of the day.

We have seen worse contact between other drivers and worse comments and reactions and people have made up and got on with things so lets see how it goes.

[nokingsonlyfooles]

Oh God. David Heard There's Room Service In Hell!!

Once again, I am testing my drawing ability by NOT doing any of the MANY illustrations I need, but I would've been sad if I couldn't finish an illustration. And look! I made it! I CAN DRAW! (And collage, obvs not my suitcase or BG, but all Public Domain)!! Well, my stylus needs a new battery, BUT, IN THEORY, I CAN DRAW! It's low res like all my test images, and I don't think I'm gonna put Vivziepop out of business anytime soon, but I'm fond of it.

That's why I'm so sad that it'll NEVER EVER HAPPEN. As a storyteller (albeit an obscure one) let me elucidate...

Strictly in terms of narrative viability, David hails from an incompatible universe. For an Invisible, he's middling. The Compelling Voice he's so fond of seems to be standard-issue, he's just more of an asshole about using it. In Tin Soldier and Soldier On, he's not all that hard to beat. Some people even have a natural immunity! He's only a threat in the first place because nobody knows what he can do.

But the minute he rolls up to the Hazbin Hotel, not only does nobody know what he can do, nobody has that natural immunity, and it would be hard as hell (haha) to beat him with their combat-friendly magic system. David isn't doing that Capcom-esque "freeze the enemy for a few seconds while they're looking at it" hypnosis. He's issuing unbreakable commands. If you're not deaf, the only way to beat him is to forget what he said. And that seems like it would be difficult, if not impossible, for most of the cast. Alastor certainly won't stoop to inflicting head trauma or hypnosis or amnesiac-levels of liquor on himself.

And that MIGHT not be a problem, except as soon as Dave meets Al he's gonna go from zero to nemesis in about three seconds flat. "Hmm, let's see. Neat freak, carefully-curated personality, perma-smile, never a moment's weakness... That's a pathetic little traumatized man-baby and I'm going to pull him out of his shell if I need to use a crab fork!" And, canonically, Alastor is also willing to make enemies that quickly. David has a sense of humour and no sense of self preservation, combat tentacles and veiled threats ain't gonna do it. Round one, David's gonna mop the floor with the Radio Demon.

...And by that, I mean he'd stuff Alastor into one of Niffty's frilliest little outfits and literally make him mop the floor, and even Charlie encouraging him to be a better person wouldn't get him to quit. Also, he'd be ignoring her and bending over backwards to get Angel's attention.

"Oh, listen. The man is over one hundred years old with zero interest in one-night stands or whirlwind romances. Prohibition isn't a thing anymore, drinking and dancing just doesn't cut it. Give him a chance to develop a fetish for something a little bit taboo..."

"I̸̠̤̐̄̄ ̸͕̝͙̌A̸̪̅M̴̭̰̙̎̓ ̶͓̻̐̉L̷̹͕̍I̷̯͗T̷̫̄Ȩ̶̾̋R̴̝̥͒A̷͔̩͋̃̕Ļ̵͗͜L̶̘̈́Y̵͇̓͗̂ ̴̼̪̘͠Ā̷̠̽̆ ̶͍͓̊̉C̷̣͕̺͆̃͝A̵͙̾̅N̶̥̬̮̄N̴̤̯̬̒̉̚I̴̩̜̍B̷͈̪̩̄À̴̝̦L̶̪͂͛͗!̶̟̆"

"That's not a fun night out. It's barely even a meal, what with the garbage they're feeding people these days. I imagine everyone tastes like a fucking 'Cool Ranch Dorito.'" [while making quote marks with both hands] "Isn't he from Louisiana? They invented spicy! Tell me, my deer fellow, is the cross-dressing and domination lighting up any dials?"

"Ì̴̗ ̶̧̫͓͋W̵͜͝Í̸̗͋L̴͔͆̊̌L̴̨̜͚͂ ̸͈̤́Ḱ̵̳̩͜Í̷̘̾L̶̨̫̬̉͋̌Ļ̵̱̗͐͊ ̴̧̣͊̄̈́Y̴̛͖̺͓̓̐O̶̢̦̍̀U̷̠̞͇̎ ̷̨̛̮̭I̷̙̜̽N̸̘̣͙̆ ̵̞͑͝Y̷̰̭̽O̷̟̘̹̓Ủ̶̢̏R̷͉͑̄̀ ̷̧̧̤̎Ŝ̶̱͈̃L̵̰͋Ȅ̸̜̗̙̊̍E̷͇̦̒P̷͈̝̅̆͌.̴̡͈̅͑̓͜"

"My good man, I have unlimited access to drugs and a fun new activity, WHY WOULD I SLEEP? What shall we try next? Do you have any drugs, Angel? Oh, of course you do! Do you think he's more of an upper or a downer person? I think a few muscle relaxants might loosen up that permanent rictus of social anxiety, but God only knows. You must be smoking a crate of cigarettes a day! Do you even brush? Your teeth, I mean. Do you suppose those lovely people at Lourdes make a mouthwash...?"

And Charlie would say, clasping her little hands, "Okay! What if we make some popcorn and talk about our childhood traumas? Yaaaay!"

But David would, inevitably, pass out. Most likely after binging and doing untold damage with Angel. And Alastor would kill him... And that's where we have the biggest fucking plot problem of all. Alastor's go-to method of disposal is tearing people to pieces while broadcasting it on the radio. And it seems like their screaming continues for quite some time, perhaps eternally.

I have expressed this in song form, because I have a weird brain and I couldn't resist.

Wait, wait, nevermind the eternal torment. Can these little hellions hear me? Test, test, is this thing on? Pardon me, could you quiet down a bit? I have a few things I’d like to… Will you stop screaming? Ugh. EVERYBODY SHUT UP AND LISTEN RIGHT NOW! That’s better. I have a little message for my executive producer. Well! I say! Colour me startled, you fulfilled your vow Think you’ve won? But I’ve barely begun! I’m always looking for new fans to wow Can you hear me NOW? [aside] Will you screamers sing backup if I command it? Can I get a little harmony? (We… can’t help ourselves?) I am eternal, and guess who’s just boosted my signal So I can reach all of you lovely new people? (We can’t help ourselves!) It’s your own Radio Demon! What was he thinking? (We can’t help ourselves!) What was he drinking? Ha! His dial must be twisted! Now I’m serenading the damned for my infinite span All according to plan! Am I a madman or a genius? I’m a pianist! Take that, FCC I’m a wonder, your saviour Please excuse my rude behaviour, (but the demon sure done fucked up!) Think he did me a favour? Silence my vocals? A failure! I’m louder and I’m certainly braver So crank the signal to the noise, and enjoy my compelling voice It’s nice to have all these new toys, (but our deer friend is annoyed) A Spirit of Radio beats a demon blow for blow This Invisible is crackling on the air! Well, one does like to believe Though you’re stuck, I’m almost free! That’s what you think! Your weak signal can’t compare Though you’ve had a little fun Your broadcast is done, and it’s time for your payback I’m in control Too bad you atomized my soul! … Not this attention-starved, brandy-addled, overgrown twink Guilty! What could be more absurd? A plagiarist bird Tweety-pie can’t even sing, his theft is pitchy You call that bitchy? I’m afraid that’s not entertainment! You're looking for a new twist? Then let’s remix the arrangement! Is Al as stiff as he projects? What sorts of kinks do you suspect? I’ve seen lacy details with my very eyes! He lies! And if I Tiked a Tok or two Well, there’s nothing he can do! A V̷̰͖̉̂͝İ̶̙D̵̛̻̮̙͛̕E̴̼̱̕Ŏ̷͆ͅ?̷̗͎̞̏̅! If I did, you can’t delete it That's the truth! When I find you in here, Ÿ̴͕̚Õ̸̠̝̕Ů̵̩̹Ŕ̸͔ ̸̬̋̂̔͜T̸̮̙͌̕Ő̵͔͕̑̄R̵̩̣̅͌̌͜M̷̝̹̾̏Ĕ̶̦͕̟Ň̶̮͊Ṱ̷̲̈̔̈ ̵̡̹̟̑Ẅ̷̝́͝I̷͉͋ͅL̴͎̞̎L̶̯͓͑ ̵̬͐͐͝Ḅ̸͚̬̅Ẹ̴̎̿͠ ̴̻͉̲̐̈́͠N̵̖̟̤͑̽E̴͙͎͘V̸̡͕̦̾̕Ė̵̝͈̀Ŕ̴̺-̸̡̱̇̾̉E̴̠̣̊̐̋Ń̵͔̬̝̑D̴̡̬͙̓İ̴͔͋͊N̸̞̙͐̒Ĝ̷̼̺̐͆.̸̤̭́̐̅.̸̰̓͝.̷̤̬̌ #MaidioDemon is trending! Y̴̼̿͆O̶̟͇͊̏͜Ǔ̸͈ ̴̨̫͘I̷̡͓̜̍̈́̽N̸̜̩̉̄͝S̵͚͈̭̅̓Ĩ̸̢̯͇͘Ṗ̶̩̭̦I̴̱͑D̷̨͖̚ͅ,̴̥͕̌̈̾ ̸̛̳̈́Ṭ̶̢̠͒Ė̸̱̼̕C̸̙̥̈́H̵͓̠̔̀N̷̖͝Ǒ̶̬Ć̶͔̃͘Ř̶͙͍͠Ä̴̟́̊T̴̳̉̊͜I̶̞̓͝C̵̢̨̲͐̇̎.̵̼̏͋.̷͎̆ͅ.̸̘̜̒ Darling, please, you’re lost in static One thing’s clear! You must be wishing that you took the L, you poor deer Say farewell. I’m very grateful that you gave me Hell Oh, this will be swell! [Vivziepop, distantly:] Fuck!

"Stayed Gone" is a patter song and I can't keep up with it as I read it, but I think the lyrical parts scan, at least. A-heh. Please excuse my hubris, but it's doubtful anyone will see this.

Of course, I would never torment someone with arguably GNC-phobic revenge porn, but that guy IS NOT ME. Your only hope for dealing with David is if Vaggie decides he's more of a threat than an amusement and straight up kills him, and that's not a plot, that's a cul-de-sac. So this little not-a-fic is all you'll get from me about this unsustainable situation.

...Alright, I might put Alastor in a maid outfit if anyone cares, but I really should be illustrating. I have precisely 13 to do before I can post more story! Unless I decide to post it anyway!

All apologies to Vivziepop, whom I've name-checked as one of a few creators I'd sell out or saw off my leg to work with. But - although I am tempting fate - prrrobably no one will see this. I'm just doin' a little practice and amusing myself.

Right, Tumblr?

[twothpaste]

I love writing older Lucas. I like to imagine he takes really great care of his loved ones, once he's old enough that he doesn't always need to be taken care of himself. That he selflessly gives others the kind of patient presence and concern he wished he'd been given, in his darkest hours growing up. Guy who has a profound positive impact on everyone around him, but doesn't see himself as anything special. His psychic powers are downright cataclysmic yet he doesn't think much of them. Declines every offer of preferential treatment or status. Can be considered a leader, though it's more by example than by actually directing others. Gets his boots dirty with everyone else, simply does what needs to be done, lets his actions speak louder than his modest words.

He's got mad anxiety, and knows how to manage it. He seems like the steadiest most stalwart person on the face of the earth, and he kind of is, but the inside of his head is constantly swirling and broiling with more thoughts and feelings than he could ever hope to name. He thinks too deeply for his own good. Holds himself to nigh-impossible standards, pressured by his heroic reputation and his world's gruesome history to be a paragon of human virtue - even though he's literally Just Lucas. He's haunted by like a billion ghosts of the past. He can bend, but nothing will ever break him again. He wields that baseball bat Porky left for him like a noble burden, no matter how scratched or dinged up it gets. Folks come to him for advice, expecting him to play the role of moral compass, and he tries his best for their sake, though he's got little faith in his own judgment. He gets lost in his head for hours or days or weeks at a time, but always makes it back home.

In his heart of hearts he really just wants to eat stew and read books and watch sunsets. He's been 70 years old since he was like 11. He grows into a tall sturdy blocky body, he looks and sounds like his craggy stern-jawed firewood-slinging father, but he's still just as gentle as he ever was. He never stops missing his mom. He likes singing, even though he's just okay at it. He plays the guitar, but only acoustic, and it's just about the boringest thing about him. He's a little better at the guitar. Once he caught a sort of big bass while fishing and he was, if only for one brief evening, really proud of himself. Lucas.