#he. might also add a slur. dad please cut that out. but like. he would think stacey looks like me.

[stickers-on-a-laptop]

the thing about being brown haired and brown eyed with a white-passing skin tone is that yeah my dad is right. everyone DOES look like me. especially if they have glasses

[morbidly-malicious-muffins]

What Kind of Music Slashers Would Vibe to Headcanons♪

This little thing popped into my head. Fyi, the canon timelines are thrown out the window for this so... Yeah.

Bring forth the bop~

RZ Michael Myers

"Let my weapons be your children, let my armies be your damned. Try to suffer on in silence, try to stop me if you can." --- This Cold Black by Slipknot

I think he'd really enjoy metal in general. I can totally see him unknowingly stomping to some Marilyn Manson and Meshuggah, though the lyrics and message probably will just fly over his head.

He listens to some heavy shit, but probably all the more mainstream bands/artists.

The loudness and organized chaos of the genre fills the void in his soul and reflects the state of his mind, despite his stoic and non-verbal outer demeanor.

Someone please do everyone a favor and introduce Michael to some death metal. Admit it, it really fits his aesthetic.

This is just based on speculation, but I suspect a 70% possibility of RZ Michael resonating with Cannibal Corpse. Fight me.

He hates classical music with a burning passion. Back in Smith's Grove, they played Bach's Air Sul G on tap. (its canon in the first movie lmao) He hates it. Mikey no likey.

Freddy Krueger

"No stop signs, speed limit, nobody's gonna slow me down. Like a wheel, gonna spin it, nobody's gonna mess me around." --- Highway to Hell, by AC/DC

Freddy listens to classic rock, period.

This guy is ngl a supporter of music taste discrimination. You listen to pop? Disgusting. You listen to Jazz? Disgusting. Classic rock is the epitome of all music.

He'll call you music-related slurs you never knew existed.

As stubborn adamant as Freddy is, he does harbor some guilty pleasures, including 70's hair metal and glam rock. Pshh. What a heckin hypocrite.

Some of his all time favorites are Guns N' Roses, Led Zeppelin, Van Halen, and AC/DC.

(Basic bitch)

*Hip thrust movements to go with his 'The Sprinkler' dance moves, Welcome to the Jungle by Guns N' Roses blasting in the background*

OG Michael Myers

He doesn't listen to music, but if he did, he would probably enjoy Jazz.

Michael only listens to Miles Davis because he enjoys his music and can't be bothered to discover more artists.

Oml Michael I know Miles Davis is amazing but don't neglect other iconic artists plzzz. Someone please make him listen to some Teddy Wilson and/or Dave Brubeck.

I imagine him sitting stiff-straight on a rocking chair (he just likes how it moves), knife in his lap, rocking and zoning-out relaxing to 'Blue in Green'. (I love that piece)

#AfterHeFinallyKillsLaurie

#RetirementGoals

He also hates classical music because of the same reason as RZ Myers. Seriously, if either of them so much as hears the opening chord of Air Sul G, expect the speaker to be stomped to a pulp in a split second.

Bubba Sawyer

Alright let's all be honest with ourselves... 70's pop and country is Bubba's shit.

Look me in the face and tell me he wouldn't adore ABBA, The Jackson 5, and Dolly Parton. Thats right you can't

Everytime 'Dancing Queen' starts playing on the radio, Bubba will drop everything and start busting down.

Ain't nothing and nobody stoppin him. Drayton is powerless against the supreme sovereignty that is ABBA.

But let's also appreciate the fact that our Bubster can motherfuckin get down. *wipes sweat from forehead + heart eyes*

He would also do passionate lip sync with his heart and soul, to Dolly Parton's 'I Will Always Love You'.

50% chance of him starting to cry right after he finishes his earnest performance.

*Holding Bubba in your arms, rubbing comforting circles on his back as he bawls hysterically, incoherently babbling on about how much he loves you*

I also feel for some reason he'd really like Joan Jett & The Blackhearts.

Thomas Hewitt

"For one moment, I wish you'd hold your stage, with no feelings at all. Open minded, I'm sure I used to be so free." --- Citizen Erased by Muse

Y'know what I have a hard time imagining the type of music Tommy listens to. Kutos, Mr. Hewitt, you have defeated me.

siKE

(This is where I yeet the timeline out of the window y'all)

Thomas enjoys Muse, Evanescence, and Radiohead. (Fight me)

He just loves how emotional their songs are. He'd have one earbud in as he works away at his projects for hours. The music helps him concentrate, it is also a source of emotional support to him.

Hearing the heart-wretching lyrical content of 'Lost in Paradise' performed so beautifully by Amy Lee's angellic voice is really comforting to him. It's like hearing about another person's experiences. It makes him feel less alone in dealing with his emotional and mental turmoils and burdens.

The first time Thomas heard 'Creep' by Radiohead, he almost cried.

He also listens to My Chemical Romance sometimes. He only knows the Black Parade album, but he loves it. If 'Creep' didn't make him cry, listening to that entire album from top to bottom sure did. He started sobbing half-way through 'Famous Last Words'.

Tommy is emotional boi 🥺

Brahms Heelshire

C l a s s i c a l

No matter how stinky Brahms is, you can't tell me that he's not classy.

Schubert is his bitch. Schubert's style tends to be quite majestic and/or dreamy, (generally) and can change color/sound very abruptly yet appropriately. (This is just my opinion based on experience with Schubert's pieces, but then I only know his piano pieces soo) (let's still cue that maestoso to scherzando transition)

But of course, Schubert isn't the only thing he listens to. He prefers the romantic period, so Mendelssohn, Rachmaninoff, Chopin, Shostakovich, Brahms, Schumann, you get the gist, all the staples. Oh yeah Elgar too. To be a proud English lad.

*Brahms swaying in the living room with the grace of a baby giraffe, engrossed in the beautiful melodies in Schumann's Kinderszenen.*

(Oml please check out 'Von fremden Landern und Manschen' and 'Kind im Einschlummern') (For those who play piano, they aren't that difficult too totally recommend) (Ok sorry I'm done now)

Brahms would totally waltz around alone to Chopin's waltzes and nocturnes.

Oh yeah apart from that classy shit, he likes to jam to meme songs.

"Hey now, you're an all star, get your game on, go play---"

*cut to Brahms passionately fortnite dancing*

Listens to The Strange Man Who Sings About Dead Animals for a good laugh. (Please, all of his songs are gold)

Vincent Sinclair

He'll have 'emo' and 'classical' with a side of metal, thanks.

I headcanon that Vinny McWaxy is an INFJ, so the boy is likely prone to crippling existentialism. It would make sense for some aspects of his music taste to reflect that.

*cut to Vincent sitting rock-still on his workbench/stool, hands hover in mid-air, staring straight ahead, some John Cage piece playing*

You'll never hear this from Vincent but he enjoys sexy-time music. He has this whole erotic playlist he listens to while working. (Boy likes to feel sexy on the job, I respect that.)

I think its pretty much canon that Vinny loves MCR. (Hello fellow emo piece of shit 👋) His favorites are everything by them really. A hardcore fan. He used to have MCR, P!ATD, and 30 Seconds to Mars posters plastered everywhere in his workshop until he had to remove them all to add to the intimidation factor of his waxy hell for passer-bys. For the record, he is very gay for Frank Iero.

On the metal part of his spectrum is mostly classic metal, groove metal, and thrash/heavy metal.

Rammstein, Pantera, Vildhjarta, new and old Metallica, Dream Theatre, Coheed and Cambria. His bitches.

He also uses music to scare victims when bringing them down to his workshop. *cue horror movie soundtracks*

*KI KI KI MA MA MA*

Is a whore for the dramatics when in a good mood.

*Lacrimosa by Mozart plays as he makes a point to bring the wax painfully slowly down toward a drowsy and petrified victim*

A lament for your upcoming death, pitiful human.

Bo Sinclair

"The day has come for all us sinners, if you're not a servant you'll be struck to the ground." -- Beast and The Harlot by Avenged Sevenfold

Bastard boy is into dad-music™. (same)

Dad rock, classic rock, pop punk, punk rock, old school pop, his shit.

He listens to a lot of the same bands as Freddy, but Bo (generally) doesn't discriminate and explores a more diverse variety of music.

Its a fandom canon that Bo loves Avenged Sevenfold. I totally agree.

A7x is the perfect amount of cynical, political, and shred for Beauregard, (I hc that ge hates his full name so plz don't ever call him Beauregard)

He listens to the radio whenever he's at work. Whatever that might be.

Will NEVER admit it, but he thinks Vinny's music taste is dope as hell.

He'll turn off the radio just to strain his ears to listen to Vincent's music downstairs. No one will ever know that though. You don't.

Actually likes classical music too. Its not one of his main genres but there's one piece he really likes, Second Movement of Shostakovich Piano Concerto No. 2 in F Major.

He never thought he'd enjoy this type of music. Its so.... Calm. He discovered that piece from Vinny's playlist. When he first heard it on his brother's speaker, he fell in love. It was one of the extremely rare cases in which he'd be committed enough to ask Vinny the name of the music.

Tiny shuffle for man-kind, huge fuckin step for Bo. Good job Bo, we're proud of you.

Also pleeeeeaaase message me or request stuff, I'm bored and have little inspiration 🦊

I might do a pt2 of this, since I didn't write many of the boys and gals🤷‍♀️

Also sorry if I've neglected some genres/artists (Like i've neglected non-piano classical pieces.... Bc ya girl is just a pianist), a person can't know everything😗

---Zali 🖤

[staruplatinum]

Stay With Me

I co-wrote this with @risottostitties a while back, and I just got around to posting it now. She’s a god at writing Abbacchio btw, and this was written for my oc/Leone but I edited it so everyone can enjoy 🎉

summary: reader comforting drunk Abbacchio after he confesses his past.

It’s angsty but has a cute ending. (abbacchio says I love you for the first time!) enjoy!

3.2K words

Abbacchio was on the floor, surrounded by bottles of alcohol. Was he crying? “Jesus Christ.” You panicked, dropping your things on the floor and rushing to his side. What the hell happened? He must have been doing this for a while now because you could see how bloodshot his eyes were, even though they were only opened a little bit.

“Fuck! Leone ! What -“ you were so confused, and scared. You worried he might have gotten alcohol poisoning, but that was just your “worry-wart” mind and you knew you were just overreacting. You took deep breaths and calmed yourself down, taking a deep breath before laying down on the floor across from Abbacchio.

You understood it now, he obviously had some sort of unresolved trauma. If there was one thing you knew about trauma survivors.. it was to never touch them in a state like this because they may not want it. You had to respect that since you didn’t know what you were dealing with here. It broke your heart to see him cry, but he needed someone right now and you needed to approach this cautiously.

“I don’t know what happened, but when you want to talk, I’ll be right here. “ You said, smiling softly at him. You needed him to know that you were serious about.. helping him through whatever this was. You wanted to be there for him, to be the girlfriend he needed.

“I’ll lay here all night, if I have to.” Frankly, while this was something you didn’t expect, you were just happy to see him alive. You were so worried that he might have been dead. Your mind started going to the more logical side of things. He needed food and water or else he’d be puking soon if he hadn’t already. That, and he’d have an awful headache in the morning. You weren’t going to leave his side though. Instead, you reached your hand out across the cold floor, hoping he’d hold yours and ground himself, in a sense. You didn’t think he was sober enough for that, though.

It took Abbacchio a second to even register the fact that someone had come into his apartment. When did you get here? He must have made you worried... he could add that to the ever growing list of why Leone Abbacchio was a disgusting waste of oxygen.

"You shouldn't stay. I'm a filthy ex cop and a pathetic excuse of a man. I'll only drag you down and make you hate me if you stay. You deserve someone better, not someone who got a good man killed because he took a fucking bribe and ruined his life." Abbacchio choked out, the alcohol causing some slurring of his words and also removing his filter.

It took a minute before he realized exactly what he said to you. Fuck, he told you about it. He told you about his partner and now you were going to fucking hate him. Would it have been better to keep lying? Probably. He could have at least prolonged your relationship, instead of sabotaging it less than a month in. He really was a pathetic piece of work, wasn't he?

"You deserve better, you deserve so much better. Fuck I'm... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't deserve you, I don't deserve to be here while a good fucking man is dead. He had a wife and a kid! Fuck, its my fault that kid is growing up without his dad. I should have been the one shot, not him. Fuck!"

Abbacchio was starting to talk in circles, tears leaking from his eyes as he sobbed and curled in on himself. He didn't deserve your kindness. He didn't deserve you right now, laying on the floor with him and being so heart breakingly kind.

"I'm going to fail you too in the end. You'll get hurt if you stay, I know you will. I fuck up every good thing that's ever happened to me and I know that you'll hate me eventually. So just... please, don't let me do that to you. You deserve so much better-" Abbacchio's words were cut off by a heaving sob.

He wanted to beg you to stay though, beg you not to leave him and not to hate him but he couldn't do that. He didn't deserve to be happy and he knew that, and he didn't want to guilt you into staying with him by being an emotional pussy. You deserved better than someone who needed alcohol to work through anything like this. You deserved a good man who could give you a house and children like you wanted.

Anything Abbacchio gave you would be tainted by him. A house, a marriage, children, he'd somehow find a way to ruin all of that. Someone as kind and beautiful as you didn't deserve that. All he ever wanted to do was help people. Even joining the mafia he wanted to help people. But he managed to fuck everything up no matter what he did. He was a loser who couldn't even keep his one dream in life after he achieved it and you didn't deserve that.

"Fuck, I-... Fuck!" Abbacchio didn't know what else to say, having already made a fool of himself. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I fucking... dragged you into this. You shouldn't be here right now you should be having fun. Not fucking... laying on the floor with some alcoholic loser..."

Ah. So that’s what it was. You listened to him, and sat up, pulling his head into your lap as he cried.

“Shh. Shh. It’s okay. I have you.” You said, trying to help him control his sobs. You knew it was falling on deaf ears though, as he continued to go on about everything. You remained silent though, letting him vent it out. “Leone.” you said, your tone more serious than any other time you had spoken to him. “Leone listen to me. You aren’t a bad person and you aren’t a corrupt cop. What you did was not something that every other police man didn’t do in the past.” You began to say. While you didn’t know the context of what the bribe was for, you could tell that deep down Leone was reluctant about it. “Your friend getting shot was not your mistake. If he chose to take a bullet for you, then that’s on him. When you are in that line of work you should expect death at every corner - the same as you do now with being in the mafia.”

It honestly wasn’t your place to say any of this but the more he went on about it the more you realized that he didn’t need to feel as guilty. He wasn’t blowing it out of proportion and losing someone was never easy, but you didn’t want him to have to cry like this constantly when his partner chose to save him.

“I don’t know what exactly happened that day, and I’ll never know exactly how you feel either. I have my own traumas to deal with. But what I do know is that your friend wouldn’t have wanted you to be like this. He saved you for a reason. If that reason is for you to join the mafia and protect Bruno? Then so be it. But you have a purpose here, Leone. As much as you don’t think you deserve anything ‘good’ in your life - you do.”

You ran your fingers through his hair as you heard his sobs start to die down a little. That was a good sign, at least. It was quite honestly making you tear up a little, seeing him cry like this. You had loved him for a while now and you wanted to be... so much more doting. But what could you do? They had only dated a month, at that.

“And you can try your hardest but I promise you I am one stubborn girl. You make me happy, even at your worst so it’s gonna be hard to scare me off or make me leave.” It was true. You could be stubborn at the best of times. Maybe a lesser woman would have ran away after seeing Abbacchio like this. But not you. This only proved your love for him.

Frankly, if anyone left him in this state then they’d be the lowest scum of the earth. He needed someone right now, and you wanted to be here.

“I want to help you, Leone. I want to be your girlfriend. I don’t care what the future holds for us I just want us both to be happy. I’m not going to let anything get in the way of that. You deserve happiness. You aren’t dragging me down in the slightest ”

There was more you wanted to say, but what? What could you say? You loved him, - that she knew -but he probably didn’t want to hear that right now - and that was fair. You knew your words were coming out choppy anyways, but now that he was somewhat calm, your concerns were on something else.

Leaning down, you placed a kiss on the top of his head before brushing the hair out of his face. His sobs died down completely, only various sniffles echoing in the room.

Abbacchio reacted to you putting his head on your lap by turning over and immediately trying to hide his face by pressing it into your stomach as he clung to you. He didn't want you to see how pathetic he looked as he shook and sobbed. Your words were too kind, he knew he didn't deserve them. Couldn't you see how much of a fuck up he was? Or maybe you did, but then why were you being so heartbreakingly kind? You couldn't seriously be accepting of all this, could you? The thought made him choke out another sob, clinging tighter.

Did he want you to hate him? To leave him? Or to stay? He didn't know any more, but for right now all he wanted was just to be here with you. He felt your hands start to card tenderly through his hair and despite himself the tension began to fade from his body. Your soothing voice and gentle affection starting to coax the sadness from him, causing his sobbing to eventually wane into the occasional hiccup and sniffle. His tears dried too, but he knew his face would be red and puffy and ugly to look at so he still tried to hide as best he could. " 'M sorry..." He mumbled again, half muffled by your clothes. He didn't want to move, he didn't want to go anywhere. This felt too nice, too safe, to even consider getting up.

“I’m going to get up and get you some water, yeah? I don’t want you having an awful hangover tomorrow.” You said, gently moving his head up and standing from the floor. You tried your very hardest to lift him up. He was sluggish from all the booze he drank but he could still move around. That was a good sign, at least.

He could feel you carefully freeing yourself from his grip and standing up. "Wait! Where..?" Were you really going to get up and leave him like this? He still had no idea what he wanted but if you left he'd definitely break again. His breathing started to pick up again until you explained that you were just taking him to their room. Their room. He liked the sound of that. Their room, their apartment, it was all really nice. He allowed himself to be helped up, leaning on you heavily as you guided him to their room. It was difficult to walk right now, swimming in alcohol as he was, but he tried not to let himself become too much of a burden on you like this. You were so small compared to him.

“Come on, baby.” He was heavy, but you let him rest his weight on your shoulders as you heaved him over to the bedroom. Once he was on the bed, you laid him back, taking his pants off. You knew he didn’t really sleep in Pyjamas because he got hot easily. Hell - sometimes he didn’t even wear a shirt. It was little things like this that you remembered, and you wanted to make him as comfortable as possible. You covered him in the duvet, before heading to the kitchen for some water. You knew he should probably eat something too.. but what? You knew Abbacchio would crash soon, so you opted to make him something light and easy on the stomach - some toast. That was easy enough anyways.

He knew he should be the one helping and protecting YOU, not the other way around. But he didn't complain as you helped him out of his clothes and helped him get comfortable in the bed. It was cold without you there, but it was comfortable. He supposed he could handle this for a bit. He watched you get up again, opening his mouth to protest when you explained again that you were just getting him some water and something to eat. Right water. He hadn't had anything to drink except alcohol all day, and barely ate anything too. He needed to have something otherwise he'd be sick tomorrow. He knew this, and so did you. So he waited.

When the toast was ready you put some butter on it and tossed the knife in the sink, you’d clean it up afterwards. Walking to the bedroom you placed the toast on the nightstand, helping him sit up.

Abbacchio tried his very hardest not to sleep until you came back so he could make sure you stayed, and when you returned with toast and a glass of water he sat up. Abbacchio felt his head spinning at the sudden movement, but he tried his best not to get sick, leaning heavily on you for support while he nibbled on the toast and sipped at the water. He didn't have an appetite at all but he knew he needed to try and finish this otherwise you would be disappointed.

“You have to drink this okay?” you said. You felt a bit better when he drank some of the water. Good. “I un- I Made you toast. I don’t know what you like to eat on it but I just put some butter. You need something in your system or you’ll be puking everywhere - which I don’t mind, I’ll clean it all for you. I just.. want to make this easier on you, if I can.” you hummed, placing a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

You looked at him as you sat on the edge of the bed. Your heart hurt, genuinely. You loved this man and it bothered you that he was so hurt by this. You just wished there was more you could do.

"-re too good for me." He slurred, resting his head on your shoulder for a minute while he took a break from trying to eat.

"I love you so much. You're so... perfect. You're too nice. You deserve the world and I... I want to give it to you. I'm trying. I promise I'm trying I really-" Abbacchio felt himself choking up again as he took a drink from the water, coughing slightly before righting himself. He was trying. It might not look like it now but he really was trying. He'd been trying for a long time and he needed you to know that.

"I promise I'm... trying. To be better. So please don't leave." He repeated, vision growing hazy as he looked down at the half eaten toast. He felt... so tired after everything. Exhausted really. He just wanted to lay down and sleep it all off.

You tried to be as calm as you could, helping abbacchio drink the water and eat. He didn’t have to eat the whole thing, considering his stomach probably would hurt or it could cause him to puke, but you were still happy with what he ate. You almost dropped the plate when you heard Abbacchio utter the words I love you.

Fuck. You didn’t know what to think. Your heart was telling you to drop everything and kiss him passionately!! Tell him how you’ve loved him since you first laid eyes on him and how you want to marry him! But you stopped yourself.

Instead, you smiled and rubbed his arm gently before standing up.

“You’re drunk baby.” you said softly, pressing a kiss to his sweaty forehead. You tried not to “believe” what he said anyways. People say a lot of things when they’re drunk. Doesn’t mean they’re always true. Still, you wanted to believe.

“Hey hey.. it’s okay it’s okay. I know you’re trying Leone - that’s what matters.” you said, hugging him gently. “I’m not going to leave you, ever. Alright? I promise.” your hand brushed some stray hairs out of his face, and you smiled at him. He looked.. so sad.

It hurt you , to see him like this.

“I’m just going to put this dish away and turn the lights off, then I’ll come to bed. Okay?”

You needed to make sure that he understood you weren’t leaving ; but you couldn’t just drop here

When he nodded, You quickly disposed of the remaining toast and put the dish in the sink. There was a small pile up of dishes, and while that was a pet peeve of yours- you’d do it tomorrow. Right now abbacchio needed you. The dishes could wait.

You returned to the bed, quickly slipping on a t-shirt and taking your pants off before cuddling Abbacchio. You were the big spoon this time and that was fine, you really didn’t mind at all. As tired as he was, he still seemed somewhat agitated. Which was fair considering everything he went through. You paused for a moment - unsure of what else you could do, but then you had an idea. Leaning up on your elbow, you used your hand to gently caress his head while humming a soft lullaby to him.

When you were sure he was “almost” out, you pulled away and kissed his head once more.

“I love you too, Leone...” you whispered.

[dumbfuck-mojave]

FNV Companions React to Someone Being Aggressive Towards Rex.

@spidester basically came up with this idea.

TW: Mentions of violence against humans and animals. Some sexual flirtation. Swearing is the norm at this point

Fucking IDEK if these are out of character anymore we just roll with it. Also, shitty and inconsistent writing and react length ahoy. Also yes I lied and said this was going to be out last night but I got sick please understand-

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

Arcade: Six had dragged him into Ultra-Luxe because once again, they were being stupid and trying to beat some sort of goal they had set for themselves earlier that day at the gambling tables. Rex had also come in with them, but had wandered off with his snout up in the air towards the kitchens. While Six was focusing on the Blackjack table Arcade heard a sudden yip and bark behind him and turned to see two people laughing and kicking the poor dog. They weren’t dressed like the people that would usually gamble here and they certainly weren’t a White Glove, so Arcade just assumed they were some travelers that didn’t know Six’s reputation and love for their canine companion. Also angry at the situation unfolding, Arcade briskly made his way over to them.

“Excuse me-”

“Fuck off.” 

Now, that made Arcade very unhappy. Honestly, he expected them to be rude, but was still a little surprised at how quickly they shot him down, not even trying to start an argument or anything. Yet.

“Listen, gentlemen.” Arcade said sharply, “I suggest you leave now because you’d much rather deal with me telling you how vile of people you are than for my friend over at the Blackjack table getting word of what you’ve been doing to their dog.”

“Oh, tough guy, eh? Well guess what, we don’t give a shit about what you or your idiot friend have to say!” The taller of the men sneard, getting right up in Arcade’s face. “Fucking forget it, the dumb dog isn’t worth our time. They ran out of booze a while ago anyway.”

Arcade gave them a look of disinterest as the semi-stumbled out the door. He made….. eye contact?..... with one of the masked servers when he looked away from them, who also seemed relieved that the two men were gone, probably because they had trached dust and mud throughout the entire main room.  Making his way back to Six, Arcade was going over scenarios in his head about what Six would do once he told them. Turns out one of his guessed scenarios was true. He did know Six very well after all. Unfortunately for the men, they had decided to sleep naked that night and Six had found out where they were staying through a few connections. A few hours later the men’s clothes were strung up on and lit on fire in the middle of Freeside, with the neat edition of shoving several hungry geckos into the men’s hotel room. The men ran out into the Mojave, naked and with a few flesh chunks missing from their body, while Rex gnawed happily on his Brahmin Steak in the Lucky 38. 

Boone: A Legion party had ambushed them just outside of Red Rock Canyon as they were making their way towards Vegas from Goodsprings. The system they had was working well enough, Boone had managed to climb his way up on the hill to the right of the road and was sniping them from afar while Six was up close with their ripper. It was hard to get solid damaging headshots on them since they were those dumb helmets, but if he got lucky Six would get close enough to rip one of their helmets off so he could get a clear shot through their skull. Usually, there were 4 Legionaries in a party but Caesar must have really wanted Six dead at this point, so they were currently being surrounded by at least 12, possibly even more. As Six drop-kicked two legionaries into each other, Boone noticed one of the other Legionaries targeting Rex and backing him up against the Canyon wall. Luckily for Boone and unfortunately for the Legionnaire, there was no helmet in sight. Boone lined up the shot and it entered the target’s head with a whiz and a squish. As the now-corpse fell to the ground, the group of three reorganized amongst the carnage. Rex sat down at Boone’s feet and looked up at him, mouth open and panting. 

“Don’t look at him like that.” Boone said in a monotone voice, making the Courier laugh beside him.

“Boone, you’re talking to a dog.” The Courier started on their way once again to Vegas, looking down at the dog now trotting beside them.

“You want to go see the King Rex?”

*Bark*

“Look who’s talking to the dog now.” 

Veronica and Cassidy: The girls had decided to hang out together today, without the Courier. They also had Rex in tow and were currently sitting at the Atomic Wrangler’s counter. Both of these women were at least three bottles in each already and their laughter poured through the casino as Veronica slouched over and snorted at one of Cass’ merchant stories.

“There is *snort* there is no way he did that.” Veronica wheezed out, falling into another fit of laughter.

“He did! He just grabbed that fucker by his-”

Their conversation was cut off when a man walked over to them. Much too confidently, I might add. They both looked up at him in disgust and annoyance. 

“So, what are two beautiful ladies doing out here all alone. You know, why don’t we all go upstairs and have a little *fun* together. ” The man leaned in so far he almost touched noses with Veronica. Rex had been sitting idly with his head in his paws on the floor until this moment. When the man leaned in, Rex growled and stood up, brisling at the man. 

“Dumb dog.” The man grumbled, swinging out his hand and hitting Rex in the head. Now no one knew if the man had meant to hit Rex so hard that he slammed his glass dome into the counter, but it didn’t matter now. Veronica pushed up off the counter and shoved the man back.

“Who do you think you are?! First, you come up to two ladies who are CLEARLY disinterested in you, interrupt their good time, then you have the audacity to hit our dog?!” Veronica practically yelled, drawing attention from several others in the room. Two people in particular had the look in their eyes that was almost begging to see a fight.

“Listen, girlie, I do what I want, ok?” The man growled, cut off by Veronica shoving his back against the counter, “Oh, girlie, you want to start right now?” 

“She doesn’t want to do anything with you. Nobody would.” Cass said as she finally stood up, looking over Veronica’s shoulder.

“Now come on ladies, no need to fight over me.” The man slurred, the beginnings of a wolfish grin on his face. 

Now, Ronnie may be small but she has a power fist and can fuck some people up. In a flash, the man was on his knees with both arms straining behind him, courtesy of Cass. Veronica unveiled her power fist and a spark of fear appeared in the man’s eyes as she swung it dainlity near his temple.

“I could swing my fist sideways right now.” She started swinging faster and more aggressively, “And give you a good lesson about how to treat others around you with an indent on your head to remind you.” 

“N-No!”

“Oh, come on. I’m sure it would be no trouble for my friend here.” Cass sneered, tightening her grip on the man’s arms, making him squeal out in man. 

“Please, please! No!” 

As the once confident man was damn near sobbing just at the prospect of getting hit, Veronica and Cass looked up at each other and grinned. Dragging the man outside, Veronica used her unarmored fist to hit him into a puddle of… something. The man stumbled to his feet and looked back in fear at the doorway. Then sprinted off. 

“DAMN! NEXT TIME YOU START A FIGHT YOU BETTER BE ABLE TO FINISH IT!” Cass yelled after him before they retreated into the casino once more.

. On their way back in, two figures walked out the door, following the now out of sight man. Sometimes, if you want to see a fight, you just have to start one yourself. 

Ed-E: *Pulls out laser canon* “Beep beepbeep bop'' Translation: “You bitch ass motherfucker”. Even if Rex sometimes drools on Ed-E or accidentally whips a ball at it’s shell, Ed-E will still protecc and attacc. 

Lily: Ok no but honestly and sorry to disappoint but any scenario involving her reacting to this is just them fighting, her calling the Courier Jimmy, then absolutely rocking the perpetrators shit. Like, tear that person in half grandma. I wanted to write a longer thing out….unless

Raul: He and Six had decided to stop at 188 Trading Post for the night instead of attempting to walk all the way back to Vegas. They were low on supplies, tired and hungry, and Raul’s back was acting up again. Samuel was nice enough to let Raul lie down for a bit on one of the mattresses behind the bar while Six was focusing on cleaning their weapons and bartering. Just as he was about to drift off, he heard Six’s voice speak up above the radio.

“Don’t touch my goddamn dog like that!” 

“You don’t get to tell me what to do you fucking piece of shit! Oh fuck-” 

Raul stood up and peered around the corner to see a rather interesting sight. Six was straddling some random man and aggressively slapping his hands away when he tried to reach for them, all while screaming every obscene thing they’ve ever been taught, even some things in Spanish thanks to Raul. Samuel was looking very concerned at the bar, not wanting to get directly involved in this mess while Rex was barking his head off in the man's face. After Raul managed to drag Six off the man, he found out the man was an associate of Alexander and was talking about making a deal with him when Rex came up to him to sniff his hand. Agitated, the man reached down and put his fist around Rex’s muzzle, yanking him up on his back to legs. Nothing escalated past that point as Six had entered the picture by then. They eventually decided to just walk back to Vegas that night and extend their break home, but damn if Raul wasn’t impressed and kind of flattered at the way they gracefully told a man how they were going to cut out this tongue and feed it to rats. Raul is dad.

(The insult thing was definitely a nod to one of @nuclear-reactions posts)

Thank you for reading! Requests are open!

[harringrovetrashrat]

heyyy uhhhh can i get a #43 with a side of #3 and umm, can I add on some insercurites for free? how much? all my love and appreciation?? dang I've already maxed out my card but you can have my heart...

Anon, anon, anon.... I’ll do it for free.  The love an appreciation is very welcome tho (i’m a leo bastard) ;)

Why this prompt gave me trouble, I HAVE NO IDEA.  It took FOREVER to get myself going, I even had to do a fucking twitter poll, and I’m still unhappy with how this came out.  So, on the house, I’m gonna rewrite this again later.  Because there’s not enough of anything in here.

That all being said, I don’t fully hate this and I wanted to get something out for ya.  And let you know that more was coming after this.  (Fic under the cut)

--

Steve watched as Billy leaned against the lifeguard tower, finger twirling one of Casey’s curls, making her blush.  He sunk lower on the plastic lounger, glaring through his sunglasses.  It wasn’t like he thought Billy was really into her.  But still.  It made his heart clench and his stomach all queasy whenever Billy flirted with someone else.

Steve knew he wasn’t bad to look at.  That he was pretty cute.  But after Nancy and the tunnels and everything, he’d kind of lost his appeal or something.  Girls didn’t flirt with him, like, ever.  And it wasn’t like he was looking for their attention, but it would have been nice.  To get confirmation you weren’t fucking hideous.  Because Billy was gorgeous.

Like made Steve sweat the first time he saw him gorgeous.  Like, model gorgeous.  Like a fucking sun god, all tan skin, freckles, and muscles that Steve just wanted to run his tongue along, to bite and fawn over--

Steve groaned quietly and pushed his sunglasses up, pressing the meat of his palms to his eyes.

They’d talked about it before.  Talked about how Steve didn’t need to worry, but sometimes he didn’t know why Billy was doing, well, whatever it was they were doing, besides the obvious us both knowing about monsters thing.  Nothing like shared trauma.  Maybe it was because he was the only other guy in town who was okay having another guy’s dick in his mouth.  Steve sighed and grabbed his stuff, catching Dustin’s attention.

“What?” He asked, coming over.

“You guys want pizza and ice cream?  On me.” Dustin perked up and grinned.

“Hell yeah!  Can’t see why anyone would say no to that!” He went back over the The Party, gesturing animatedly.  They cheered and Steve ignored the way Billy’s eyes darted over and didn’t leave him until he was walking out the gate.

--

Steve fidgeted with the remote, hating himself and hating Billy and hating Hawkins.  He hadn’t heard anything from Billy, even though they supposedly had plans tonight.  Well, they had their usual It’s Friday let’s get wasted and fool around thing.  At least, he thought they did.  What a fucking chump.  He scrubbed at his eyes, ignoring the pit in his stomach when the clock hit 1 in the morning.  Ignoring that Billy should have been here 3 hours ago.

Steve had really thought things were getting better.  Billy had been staying the night, been staying for breakfast, and it had made Steve yearn for something domestic.  He wanted to spend every morning dressed in his underwear and one of Billy’s shirts, making them omelettes.  Give him his coffee, just the way he likes it.  Have Billy pull him down for a kiss that’s barely a kiss because they’re both smiling.

And then he ignored Steve for 3 days.

So Steve had gone to the pool.

And there was Billy.  And Casey.

Billy had ignored him the whole time.

And now here he was, somehow still under the impression that Billy might have come over for their usual Friday hangout.  That maybe Steve could pretend for a little bit that he mattered to someone.  That one fucking person wanted to spend time with him.  Wanted to be around him just because.

He wiped at the tears welling in his eyes and stood up, accepting that it was time to call it a night.  As he passed by the front door to head up the stairs, someone began pounding on it.  Steve let out a bitten off shriek and clutched at his chest.  Whoever was there wasn’t bothered by the noise, just kept pounding away.  Steve licked his lips and grabbed the bat he kept by the door.  Regular.  No nails.  He got it ready and swung the door open, ready for --

Billy Hargrove.  Drunk as a fucking skunk.  Falling forward with the momentum of his fist, eyes wide.  Steve caught him and stumbled back, dropping the bat.

“What the fuck?” Steve said, his voice flat.  Billy gripped the front of Steve’s shirt and pulled himself up, eyes bloodshot.

“Steve,” Billy slurred.  “You’re awake.” His eyes were wide, like he was shocked, and he didn’t pull away, keeping his face close to Steve’s.

“Yeah,” Steve replied, wrinkling his nose because Billy’s breath reeked.  “Waited up for you.” Billy rested his forehead in the crook of Steve’s neck and brought his arms up, pulling Steve closer.  Steve couldn’t help himself, he was so fucking starved for attention, and he let Billy cling to him, wrapping his own arms around his waist.

“Thought you would,” he hiccuped, “Wouldn’t wanna see me.” Steve sighed.

“Can’t say I’m thrilled you showed up 3 hours late and drunk,” he said, because he shouldn’t be happy Billy came like this, but he is.  He’s happy he came at all.  And how fucking sad was that.

“I didn’t wan-wanna intrude on your time with the nerds.”

“Too busy with Casey?” Steve snapped.  He felt Billy stiffen against him.  Watched him pull back and level Steve with an annoyed look.

“Fuck does that mean?” He grumbled.  Steve rolled his eyes, suddenly so fucking angry because Billy didn’t even notice.  Didn’t even fucking care.

“It means,” Steve bit out, “That you can just tell me if you wanna fuck other people.” Billy looked at him like he was making no sense, which just irked Steve more.  “You don’t have to, to let me down gently, okay?  I can take it.”

“What the fuck are you even talking about?”

“Oh my god!” Steve finally pulled all the way away from Billy, wrapping his arms around himself and hunching over, trying to make himself smaller.  “Just leave.” He didn’t look at Billy, scared that he might cry, over Billy fucking Hargrove.

“Is this,” Billy began, speaking slowly, sounding a bit more sober now, “About the flirting?”

“Is this about--” Steve scoffed and shook his head.

“Seriously?  You’re worked up over harmless flirting?” Billy sounded annoyed and Steve felt like fucking shit.  Felt tears welling up because he was an idiot.

“Fuck you,” he said, voice watery.  “I fucking--  I’m worked up,” he spit out, “Because you ignored me for 3 days.  Because when I wanted to talk to you, you fucking, fucking laughed in my face.” He scrubbed at his eyes, wishing he wasn’t crying over Billy goddamn Hargrove.  “Because you apparently can’t even bear to be my friend in public.” He laughed, the noise twisting into an aborted sob at the end.  “I’m worked up because I was actually convinced for like, a little while, that you cared about me.  That this wasn’t some fucking distraction from the bullshit.  That it maybe meant something.” Steve still hadn’t looked at Billy, who had been quiet the whole time.  “You know, sometimes, I fucking hate you.” Steve was surprised at the sharp inhale of breath and looked up, shocked to see Billy quickly rubbing at his eyes.  He glared at the floor and licked his lips.

“Please--” he stammered.  “Please don’t say that.” Steve was thrown for a loop.  Billy using please?  Billy looking upset?  Billy being anything other than his usual I’m too cool to care about anyone or anything self?

“What,” Steve said, monotone.

“I--” Billy swallowed and shut his eyes tightly, like he also couldn’t look at Steve while he was vulnerable.  Like he was vulnerable.  “I-- I got scared.” He swallowed, eyes still closed.  “When you-- You’re just so--”

“What,” Steve repeated.

“In the morning,” Billy said.  “When you smile at me, and it’s all soft and just for me, I just--” He licked his lips and wiped over his mouth harshly.  “I want that.  I got scared because I want it so much and you just…” He stopped, words trailing off like he’d already pried out what he could.  Steve couldn’t do anything more than stare, mouth open in a small ‘o.’

“So why--”

“I wanted you to hate me,” Billy said.  “I wanted you to hate me because then I wouldn’t ruin it.  I wouldn’t ruin you and you could go back to your life before I inevitably fucked this up.  But,” he let out a shuddery breath, “But hearing you say it… I don’t-- I don’t want you to--”

“I don’t,” Steve replied, probably too fast.  “I don’t hate you.”

“You should,” Billy whispered.  Steve didn’t know how to respond, so instead, he took Billy’s hand and pulled him into the kitchen.  Made him an instant coffee and got him a glass of water.  They sat in silence, neither looking at the other, until Steve cleared his throat.

“So, you really aren’t into Casey?” Billy let out a shocked laugh and shook his head.

“How is that what you’re focused on,” he muttered.  “No, I’m not.  My dad knows when I’m not, well, fucking around.  Knows that means I found someone.”

“What the fuck?” Billy shrugged.

“I’m good at pretending, Harrington, but I’m not like you.  I don’t like girls.  Sex is nice enough but they don’t really do it for me.  We left San Diego because my dad figured that out.  And he always asks who I’m meeting when I go on dates, always makes sure he knows where I am--”

“Seriously, what the fuck!” Billy shrugged again, staring into his mug.

“I don’t flirt because I want to,” he said, voice soft.  “I do it because I have to.  Because he doesn’t ask me where I go every Friday anymore.” Steve felt like shit again, but now for a whole new reason.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Billy said.  “I should have told you.  Don’t know that I ever would have if you didn’t push me.  If I wasn’t still fucking drunk right now.” He finally, finally looked at Steve, and Steve was surprised at just how tired he looked.  “You told me how it made you feel, and I couldn’t even--” He looked away again.

“It did kind of feel like shit,” Steve said.  He backtracked when Billy hunched in on himself.  “But it was also because I was a little jealous.  That like, you even could flirt.” Billy raised a brow, confused.  “It’s stupid,” Steve said, blushing, “But you’re like, like a fucking adonis?  Shut up,” he said when Billy snickered.  “And like, I know I’m not like, ugly or anything, but I’m not anything special, so I just--”

“Not anything special?” Billy asked, looking confused again.  “Are you kidding me?” Steve flushed and looked away, frowning.

“You don’t have to rub it in,” Steve muttered.

“No, no,” Billy said, grabbing Steve’s hand.  “You--” Billy looked at a loss for words.  For once.  “The minute I saw you I couldn’t-- I couldn’t think about anything except the fact that I wanted to suck your dick.” Steve rolled his eyes but smiled a little.  “Seriously, Harrington.  The minute I finally saw that dick?” Billy shook his head.  “A goner.  Wanted to fucking choke on it.”

“Billy,” Steve sighed, smiling a little more.  “You don’t--”

“I’m not going to stop until you remember that you’re hot as fuck, okay?” Billy looked away, a blush creeping across his face and down his neck.  “I get lost in your eyes sometimes,” he mumbled.  ��They’re so open and kind and deep.” He looked back at Steve and brought his hand up to Steve’s face.  “When you’re asleep I see how many moles I can count.” He cupped his jaw, thumb rubbing a gentle circle on Steve’s cheek.  “It hurts to look at you sometimes,” Billy whispered, eyes glazed over.  “Especially when you smile at me.  When you’re shining so bright and I just--” He leaned forward, pulling Steve into a gentle, but thorough, kiss.  Steve kissed back, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes.

“Billy,” he choked out, lips still pressed against Billy’s.

“You’re so good, Steve,” Billy said in a rush.  “Please, please forgive me for making you feel like you weren’t-- You know that I--” Steve cut him off with a kiss, letting Billy’s tongue swirl around his before pulling back, breath short.

“We should maybe talk about things a little more,” he mumbled, smile wet from tears, but still light.  Billy smiled a little.

“Maybe.”

[dew-itowo]

As The World Caves In part 4

Cody; It’s been and honor... Sir...

The alcohol stung the back of Cody's raw throat. From screaming his pain away. Screaming at you because you didn't understand how much Rex had meant to him. He sat there, drinking, smoking, doing anything other than thinking about his dead batcher, and failing. Smoke rolled off his lips like the thunder that threatened rain off in the distance of his office. Of course, he was destroyed over Rex's death. He and Rex had practically adopted you when they met you. Not taking your hurt into account he selfishly, drunkenly, took his out on you like some abusive father. But never laying a hand on you. He fumbled with the medallion you'd gifted him after his promotion to Commander.

"What's that Ad'ika?" The commander said, scooping you up from where you stood. Only a little girl at the time. Maybe Ahsoka's age. Maybe younger. Giggling and squirming in his arms you tried to hide the present.

"Nothing Kote. Just uuuh, a thing." You lied wonderfully. Cody smiled brightly as Rex jogged up the hill to where they stood. His riduur looking like he'd just run the mile four times.

"Force you're a fast little shit, you know that right?" Rex panted as you buried your face into Cody's chest plate, smiling like the it was Life day and you just got the best present. "FYI they'll leave you in their dust Codes." Cody laughed, throaty, deep, and beautiful. It always made you feel better hearing that man's laugh. Rex moved forward resting his hand on your shoulder as he kissed Cody's cheek. "How's my Marshal Commander?" The captain cooed lightly. Cody smiled brightly.

"I'm better than I'll ever be with you two." Gods wasn't that the truth~

The height wasn't too far up from where he stood. Maybe 50 meters up. The whiskey burned sliding down his throat again. Thinking of you. Thinking of everything you gave him and Rex. It hurt to do this to you, but he couldn't take living with his husband. Afterall the war was ending and now clones would be needed after the fact. It was entirely selfish to believe that he might save you from more hurt by jumping now, when Obi-wan his best friend and your master was to be coming around tomorrow morning with reports. He'd most likely have you with him. Another chug of the whiskey made his groan. If it wasn't jumping that'd kill him, it'd be the alcohol poisoning.

"Cody? Do you like being a clone?" You asked one evening while nestled between an exhausted Rex and Cody. The latter being fast asleep while he held you close to him. Cody looked away from his datapad with a thoughtful look.

"What do you mean by that Ad?" He asked, combing his hand through your hair.  You leaned into his touch looking down slightly, away from his eyes. "Do I like being a clone, as in do I enjoy being a soldier?" You nod slowly. "Well of course I like being a clone. Hell if I wasn't I would have you or Rex or Obi-wan. Yes I hate watching my Vod leave me, but it's a natural thing, and we we're all born to die. Clone or not." He admitted, leaning his cheek on your head. "How could I not love being a clone when I have everything and more right now."

You smile feeling him kiss your forehead. Your eyes growing heavy with each passing second. "I love you dad." You slurred already half asleep, unaware of what you just said to him. Cody blinked for a moment before answering.

"I love you more than anything Ad'ika."

"Promise?"

"Cross my heart."

His com chirped with another message from you. Surely you were petrified thinking this was all your fault. It hurt Cody to think about it. But you are a strong kid, you'll move on. Eventually at least. He was afraid of hurting you any further. He was afraid of you hating him for what he was deciding to pull. Rex would kick his ass into next week if he caught him doing this. Even as a kriffing ghost he might shove his foot up his ass. The thought drew out a small laugh from Cody thinking about how funny Rex was.

They were pinned down by droids. All sides as you sat there trying to come up with a plan. Anakin sitting with you spewing out idea with Ahsoka. When Rex spoke up. "Hey, Let's do get help." He grinned at Cody.

"What?"

"Get help." Rex repeated smiling more. Cody frowned.

"No~" Cody breathed, thinking about what happened when they did it last time.

"Come on you love it." Rex chuckled. Cody looked at the ground trying not to meet anyone's gaze. Because Get help was not something you did in front of your general's.

"I hate it."

"It's great, It works every time."

"it's humiliating."

"Do you have a better idea?" Rex asked, knowing fully that he'd won. Cody sighed in defeat.

"No." He admitted. Rex smiles.

"We're doing it." The captain smiled.

"We are not doing Get help." Cody affirmed one last time. At least trying to sound like he wasn't going to anyway.

~

The doors hiss open as Cody hung onto Rex's shoulder. Rex acting panicked he held onto Cody's arm. "GET HELP! PLEASE! MY BROTHER IS DYING!" Cody rolled his eyes internally as he played dead. Stumbling along with Rex's steps. The battle droids all confused by what was going on. "Get Help! Help Him!!" Rex yelled as he threw Cody at the line of droids. Bowling them over as Rex pulling out his twin DCS add mowed down the rest around Cody who laid on top of the pile of droids he was just thrown at. You and the rest of the men enter the room. You ran over to Cody asking if he was okay frantically. Rex chuckles putting his blasters away. "Oh he's just pouting because I threw him like a bowling bowl." Cody grumbles a death threat as he gets up. Rex laughs. "Oh hush, you could never kill me. I'll kill you first Cyar'ika."

Cody choked on a broken sob as the last of the memory echoed in his mind, "I'll kill you first Cyar'ika." the whiskey tasted like veno on his tongue. his com chirping with panicked messages from you now. Maybe others. He could hear Obi-wan's ring playing along with yours. He must be worried now. All he wanted was to lay down and die in peace, but he couldn't do that with you panicking and worrying about him. It sounded horrible, but what world is there to live in when he's lost what he loves must. Along with hurting you.

"Go Away!" He yelled throwing his empty whiskey bottle at the com. Instead of shutting it up, it hit the call button. Great, just what he needs right now. Human interaction.

"Commander?" A familiar voice said over the com. They sounded half asleep whoever they were. "Commander are you alright?" He said sounding an awful lot like Kix. Oh not good. Kix was a kriffing bloodhound when sniffing out hurt vod. Especially emotionally hurt one. "Cody, you there vod? Are you ok?" Sounding fully awake now the clone could be heard moving around, with another asking what was going on in the background, possibly being woken up by the movement and talking. "Cody?" Cody wasn't there, physically maybe but not mentally or emotionally. He didn't want to ask for help, though he knew he deeply needed it. He wasn't that kind of person to ask another for comfort. He'd always had Rex to just give it to him when he noticed the signs. He could tell Kix was getting worried now. "Cody are you there, is everything okay? Are you hurt?" Hurt is metaphorical. Pain is rhetorical. and self loathing is literal. So which was it?

"Can you tell them I'm sorry... I didn't mean to take it out on them. They never deserved my anger. Please tell them I'm sorry." Kix knew what was going on now. Quickly he could be heard jumped out of his bunk and his feet hitting the floor hard.

"Cody stay on the line. Just keep talking to me." Kix spoke in his medic voice, sweet like sugar followed with a great sabbac face. He knew Kix was panicking now. He didn't have far to run, they were all in the same barracks. But the offices where high over them. "Cody you there Vod?"

"Kix, it's okay I'm fine." He lied, looking over the railing of the small balcony that every office had. Officers offices also had a living quarters if they hose to stay there, which Cody had since he and Rex wanted a private place for themselves.

"Where are you right now." Kix breathed hard, he must be running. "Cody keep talking to me, tell me whats going on."

"I miss him... So much..."

"I know, I know you miss him. But It's going to be okay listen to me. I promise it's going to be okay." Kix was in the lift now, he could hear the doors closing. But the pocket knife was already in his hand. He didn't want to be saved. But he also didn't want to hurt anymore.

"Kix tell them that they mean the world to me. And that I'm sorry." Cody choked out at the blade touched his underarm. The thin layer of skin protecting his veins and artery being pressed in. He could feel Kix's panic now. He knew he was scaring the poor medic, but this needed to be said. "I don't want them to know what I did so I want you to tell them I went in my sleep." The blood started to bead up now, pressing harder the blade cut deeper into his wrist. It didn't hurt much since he wasn't sober or in his right mind at all.

"Cody listen to yourself vod, do you hear what your saying?" But Cody didn't care what he heard. He knew Kix well, and also knew he wouldn't stop trying to save a goner until they died in his embrace. A small whimper escaped Cody. "Cody I'm in your corridor. You better be there when I bust down your door."

"Or what." He dare challenge the medic now. Blood dripping continuously from his wrist, deep slices bleeding heavily. he'd felt the pinch when he cut to deep, he knew he wasn't going to survive this. "Are you going to decommission me?"

"I sure your trying to decommission yourself as we speak, but no, I'm going to help you." The lock on his door unlocked as Kix keyed in his code. "It's going to be alright Cody."

"Nothing's going to anything sooner or later Kix."

"Don't give up on me."

"I give up a long time ago, I just had my husband to keep me from offing myself." He growled through welling tears, he hated crying. It pissed him off. But only when he was one doing it.

"Is that it, was that all Rex was to you?" Kix yelled now as the door hissed open. He then saw the mess the office was, holes in the walls from punching them, empty bottles of liquor everywhere, and Cody sitting on the balcony stabbing his arms as his mask cracked entirely. Kix ran towards him, realising his med kit wouldn't help this at all. "Cody no, stop, now!" He shouted grabbed the Commander by his untouched wrist and twisting in sharply to make him drop the pocket knife. A broken sob exited the commander's mouth as the knife fell to the ground. Landing in the messy pool of Cody's blood. "No, You di'kut!" Cody felt very light headed. Dizzy too.

"I told you I'm sorry. Please don't be mad with me." He sobbed, Kix cupped his cheeks holding him up when his legs gave out.

"No vod, no I'm not mad at you. You okay, your going to be okay." He chanted as he dead gifted Cody off the ground. He'd never seen Cody this broken before. It hurt him.

All of Cody's words became gibberish soon after that, just holding onto Kix as he carried him to the med bay. He felt so pathetic as brothers from his battalion and the 501st stared in shock. Watching the as his blood left a trail on the white permacrete. They knew a goner when they saw one.

Cody watched the brothers as he passed by, his eyes becoming very heavy suddenly as Kix chanted stay with me closer to his ear. He could only imagine it being Rex's voice. Maybe that'd help to stay. Why did he want to say though? Why was he listening again?

He could see the white walls of the medbay now. Sick brothers watching as the commander is carried by their medic, his blood staining the white tile as they passed by. Kix's talking became hard to hear the closer they got to where ever they were going. All Cody thought about was You and Rex.

Rex laid with you in his arms, you slept peacefully as both of them watched the night shift in morning.  Dreaming about the stars and what they meant.

Cody was laying on a cot now, and you were next to him. Why were you there? When did you get there? Words seemed to jumble up inside his head. Breathing became harder as he heard you say his name.

"Amazing grace, how sweet the sound. The save a wretch like me." They sang as the shots fired for him. He watched as they folded his flag. The Coruscant emblem with the GAR emblem in the right corner. Cody held you close as you sang. Rex had always loved it when you sang. He must love it now, Cody thought as a sneaky tear rolled sown his cheek. Gods he must be laughing right now, watching grown men cry over him. Hell he must be having a blast. It made Cody smile thinking about it.

He smiled as a tear dripped down his cheek. Holding your hand in his good one the words suddenly starting to make sense. "I'm so sorry for what I did, I didn't meant to make you mad. Please Cody don't you leave me too. I'm afraid of being alone." You sobbed holding his hand.

"But you're not alone, yeah I may be leaving you. But my caring will always stay for you, as will so many others. I should yelled at you. It wasn't your fault, never had been. I was just so mad. I'm sure you could understand." He whispers to you. "Be to honest, I'm scared to be alone too."

"Then why leave me?" You sob.

“When someone leaves your life, those exits are not made equal. Some are beautiful and poetic and satisfying. Others are abrupt and unfair. But most are just unremarkable, unintentional, clumsy.” He breathes out, feeling his eyes grow heavy. "But as long as you remember them, you'll never be alone." His smile was bright as he cupped your cheek softly. You leaned into his touch. "I was an honor... Sir..." He slurred as he finally let go.

[midnight-writ3r]

You, Me and the Monsters

Kang Yeosang x Genderneutral reader

Summary: You and Yeosang have been hunters since you were children. It had always been the both of you vs. the world of the supernatural.

And no one does it like the two of you.

Genre: Supernatural! AU, action, fantasy, fluff

Warnings: Mentions of blood, cursing

A/N: I started re-watching supernatural, cause I have to catch up with the final and I remember nothing from the previous seasons :´D So, I really got into the mood and the spirit! I also wanted to write something for Ateez for a while now, so yay! Hope you like it!

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

The world is filled with monsters.

They hide under your bed, in your closet, sometimes even yourself. As a hunter, you had to learn that the hard way and you had to learn it as a child. On the day, you understood that all the stories were real, all the myths and legends were born from truth, you lost your mother and sister. Your father had slain the vampire, responsible for their death. However, both of you knew, it wouldn´t be enough to bring them back.

Furious in your mourning, you and him had sworn to rid the world from those creatures. Not just vampires, no. Everything that caused pain, suffering and death. You never cared that, in the progress, you left quite a trail of blood yourself. It was everything you could do not to loose your sanity. Everything, you could focus on, to not fall apart. A task. A duty. A family business.

Your father and you had always been a team and, soon enough, you were a big part of the hunter community. Connections in every city, aquaintances in every village. Your eyes and ears extended to every corner of the continent.

Which is how you met Yeosang. A talented hunter, despite being two years younger than you. From the first moment, the two of you clicked and soon enough, instead of joining your dad on his missions, you reached out to Yeosang instead.

He always had your back and you trusted him without hesitation.

Like right now.

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio!” Your voice rang out loud in the shabby apartment and the woman in Yeosang´s grip screamed at an inhuman pitch.

As she thrashes, her nails dig into the boy´s arm, drawing bloody, red lines across his dirty skin. Her head knocks back against his jaw and he groans. She even elbows him in the ribs several times. But he doesn´t let up, because that would mean your certain death.

That demon had gotten to you when he wasn´t around. Apparently the news of the demon nest you, your father and Yeosang excorcised two weeks ago had gone around and now, the leftovers have decided to take revenge. She had taken you off guard, kidnapping you and waiting for your father and Yeosang to look for you. You´re tied to a chair, defenseless and, until Yeosang had removed the gag from you a few seconds ago, also muted.

If he were to let go, one hit from the demon would be enough to kill you.

You scream over your raw throat: “infernalis adversarii, omnis legio!“

The woman screeches again and your heart jumps, when you see familiar, black smoke emerge from her lips and eyes. It slowly rises into the air, like smoke from an extinguished campfire. Yeosang´s grip tightens and he scrunches his face up with the effort. It causes the cut on his lip to rip open wider, but he doesn´t even wince.

“omnis congregatio et secta diabolica!” You spit at the demon´s knees, pleased with her frightened eyes, as she realizes the situation, “Take that, you son of a bitch!”

The cloud of dark smoke breaks out of the woman like a fire and as you blink the sharpness of it out of your eyes, it disappears through the ceiling.

Then: Silence.

You release a breath, you didn´t notice you had been holding. Yeosang, with the now unconscious woman in his arms, sighs and falls back on his butt. You examine him quickly, taking in the wounds he sports on his torso and face; Apart from the cuts on his lip and arm, there is also a big slash on his ribs, the shirt around it torn. As you look closer at his low shirt-neckline, you even find something that looks like a bloodied bitemark. You´ve got a fair share of your own wounds, but in comparison, he seems to have gotten the short end of the stick.

Finally, Yeosang moves the woman off him and gently places her on the ground. Like the gentleman, he likes to say he is, he takes off his leather jacket and huddles it into a ball, to place it under her head. Then, he is by your side.

With a knife, that had been tossed out of his grasp throughout the fight, he cuts your restrains open quickly. When your wrists are free, you rub the blood back into them. There´s a burning sensation against your cheek, where the demon had repeatedly hit you and you carefully rub it.

“Don´t.” Yeosang catches your wrist, “It´s going to get infected. Wouldn´t wanna have that turn into a scar.”

You nod, getting to your feet. Cracking your neck, you stretch the stiffness out of your limbs.

“You okay?” he asks you, holding your neck and fixing you with a worried gaze.

You nod, “Better than ever. Seeing that fucker go down was more satisfying than a box of ice cream.”

He grins at your reply and together, you start to clean up. Yeosang calls two of your hunter friends, to take the woman to a hospital, while the two of you can go home and rest. As soon as you arrive at the motel, you´re currently staying at, you fall into your bed with a groan. You´ve never felt this tired in your life.

No, that´s a lie. You felt that tired, when you ran after that skinwalker for two hours last month. Unfair stamina advantage. You felt even more tired when you were haunted by a nightmare three months ago, and weren´t allowed to go to sleep for a good five days. You do feel very tired right now though and you think you have every right to.

Yeosang has different plans though. He walks over to you and taps your leg, “You´re going to get your bed all dirty. I doubt you´d be pleased to wake up tomorrow and smell like literal death.”

You just groan into your pillow, “Leave me here, the stench of death matches how I feel.”

He chuckles and suddenly, you´re lifted into the air. Squealing, you feel how Yeosang adjusts you in his arms and carries you to the bathroom.

“Let me down! You´ll hurt yourself!” You demand.

He does drop you onto the edge of the sink then, but only because he had reached his goal anyways. With a warm smile and a beaten face, he looks at you. You know that look of course, since it´s one of your favourites: It´s that pure sort of adoration, so innocent that you momentarily forget about your dark lifestyle. It´s relieving and addicting. Because, truth be told, you doubt that it´s a feeling you´ll ever be able to experience full-time. You´ve accepted that a long time ago, but to say that you don´t enjoy it, would be a lie.

“Good hunt.” Yeosang murmurs, his hands placed on either side of your hips, leaning against the sink, “I´ll give your exorcism a solid… eight.”

“Eight?” You mock-gasp, “How dare you, it was at least a nine.”

Yeosang shrugs, his face forming a thoughtful expression, “Nuh, you kinda slurred the omnis immundus spiritus part and your voice-technique could have had more projecting.”

“I hate you.”

“I love you, too.”

You roll your eyes and take his face in your hands, placing a peck on his lips. He smiles, happily, and dives right back in for another. And then another and another. Kissing Yeosang has the same effect as that certain look: It makes you forget everything you don´t want to think about, even if it´s just for a short moment. The shitty bathroom light glows on his cheeks and nosebridge and even with his hair dishevelled and blood-stained, he still looks as beautiful as you had always expected angels to look.

His hand sneaks up to your waist, but you stop him just in time, “Nu-uh. Wounds first.”

With a pout, he lets you shuffle the two of you, until your positions are reversed. Without asking him, he takes off his shirt, tossing it right into the trash. There is no way you could have washed the blood out of that, and even if you could, there are more holes than fabric at this point. Giving an appreciative hum, you treat each of his wounds with disinfectant and bandages, also making sure to check on the older wounds from the last days.

Once you´re satisfied, you let him pull off your own shirt and give the same treatment to you. It´s a comfortable silence that envelopes the two of you and you allow your eyes to close with a smile.

After a good ten minutes, Yeosang´s arms snake around your neck and he pulls you against his chest. His skin is warm and the touch gives you more comfort than anything else could ever have. You hug him back, nose buried in his neck and inhaling his familiar, unique scent, to the point that you wouldn´t want to breathe in anything else. His hand goes through your hair, soothing motions and steady pressure.

“I´m so glad you´re okay.” he whispers.

You smile to yourself, “Me too. Thank you for coming for me.”

“Of course”, his grip tightens just a little, growing almost desperate, “I´ll always come for you Y/N. You´re the only thing that makes facing this world, filled with monsters, worth it.”

Your heart jumps against his chest, trying to escape and join his instead, “Likewise.” then, with a happy little smile, you add: “Guess that means we´ll just have to keep each other alive, until we grow old.”

“I might sound naive, but I think we can do it.” he says.

You nod, “Yes, I think we can do it.”

It is naive, certainly. But if you don´t, then this world would bring you down tomorrow. Yeosang is everything you can hold onto. The silver lining on the horizon.

And you are his. 

-*- FIN -*-

[nozomijoestar]

Transcribed and formatted for readability the master thesis between me and @wlwclem​ on the nuances to NaraTrish together and as individuals being why we love it and respect it not being CompHet- we spent way too much Big Brain Energy on it to not share 

tw: brief mention of F-Slur when giving an example on toxic masculinity being bullshit, sexuality is briefly discussed in a non sexualizing way and in no graphic detail

*insert IM TRISH KIN BUCCIARATI joke here*

epickinnienaranciaYesterday at 11:45 PM

JDDBSJDBD YES bc ofc she gotta be Reassuring but at the same time his Himboism Knows No Bounds One of the lines in EoH u can give her is “Go get me an Italian Vogue magazine too while you’re at it” and I’m like. Queen

nozomijoestarYesterday at 11:46 PM

JDHDHDF BDE Narancia whipped Narancia stands no chance

epickinnienaranciaYesterday at 11:46 PM

OH FOR REAL one of HIS victory lines is something about getting all the stuff for her lmao And this is like even if she isn’t in the battle, Always Thinking Of His Queen

nozomijoestarYesterday at 11:50 PM

Trish decides to test the limits of this and his ability to recognize them by asking for impossible or nonexistent items/feats and when he continues to try for her without question she realizes she has too much power and must restrain it fjdjjdjfjf Can't turn into Dad

epickinnienaranciaYesterday at 11:51 PM

JDBDBSJS The color palette changes while she has an inner monologue while she watches him try to make her happy

nozomijoestarYesterday at 11:53 PM

"Oh my god Bucciarati was right...he's too loyal for his own good I need to stop even if it's a little fun"   Meanwhile Narancia: growing more and more frustrated with himself for perceived failure to someone he loves

epickinnienaranciaYesterday at 11:55 PM

She stops for the most part but does it every so often bc it’s cute

nozomijoestarYesterday at 11:56 PM

Lucky to have a freak like dat I feel like the only thing that can counter this self defeatism Narancia can get (bc his younger childhood...ofc he's fucked up and anxious and paranoid abt not being enough or abandoned) is Trish having to open her own repressed self up and love the shit out of himLike those reassuring lines she has in EoH and her moments in the anime/manga Bruno fucking does it as his father figure and Narancia admits it gives him strength

December 19, 2019

epickinnienaranciaToday at 12:04 AM

Yes, he feels like he has to prove his worth and like he’s worth having around otherwise he’s useless, i def feel like he would not like talking about the stuff that happened in the past with everyone bc he would feel ashamed and stupid or st, he needs to be told You Are Enough and her to open up too so they can lean on each other

nozomijoestarToday at 12:12 AM

Honestly no jokes for a second I feel like this is also abt breaking toxic masculinity bc it's fucking Italy in the early 00s just out of the 90s...it was RIFE rifer than even now with that shit like in much of the world then too, the idea that a boy becoming a man and men in general need to strictly follow dumbass self harming rules

 especially abt not opening up and only having real priorities for earning money, honoring family, and procreating as much as possible whether it's marriage making a family or "having sexual conquests" in promiscuity, anything outside of this bullshit image can't be tolerated and you might as well be a woman or "a fag" if you don't assert some fictional narrative of trying extremely hard to have power in everything bc that's all that matters is the ridiculous idea of Alpha Males applied to humans 

Narancia being a 80s- 90s kid with the childhood he had did not give him much fighting chance at all in this context and time period  esp just bc he happened to be born with a dick and thus saddled with these harmful expectations society made that could've only further repressed his recognition of not beating himself up and his own emotional needs on top of EVERYONE ever betraying him Where was he supposed to go? He can't go anywhere unless he meets Bruno

epickinnienaranciaToday at 12:18 AM

yes i agree..... like, males being looked down upon for opening up, being societally forced to shoulder the burdens and “man up” and just deal with it and fix everything. And then already having a toxic support system with his “friend” betraying him and his dad Sucking Major Ass, all he’s been taught is deal with it but hasn’t been given the tools to know how, and if Bruno didn’t meet him he honestly would be so stuck, what person (esp in that time period) is going to go out of their way to help an uneducated young male?

nozomijoestarToday at 12:20 AM

Even if it tragically ends with his death in canon I feel like the time he spent with Bruno's bois, Giorno, and Trish was huge in making some of that crack little by littleBc he has moments where you see how sweet he actually is, his "real" personality if you will underneath all the unresolved anger when he's with ppl he sees love him and give him hope When Giorno said No One Is Going To Hurt You Anymore that just made me cry harder

epickinnienaranciaToday at 12:23 AM

Yes! Like, ofc he gets angry, has unrepressed rage and reactions to things, he hasn’t had any type of emotional support in SO long and it’s not like it’s 100% fantastic in that regard with buccigang (which don’t get me wrong they are family but they are still in an aggressive gang and go off and give each other lots of shit)-YEAH AND THE FUCKIGN PLANT GROWING TOO IM

nozomijoestarToday at 12:25 AM

Trish is legit I think the one person aside from Giorno who would treat him without even the gang's aggressiveness Narancia is my fav in VA even if Bruno is the best written VA character bc he's me, this kind of shit in my life is why I developed PTSD undiagnosed since my childhood that only kept getting worse until only this year have I gotten any true help I know exactly how he feels 

Esp when you think your whole life exists to serve others never yourself NaraGio shippers I see y'all argument even if I don't follow it tbh, Gio was again the only one besides Trish to consistently care for Nara in day to day and when he was in danger and esp during the Clash and Talking Heads fight Gio was the one dude present like No Narancia It's Ok Please Tell Me What's Wrong You're Clearly Stressed

epickinnienaranciaToday at 12:31 AM

yeah although i haven’t experienced it i can still empathize and try to understand, i think there’s so many layers of protection and walls that most people never truly look past it to see the root cause or true self YES that fight was so frustrating bc they were all like Narancia stop being an idiot when something was clearly wrong and he was obviously in distress!!

nozomijoestarToday at 12:32 AM

Also Gio was the only one who first asserted that No, Narancia did the right thing in fighting Formaggio

epickinnienaranciaToday at 12:33 AM

Yes and with that whole interaction the gang often uses Narancia as the scapegoat essentially and just give him shit for every little thing without trying to understand his POV

nozomijoestarToday at 12:33 AM

The Clash fight tbh I feel was an ass pull set up to give Narancia his big bad ass loyalty proving moment even if it's a great fight that beginning part is...only the Trish and Gio interactions rly make sense fjdjdjI wish him and Giorno hung out more or I guess more like talked more bc you can't rly hang out when you're getting assassinated every day hfgdg

epickinnienaranciaToday at 12:36 AM

Yeah hdkdb, even with Fugo, even tho he found him and brought him to Bruno, he still calls him a dumbass, stabs him with a fork and shit, and then with Mista even tho I feel like they are Like Bros, he destroys Narancia’s radio for no fucking reason and also has a pattern of taking shit Narancia paid for without paying him backI def agree with that, I feel like Giorno interactions were lacking in that there really weren’t many one on one meaningful things so it’s hard for me to grasp his personal headspace and relationships a lot of the time

nozomijoestarToday at 12:37 AM

However to be a little more fair to the Bucci gang the manga version has Narancia trying a lot lot more to get their attention in logical ways that unfortunately Talking Heads completely ruins, he tried writing to let them know what was happening and TH warped the text into him saying vulgar things bragging abt his dick being a powerful Stand

epickinnienaranciaToday at 12:38 AM

Yeah I was gonna add I wasn’t sure if the manga had other stuff, tbf

nozomijoestarToday at 12:38 AM

I think this is also Shounen Tropes of the 90s at play too the "child" character was often written as the comic relief dumbass Narancia suffers it so it does add a layer of Not Good to his relationships The trope still exists tbh Anime cut out him writing I assume bc it's too sexual It's already pushing it having him whip it out and piss in front of everyone jfhdhd

epickinnienaranciaToday at 12:41 AM

Yeah you right, it’s like the i want it to be that deep meme, like Araki obvi doesn’t have him only as comic relief but if he delved into his character more there would’ve been so much more that could’ve been done and shown YEAH DJDBDJDJF I WAS SURPRISED THT WAS ANIMATED

------------------------[ CUT INTERMISSION ]-----------------------------

nozomijoestarToday at 12:51 AM

Ok but to get back on track with where I was trying to go even opening this all up is how it's critical to NaraTrish in a mutually beneficial way

nozomijoestarToday at 1:01 AM

Nara is no incel he's a King obvs but he is also at heart a confused scared kid uncertain of anything in the world beyond what's closest in his grasp and without someone actively believing in and validating him he can't fully achieve awareness of healthy dynamics and even the problems within the ones he already has with his gang and Bruno- Trish doesn't have to babysit him and be the stereotypical The Woman Only Supports And Gives Up Her Body bc thats never her and couldn't be her and Narancia wouldn't make her that way bc even when he kinda touches on that (giving in a bit to the idea that men are the main protectors of women) when he gets too fixated on wanting what he thinks is for her wellbeing he does snap out and acknowledge he's wrong bc 

Trish by her independent nature and tremendous Will proves those stereotypes are bullshit, not even factoring in their first meeting as already making a huge impression on his beliefs of what girls can do- Trish knowing how to challenge him by staying true to herself yet having the compassion to help someone suffering and with fewer chances from birth than she had would not only win him over but give him something even Bruno can't, self sustaining confidence, bc Trish isn't part of a chain of command, she's just a girl in love with a boy who wants him to be happy and that concept while foreign to him for so long once it kicks in he could actually learn to build himself For himself and For someone who wouldn't use him for some greater schemes or dirty work, 

I love Bruno ok he's one of the best characters in anything ever but his flaw in his ability to help motivate ppl is tied to that fact that he's bringing them into a dangerous strict order of command to Serve not entirely in a place/way that lets them just be themselves and realize organic loving relationships with anyone and themselves SO

epickinnienaranciaToday at 1:05 AM

they’re healing...... being shown love without a position of authority or any obligations is so powerful for his growth

nozomijoestarToday at 1:25 AM

That all being said, Everything Trish does he's paying attention to, she keeps him alive during the Grateful Dead fight not because she needs him to serve for a cause ( a cause might I add even Bruno the near saint he is was ready to let Nara go right then and there for bc death is in the job description) but because she doesn't know him well yet and shit he even swung a knife at her when they first met over who was in the bathroom, but he's a person suffering and in pain and to let him die even if it's Expected Of The Mission is garbage to her even if she respects Bruno down the line as a father compared to fucking evil Diavolo,

 Trish constantly goes out her way to do these things for Nara bc Trish instinctively knows he's the most vulnerable mentally and her sense of compassion and justice (likely something Donatella made sure to instill in her before her death by cherishing Trish and spoiling her even as a single mother) will not stand to not help someone when she could've- and he reciprocates it even if in disbelief bc he can tell This Person Is Safety, This Person Is Like Me Yet Not, A Better Me I Want To Be, by the time he's about to die someone with his fragile mind was actually gaining conviction about taking control for himself on his own terms and he would risk even those chances to defend the person who actually helped him arrive there (along with Gio) in the first place, 

I think by the end of his life he rly did love her or start to, it being romantic or not is up to individual interpretation to which you know I'm in the romance camp, point is he found someone who truly taught him strength without him fully realizing it and did so without belittling him, if anything instead treating him only with love and kindness and patience (not being a door mat for him, but like, not treating him like ass like everyone else has their moments of either), I think anything Trish asks of him, this is all why he's so willing to do it on top of feeling deep  empathy, I've written in my character notes as well that like this goes even further to sex being one of the most intimate things there is, like I kno we jest and jape abt Teens Doing Dumb Shit bc we're clowns 

but the sheer vulnerability you have to have esp in a first love situation to be willing to go through with that for the first time ever takes a lot of trust and courage, aspects I think Trish was able to give him and would solidify in asking something seen as so important for many people from him, the headstrong Trish wants to be vulnerable for him and the slowly confidence boosted Narancia wants to accept that faith and trust and love and exchange it with his own of the same for her, it's not horny teens 100% it's two hurt but hopeful kids on the verge of having to be adults wanting to find another piece of identity in how they are with someone else, obvs it will forever be offscreen bc pedos deserve to be skinned alive 

I just feel that the components that would fuel them to do something teens try to do to feel more adult and bc hormones are a lot more based in growing maturity than pure lust, I think this is what I fully mean by Writing About Teens Exploring Love And Sexuality; Not Fetishizing And Reveling In Showing The Act Itself Especially For Disgusting Titillation, I think this and not explicitly writing the sex are the difference between child porn and creating realistic characters

epickinnienaranciaToday at 1:36 AM

Yeah, it is going to sound like a dumb take but the topic of sex and sexuality itself is not inherently sexual, by which I meant it isn’t the focus — there’s SO much more to it and in this case especially it can be like the ultimate sign of love, trust, intimacy, compassion, trying to make your way as a teen through a harsh world, like I can go on. Nasties Dont Interact but the shying away from the mere mention of it in a non-sexualized context is unrealistic. 

 Yes The Grateful Dead fight i 1000% agree is so important in both his personal growth and the development of their relationship, I think it’s an important parallel that he is dumbfounded about her going to such lengths to keep him alive without the sense of duty/obligation versus Trish’s feelings and outbursts of confusion on why Bucciarati and his gang even cared about her, protecting her to the point of death being on the line.(edited)

epickinnienaranciaToday at 1:44 AM

all these elements of complication and similarities between their characters is why ive gotten so passionate about both them and their relationship (whether romantic or platonic it’s really fucking strong and good), the story of two kids making it through adversity, learning to unshoulder their burdens and lean on others, the Found Family™️, and learning and growing together is just so much more fucking deep and complex than the mainstream bs that exists. 

now im not any type of elitist hipster but esp in male and female relationships portrayed in what feels like basically fucking everything are just like CompHet Bullshit and they’re together bc They Are Just Supposed To Be (not to mention the toxic masculinity culture within that where the women barely have character arcs and are just seen as objects anyways) But what I’m trying to say is that in this the relationship is real and it feels earned in a way that just isn’t there in so much other media out there(edited)

nozomijoestarToday at 1:48 AM

Honestly if we tweak this just a lil more this is basically Guts and Casca One of the greatest and saddest romances ever written

epickinnienaranciaToday at 1:48 AM

i still have berserk bookmarked just haven’t gotten around to reading yet

nozomijoestarToday at 1:48 AM

If VA was a Seinen it's p much Berserk In Italy Also big brain...galaxy brain...everything you said was a fact signed sealed and delivered(edited)

epickinnienaranciaToday at 1:51 AM

Wow we’re actually in sync and using the brain cell to its fullest extent tonight

nozomijoestarToday at 1:51 AM

When I say she's his world and he's hers this is what I mean, not comphet hdhdhfhYEAH HFHDG

epickinnienaranciaToday at 1:52 AM

(also my phone autocorrected “and” to “ANF” bc of twdg..... it also sometimes changes it to “AMD” bc I work in technology. My Phone Knows My Interests Are More Important To Me Than One Of The Main Parts Of Speech. Iconic)YESSSS they’re just SO GOOD there’s so much to articulate!

nozomijoestarToday at 1:55 AM

She was his Queen, and god help anyone who disrespected his Queen

epickinnienaranciaToday at 1:55 AM

JDBDHE SHIT THE FUCK IP DKDBEBDJFBBD

nozomijoestarToday at 1:56 AM

Buy my silence $8000 a month

[solarcelest]

standing guard

day #4. human shield

When Bruce was small, he had always believed that his dad was invincible. During the weekends, Thomas Wayne always made sure that he prioritized time for his family. He would take them to specially planned outings at the park or the zoo, surprise them with a fancy dinner or with tickets to the theatre.

During the week, he would be up before Bruce even began to stir, fastening his tie and pulling on his shoes before heading to work. There he not only ran the company but also worked as a doctor himself, researching and working to do his best to provide for and assist his patients and clients in the best way he could. He was always home for dinner though, sitting in the head chair at end and enjoying the meal with his family. Bruce had always ogled at him then, eyes shining wide and bright.

He had wished for his moment to sit in that chair all too soon.

There were more times than Bruce could count where he had been nervous or frightened and had turned to his father for comfort. Moments when he would believe that he saw shadows lingering in dark corners or people gathered too close at an elite event. He would grip onto his father's coat then, knuckles tight and whitened from the pressure. He would inch, slowly in hopes that Thomas might not take any notice, behind the man for protection.His own personal human shield.

They had just come out of the theatre, the salty taste of popcorn still lingered on his tongue, his lips dry from the dehydrating substance. They were all laughing at something that Bruce had said, a joke about the film they had just seen; Zorro.

His mother's laugh was bubbly and light, so full of love and joy. She was always so soft and gentle with everything that she did, carrying an elegance about her that many people admired and wished to have themselves.

His father's laugh on the other hand, was deep and tumbled as he breathed. He seemed a gaunt to Bruce at the time, standing so tall and firm. His arms seemed so large compared to Nrices own and the boy didn’t understand how there was a chance of him ever growing to be the same.

It was dark out, a time of night that usually terrified Bruce but he was distracted, to joyous and laughing too hard to allow for any fear.

Until they turned into that alley.

He wasn’t sure if his father had been trying to take a shortcut or if the mighty Thomas Wayne has gotten lost in his own city or had perhaps been just as caught up as Bruce and didn’t realize where he was turning, but somewhere along the way they found themselves in the ‘not so good’ section of town.

There was a line lost that flickered and illuminated the puddle beneath it. The ladder of a fire escape swung on rusted hinges.

There were footsteps, shouting and demands for money, for everything they had and owned to be handed over. Thomas promised, already moving to remove his Rolex if only they would spare his family and please, please do not bring any harm to his still so young son.

Bruce didn’t even have the chance to hide behind his father before the gunfire. Before the sound of pearls landing in puddles and rolling along the concrete. Before the world ended.

***

When Richard Grayson was small, he used to think his dad to be invisible. The man would always prioritize family first, even if the show and his performance was a close second.

From the time Dick could walk, he was being taught a copious amount of tricks on the trapeze and, by his fifth birthday, he was performing in shows. The Flying Graysons were pasted everywhere, on posters and flyers, the side of their train cars, billboards and in newspaper adds. His family was the main act.

His mother had always been the glue to their family, holding them together in both heart and mind even when they felt as if the stress was too much. But even when shows got rough or ticket sales were low, his father never showed stress. Not when they were cornered by angry drunks who yelled insults and racial slurs. He just squared his lean shoulders and stepped forward, maneuvering himself so he stood between Dick and the scene before him, shielding the child from sight.

His father was a hero.

The trapeze has been in full swing, a new set had been prepped by his father and the family had practiced it for weeks on end, perfecting it before the Gotham show.

There were colors everywhere. Everything was extravagant and over the top, red and blue and gold streamers waving in the wind, multicolored snow cones with a thousand different flavors, the scent of freshly popped corn wafting through the tents.

There were peanuts everywhere, shells littering the ground and half empty barrels in the most random and of spots. There were people everywhere, moving and bustling about, hurrying, always hurrying. The sand in the ring had been perfectly smoother before the show but now, after everything, it was muddled and stirred.

Plastic cups and trash littered the ground and used straws where bent in half. Trash barrels overflowed, not large enough to container the mass amounts of garage produced by an even larger crowd.

The memory of cheers and applause echoed off the fabric of the tent walls but it died as time passed.

Instead there was ringing.

Ringing so loud that every other sound felt nearly silent on the boy’s ears. He paid no attention to anything other than the gruesome sight in front of him. There were hands on his arms, people attempting in vain to tear him away from all that was ever important to him. All that he ever had.

Why hadn’t they used a safety net?

The sand had once been ran but has quickly turned as crimson as the liquid being spilled across it. Blood, thick and oozing from the spots where bone had snapped and now protruded from flesh. Necks broken, hearts stopped and a little bit left all alone. All because of a grudge and cut trapeze line.

Why hadn’t they been using a safety net?

Dick wasn’t sure, didn’t think that he would ever be sure. For now, he wrapped his small arms around the broken bodies of his most loved parents, stretching them as far as they could go. He didn’t plan on leaving, hadn’t at least until he felt a heavy weight dropped on his shoulders.

It took him a moment to realize the weight came from a thick sports jacket, the owner standing not far off. The man's eyes were soft and kind, understanding in a way that was both welcoming and confusing. How could someone ever understand Dicks pain? How could someone ever know what he was feeling in that so very traumatic moment? They couldn’t, he didn’t think so at least. It was impossible, no one else could ever be in that much pain.

Still this man looked so familiar. There was something about him that Dick nearly recognized. An aura aliens him that was so painstakingly inciting it wa slide than diffuse not

to up and run into the strangers arms. A kindness in his eyes Dick wanted to pursue. He looked like he could help and, even more importantly, like he wanted to help.

After a moment more of sitting wrapped around his parents’ quickly cooling bodies and feeling the right of the coat against his back, Dick decided he wanted the man's help. He stood, shaking hands gripping the top corner of the jacket so it wouldn’t slide off and walked the short distance to where the man stood, out of the way of all of the chaos.

The man smiled, friendly and not through his lips but with his eyes. It was a silent ‘okay’ for Dick to continue.

“Bruce Wayne.” Was all the man said, sticking his hand out straight for a shake. A simple introduction was all, no lie about everything being okay or Dick being safe. No ‘I’m sorry for your loss’. It surprised Richard, sure, but the absence of such a pitiful phrase relieved him.

Bruce set a comforting hand on the boy’s thin shoulder before maneuvering himself so he stood between Dick and the horrid scene before him, shielding the child from the sight. He then waved a nearby officer over to help, someone to situate Dick. The officers name tag read ‘Gordon’.

It was then, in that moment of pure kindness, that Dick realized what seemed so familiar about this mystery man, about Bruce.

The man reminded him of his dad.

[prettylittlebrownskingyal]

I Need A Favor ✨

Damian Wayne x Reader.

Request: Can I please request # 11 (“my mom keeps setting me up, so i need you to pretend to be my boyfriend.”) from the fake dating trope prompts with Damian Wayne?

Notes: Don’t we all know an asshole like Chad? Requests still open!

Warnings: a male character that overlooks consent.

Prompt List Here.

 “I need a favor.”

You don’t know what exactly made you think it was a good idea to ask him. Maybe it was because he seemed to be the most suitable person to stump all of your mother’s prying questions, or maybe it was because you had known him long enough that he wouldn’t judge you for asking for this particular favor amongst friends. Or perhaps, and this seemed most likely, it was because asking him to fake date you was easier to do than confess your actual feelings to him.

“What is it?” he asks, book shutting with a snap. He always looked at you so intensely, it made you long to peer into his brain and see what he was thinking.

“You’re not going to be thrilled. Er…it’s kind of mundane.” You tried very hard to return his stare, to maintain level contact with his eyes but as a dark eyebrow went up in intrigue, you felt an immense desire to sit down, legs buckling a little. He was so effortlessly striking.

“If it doesn’t involve matters of life or death, I’m sure Grayson or Todd would be happy to assist you,” he says nonchalantly with a brief flicker of a grin, swinging his legs back up on the table and resuming his reading.

Just spit it out, you chastise yourself. How hard is it to just ask for a favor? It was Damian after all, he would never tease you about it. Besides, he was right. If he declined, Tim or Dick would be nice enough to help you out. In fact, you were sure even Jason wouldn’t mind, although that might just make your mother even more insistent on picking out your new boyfriend. You take a deep breath and his eyes flick up to you as you exhale, mouth quirking in amusement.

“My mom keeps setting me up, so i need you to pretend to be my boyfriend,” You say in one quick breath. Thankfully, Damian doesn’t laugh but he doesn’t look compliant either.

“And why me?”

You look down at the rug, moving a foot from left to right as though you were coaxing the earth to open up and swallow you whole. Why him? Because you had undeniable feelings for him that ran so deep that you were sure his name was written across your heart, imprinted in your bones and weaved into your soul.

Instead you say, “If it’s you, she won’t ask questions. She knows you’re a private person.” You unwittingly move around the table to sit next to him on the other side. His body heat radiates off him in waves and you feel a little light headed when he leans in towards you. He doesn’t say anything, just stares.

“Please Damian,” you start when the silence becomes too overwhelming. “Please, please pl--”

“Alright I’ll do it.”

“You will?”

“Yes. We’re friends are we not? I do not appreciate watching you suffer,” his smile is as warm and genuine as his words. Your stomach swoops and you feel a little dizzy but you manage to stutter out a thanks. “Plus, Talia has been doing the same to me.

November marked the beginning of the new financial year in Gotham city and as the chill of October bled into the frigid cold that meant autumn was at its peak; Gotham City’s elite prepared for the season where summer luncheons and October masquerades seamlessly shifted into dinner parties and extravagant galas under the glow of twinkling lights.

You and Damian had agreed on simple terms. At the next major gala of Gotham’s elite that Wayne Enterprises was set to host, you’d introduce him to your mother as your boyfriend; claim that it was a new relationship which would shut down her quest of finding you a life partner, and after that you’d both slink of to do whatever you wished.

Except, as most plans go, things went awry pretty much at the start at the evening. Damian had gotten caught up in a mission with Jason and had texted you several times to apologize but promise that he’d be there, he’d just be a little late, which didn’t seem that bad. Until you had arrived and your mother warned you to be on your best behavior before immediately ambushing you with three potential suitors all at once; a pretty blonde named Celeste who was fun to hang out with but quietly ran off to another party when her parents weren’t looking, Jeremy, who barely even glanced your way most of the night, instead spending most of his name stalking off to take heated phone calls and Chad, whose father was an accountant at Wayne Enterprises, and who was very clearly on steroids. He spent most of the evening regaling you of tales of his lacrosse victories and drinking a continuous stream of champagne.

You feigned interest valiantly. Across the room, your mother caught your eye and mouthed “Smile. Act more interested.” You briefly contemplated jumping off the nearby balcony, deciding against it because it was very likely that one of the Bat-kids would swoop in to rescue you, the bastards. But as the evening wore on, Damian absence seemed to tear a hole in your heart. You couldn’t help but wonder if this was his way of backing out of the plan. Perhaps it made him too uncomfortable to fake that kind of interest in you? You didn’t blame him. But it still stung.

As Chad reminded you that he was the star player of his team for what seemed like the millionth time, you noticed that he was invading more and more of your personal space with each flute of champagne. Something akin to bile began to rise in your throat as his arm slipped from your shoulder to your lower back, dangerously close to your butt. You fought hard to maintain a neutral expression, but this close the scent of his cologne was suffocating you and you wanted nothing more than to snap his grabby arm and run away. You tried to formulate an excuse in your mind. If you played sick and left early, your mom would just wait until the next gala event to try again and if you out rightly told her to cut it out, she’d get all offended and you’d never hear the end of it.

You briefly succeed in shaking him with the excuse of needing to speak with your mother, whilst he went in search of more drinks. You expected her to at least hear you out but she barely even let you get a word out.

“Go dance with Chad. He seems to be treating you nicely enough.” Yes mother but he’s also been trying to cop a feel all night and I’m not keen on giving him an opportunity, you thought bitterly. To add insult to injury Chad re-appeared with two glasses and an even stronger interest in getting you alone with him. He tugged on your arm, face set in what you assumed to be a pout but much rather looked as though he was constipated.

“Come on. I know you want to. Don’t you want to have some fun?” he slurred into your ear, his fingers digging too tightly into your waist. Bile began to rise in your throat again as you mother nodded approvingly at the sight of you. You couldn’t decide if you were about to be sick or if you were going to burst into tears.

“Come on!” he tried again, a little more forceful this time, “I know you want to.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You can’t be dressed like that and expect me to believe you.” He said arrogantly.

“Excuse me?” you could feel the angry tears threatening to burst like a flooded dam. Regardless of what happened next, even if you broke his nose, you were probably going to start crying. You felt so trapped and overwhelmed. Hurt enveloped you like a blanket; your perfect plan in ruins, your mother refusing to save you from the clutches of a creep and said creep becoming increasingly agitated by your rejection of his advances.

And just when you thought all was lost, when you thought your only option came down to violence, Damian appeared through the grand doors, looking like an angel of salvation in a suit. His dark hair was artfully tousled, one single strand falling across his forehead just so. His skin looked a little wan and he had dark circles under his eyes but he marched towards you with purpose, adjusting his blazer and fixing Chad with a dangerous leer. You didn’t miss the way his jaw ticked or his fists clenched. He played the part of the jealous boyfriend really well.

“Oh thank God, you made it,” you say, walking towards him, positively delighted to let him rescue you, “I was just hmph-”

And then he was kissing you; it was something fierce and primal and a little desperate on your part. His lips were warm and his pink mouth is just as soft as you had imagined it to be. Your hands slid into his hair as he licked into your mouth and when he’d kissed you thoroughly breathless, he pulled away from you slowly with his eyes closed as though the lack of air had made him a little intoxicated.

“Sorry I’m late beloved,” he says, smoothing his thumbs gently across your cheeks.

“It’s ok.” You stutter the words out softly as your head spins; you want him to kiss you again and then again and then forever.

“Who’s your friend?” he asks incredulously, head jerking in Chad’s direction

You bite back a satisfied smile at Chad’s obvious horror, forcing yourself to keep your words pleasant you say, “This is Chad, his dad’s an accountant for your dad, Dami.”

“Oh, really? And in all the years of your father having that position, did he never find the time to teach you about being a decent human being you irreverent leech? You were turned down multiple times and you kept trying to force her. I sure hope that you don’t usually behave like that and I sure hope your father can still be proud of you when he learns of your behaviour here this evening.” You’ve never heard Damian talk like that before. Usually his anger is biting and fierce, but his tone now is calm, only dangerously slow. You feel it necessary to keep a palm against his chest, tethering him to you.

���He’s right. I’d like an apology.”

He stutters out a sorry with wide eyes and a slack jaw and the turns away as fast he can. You make a mental note to ask Barbara to run a background check on him before turning back to Damian.

“How long have you been watching Damian?”

“Long enough .”

Still wrapped in his arms, you lean up on your toes to look directly into his eyes. They still sparkled brightly with amusement, hazel/green pools that were flecked with bits of honey-gold told you that his anger had subsided. You both let the moment linger unequivocally enthralled by each other. His nose brushes against yours and as your breaths mingle; his minty and yours smelling of champagne, he leans in to close the distance and capture you into another kiss.

“Is my mother looking?” you say against his chin once you’ve pulled away.

“Yes,” he says, his voice hoarse. It’s one word but it sounds so delicious that you shiver against him.

“Good. Thank you Damian, you’re the best fake boyfriend ever. I owe you one,” you whisper into his neck.

“Actually, I need to ask you for a favour,” he tilts your chin up, pinning you with his gaze, “Forgive me, but I lied before. I didn’t agree to this just because we’re friends, or because my mother is setting me up; TT she couldn’t care less. I agreed to this, because I could no longer conceal my feelings for you.”

He loosens his arms around you, taking your palms gently into his as you stare at him with confusion written all over your face.

“I said yes because I thought this would make it easier for me to ask. Would you…”

“Yes.”

“You don’t even know what I was about to say, beloved,” he smiles, brilliantly.

“I don’t care Dami. Just keep calling me that and keep kissing me.”

He complies.

[loftyexecutor]

clean slate (11/?)

Pairing: (eventual) addcest [LPDE] & elsain [LKATh] WC this chapter: 3600 Rating: T+ TWs: (past) abuse AU: modern/single parent Lusa (with his tiny son Arc) + runaway Esper (hah) Notes: i wont spoil anything but i feel like this is my favorite chapter so far 

ao3 link

It’s with a heavy heart that Esper shoves a shirt into his backpack and then, after a second’s deliberation, grabs another one, Lusa’s, from where it’s thrown over the laundry basket. He’d never thought he would feel like this one day, throwing essentials into a bag to leave, heart in the pit of his stomach. He’d never thought he’d get attached to a place.

The last time he’d done this, much less peacefully, he’d been full of adrenaline, panic coursing through his very veins. He remembers looking over his shoulder the whole time, watching carefully if his father stirs from his unconsciousness. He doesn’t to that now; doesn’t have to, since he’d hear either Lusa or Arc coming long before they’d see him pushing all the overflowing things further into the bag to zip it up.

He can’t help but wonder if he’ll be missed. Arc had grown attached to him, and Lusa was nice to him, but ultimately, they’d go back to how they were before he’d turned up. Lusa will probably be happier, having his workshop all to himself again, not having to care for Esper’s untimely outbursts.

He resolves to stop thinking about it lest he start crying and wakes someone up with the sound.

He throws the bag over his shoulder and then picks up the note he’d spent an agonizingly long time writing up. He places it onto the dining table for Lusa to find easily in the morning. He would feel bad for leaving without even saying a goodbye, but he can’t exactly do that without Lusa attempting to stop him. He could also go for a hug that he knows Lusa would provide more than happily, but he also can’t have that, even if he feels so, so cold. Suddenly it doesn’t feel like the summer anymore.

Esper shakes his head to clear it and then slips on his shoes. He can’t handle turning around eve once more to look at the house he’d come to call home, a real home as it’s defined in the dictionaries, as opposed to the prison he’d spent his life at before.

He steps onto the dark street with quaking shoulders.

                                                         —

“Heey! Give back my dinosaur!”

“Shea!”

“But da-ad! It’s my turn!”

“That’s my dinosaur!”

“Shea, you lost your dinosaur last week. Give it back to your brother.”

“But da——d!”

“No buts! Give it back and go brush your teeth, both of your. It’s way past your bedtime.”

“...okay…”

Arme sighs, adding ‘get Shea a new toy dinosaur’ to his mental to-do list. He turns to Knight, who is still sitting on the sofa, fiddling with his phone and the strap on it. Arme’s expression melts as he sits by him, enveloping him with an arm.

“You tired?” he asks, bumping into Knight’s head with his.

Knight chuckles and returns the gesture. “A little. I still can’t believe what happened to Lusa today.”

Arme’s answer is a nod. He takes the phone from his husband’s hands and puts it onto the coffee table. The entire conversation is ingrained in his brain just as much as it is in Knight’s.

Knight had called Lusa to ask about going bowling next weekend, but it’d been obvious Lusa was not alright just from his tone of voice. Knight had put him on speaker then, and Arme had found his way into the living room, drawn by their discussion.

Lusa told them what had happened, and then promptly cried soft sobs into the phone. He didn’t want to wake up anyone, but Knight and Arme were lending an ear, he just couldn’t help it.

Knight had assured Lusa he’d personally be of help hiding the body if Asker were to ever show up again. Arme wasn't sure how to feel — because on one hand he completely agreed, but he also kew Knight was completely serious, so on the other hand he wished it wouldn’t come to that.

Finally, they managed to coerce Lusa to get some sleep, but ‘out of sight, out of mind’ never really worked its supposed magic with them.

“We’re a family,” Arme tells Knight, slow and deliberate. “We protect our own. God help those who would try harming Esper.”

Knight grins tiredly and then leans up to place a kiss to Arme’s temple. His lips linger there for a moment, and when they leave, Knight’s entire head rests on Armes shoulder instead. “You always know what to say.”

“Don’t make fun of me—”

“I’m not! I’m not,” Knight defends himself, “I mean it. That was very ice.”

Arme huffs. “You didn’t marry me because of my linguistic abilities or lack thereof.”

“You’re right, I married you for that sweet cheque you bring home every month.”

“Elsword Knight Sieghart-Ishmael, I swear—”

“Dad! Papa! We want a story!” Anpa cries from the upper floor, much to Knight’s elation. He uses the distraction to slip out of Arme’s hold and heads upstairs.

Arme watches with a fond look. He also adds ‘buy Knight something nice from that sweet cheque he brings home every month’ to his to-do list. It’s really getting too long at this point.

It’s not much later that he follow upstairs, stationing himself at the door of their boys’ room like a guard, listening in on every soft word Knight reads from the boys’ favorite storybook. The story of the fearless knight and the crystal of life. Arme knows it by heart, could probably wi a recital , that’s how many times he’d read it already. And Knight alike, probably even a few more times than him.

Still, there is no such thing calming like his husband’s voice piercing the nightly silence, and Arme closes his eyes to enjoy it to the fullest. It’s not like he can’t picture Knight’s smiles and fond looks aimed at their sons with perfection anyway.

He’s almost lulled to sleep himself by the time Knight finishes the story and places kisses on their boys’ heads, doing his best not to wake either of them. He’s smiling sleepily as he leaves the room, the click of the door handle hiding the smack their lips make as they come together.

“Let’s sleep, too,” he whispers, and Arme is nodding along with practiced ease, though he swoops down to get one more kiss beforehand.

Knight is tugging his shirt off before they’re even in the bedroom, sending it flying towards the direction of the bathroom. Arme would laugh if he didn’t feel similarly tired. He starts working his clothes off when Knight pipes up from the dresser, holding their pajamas in his hands with unnatural stiffness.

He’s staring out of the window as if transfixed.

“Is that—” He leans over the dresser, knocking over a — fortunately unlit — candle holder. “Is that Esper?!”

Arme frowns, running over so he can look out the window himself Sure enough, the figure passing their house has Esper’s hair, and is tall enough to pass for him. Arme’s breathing stutters as soon as he notices the bulging backpack on the figure’s back.

It might just be a coincidence, but then again…

There’s no one in the town who resembles Esper, especially not like that. Arme is rushing to get his phone from its charging station on the bedside table.

“We have to call Lusa,” he says, already doing just that. Knight peeks peering out the window, watches the figure go further and further down the street.

“What’s that way—?” Knight asks, but it hits him almost the second the words leave his lips. “The bus stop! Arme, he’s planning to leave!”

Knight’s panicked words only serve to make the dialing tones more terse. “Pick up, pick up, God, make him pick up alread—”

“Hm? Arme?” Lusa slurs from the other side of the line, obviously having been just awoken.

“Lusa, is Esper home?” Arme asks in a rush.

Lusa sounds confused, and Arme can almost see the little crease between his brows. “Wha? He went to bed before me…? Why’re you askin’?”

“Lusa, I need you to go check Esper’s room right the fuck now. Knight, I’m gonna start the car,” Arme instructs, pulling his shirt back on haphazardly.

There’s a distant, “Wow! Language!”

“Did something happen?” Lusa asks, starting to wake up more. Arme isn’t sure whose heavy footsteps he hears; Lusa’s or his own. The automatic light turns on as he steps onto the porch, already clicking the car lock off.

“Fuck!” Lusa hisses into his ear, “He’s not here! It’s a fucking mess, what happened?” He sounds just as panicked as Arme knows he is.

“Knight saw him going down our street a few ago,” he tries explaining. Hes jabbing the key into the ignition and pushing the phone against his shoulder with the side of his face as he peels off the driveway, making a sharper turn than he ever would during daylight. “He had a bag. Knight thinks he’s going to the bus stop.”

“Fuck! What’s he thinking?”

Arme has no answer for that question, but he knows Lusa does. There’s silence for a few blocks and then Lusa breathes heavily into the receiver and says, “I’ll be there in ten minutes. Please, stop him.”

“That’s the plan,” Arme cuts off, Lusa’s voice fading off with the end of the call.

                                                        —

Lusa’s hands tremble as he holds the paper, wrinkling it with the force of his grip. He wishes he could unread something, but alas, he has no such powers or luck.

— Lusa,

I hope you had a good rest. I decided it was too dangerous for me to stay when father knows there this is. I can’t imagine if he’d hurt you or Arc and I can’t risk it. Sorry I left without a word, but I don’t want you to try to stop me. It’s better this way. You’ll be safe if you don’t know where I am. My father is a dangerous man, you’re lucky nothing happened to you yesterday. Please please don’t look for me.

Thank you for everything. I hope I can repay you one say, somehow.

— Esper

Lusa feels like what he’d just read isn’t real, but Arme had made it all too real, and painfully so. He’s grabbing his keys before he can think about it a second longer, running out in nothing but his pajamas and bedheaded hair.

The letter gets shoved into his pocket haphazardly and Lusa wants to forget it exists, but it’s burning a hole through his jeans and soul alike. Nothing save it feels real at the moment; the dark and quiet transforms the town into something unfamiliar, strange.

The drive feels at once endless and over too soon. Lusa’s sneakers drag over the concrete as he half-jogs to the bus stop, breathing out an immediate sigh of relief when he spots a hunched-over figure.

Esper sits on the bench, the lone street lamp that reaches the secluded spot casting long shadows over his figure. Sure enough, there’s a bag on his shoulders. He was really planning on leaving.

Lusa can’t breathe.

“Esper!” he cries, breaking out into a full run and almost tripping himself over a curb.

Esper jerks, turning a wide-eyed face towards him, recoiling almost immediately. Lusa comes to a halt when he reaches him, panting and with equally wide-eyed stare. Esper is holding up his arms in front of his chest as if waiting to be struck down, to defend himself. The implications churn Lusa’s stomach in the very opposite of a good way.

How does he show Esper that he wouldn’t hurt him, never ever again? Each day, each tiny jolt and jerk and careful, fearful glance he beats himself up for contributing to it, wishing there was a way to re-do history and change not only his meeting with Esper, but everything else as well.

He only just notices Arme sitting next to Esper when he leans to look at him closer, frowning like Lusa had done something awful. And, fuck, Lusa doesn’t need him to remind him too; he’s very capable of kicking his brain himself, thank you very much.

He all but collapses at Esper’s feet, reaching out to grab his hands in his, enveloping them and warming the cold skin. He can’t hold back the tears that he didn’t even know he still had after all the ones he’d spent today.

Esper stares down at him, mirroring him with a look of agony that Lusa wishes will never cross his face ever again.

“Please, please, please don’t leave,” Lusa chokes out, back bending down in tandem with the quiet wail that leaves his chapped, bitten-up lips. His forehead comes to rest against Esper’s knees, yet he keeps talking. Esper and Arme hear him clear as day, no matter the mumbles or sobs. “Please, I promise nothing will happen to you anymore, so please, rethink it— I don’t want to lose you, Esper, please…”

Esper weeps — one would think he’d also have no tears left to cry anymore, after a day full of them, but no, his tearducts are as functional as ever and provide the saltiness diligently — and he leans over Lusa, squeezing his hand with his trembling ones. Lusa squeezes back and that simple human contact warms Esper like nothing else could.

“I—” he gasps, sniffling like a whining puppy that had been kicked. His face is a mess of various fluids and he’s thankful for the bad light so the others don’t have to see him like that. “I don’t want to leave…!”

“You don’t have to, you don’t, so please,” Lusa begs, gripping onto Esper like his entire life depends on it.

Maybe it does.

Arme rubs Esper’s back in silence. He knows there’s not much more he can do than he’d already done, or say more than he already had. He’s glad Lusa didn’t have to see Esper when he’d first realized he’d been caught in the act, fighting and begging. Really a sight Arme himself wishes to erase from his memory. He’s not sure how Lusa would have reacted.

Esper shakes between the two of them, trying to stifle his sobs and hiccups. His success is debatable, but it’s not like either of them is going to start the debate.

“I’m sorry,” he says, not without his voice breaking in the middle though, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

“It’s okay,” Lusa echoes back back to each of Esper’s apologies, pulling the man closer, enveloping him in a tight embrace. He doesn’t want to ever let go, ever let Esper slip from his fingers like he’d tried.

They’re pulled out of their thoughts, out of their tears, by the bus coming up to a stop by their little bench, tires screeching too-loud in the night.

Lusa stares at the vehicle and then looks back at Esper, holding him in place with a terrified look. With wide and bloodshot eyes and tear streaks running down his cheeks like rivulets of pain, Esper isn’t sure he’d ever seen Lusa look this scared before. Lusa was strong, he was the one who didn’t cry — today is the first time Esper had ever seen him shed a tear, and what a way to find out.

“Please,” Lusa chokes out, no more than a cut-off whisper that gets stuck halfway up his throat, “I won’t— I can’t make you stay if you don’t want to, but please— please don’t go.”

Esper sobs again, lips wobbling as he grits his teeth and fights not to screw his eyes shut. He almost knocks Lusa backwards with the force he throws himself at him again, clinging like a drowning man to a piece of driftwood. Lusa feels like an anchor, holding him down so he feels real again when everything feels like a bad, bad dream.

“I don’t want to leave,” he confesses again, straight into the fabric of Lusa’s already wrinkled shirt.

“Then don’t! I promise everything will be alright.”

Esper lets himself get lulled by the soft words until the bus drives closes the doors to the vehicle again and speeds off, disappearing into the distance as its tail lights fade out of view.

“Would you like to go home?” Lusa asks, peeking at Arme over the tremble of Esper’s shoulder. They share a look full of nothing but relief, though Arme knows Lusa feels much more of it than him.

Esper nods, choppy, timid. It would’ve gotten unnoticed if he didn’t have his face pressed into the crook of Lusa’s neck and Lusa couldn’t feel even miniscule movements.

“Then let’s go, let’s get some rest.”

                                                        —

“Thank you, Arme,” Lusa says, standing in the doorway. He looks so tired now, with bags under his eyes and unable to even form a real smile.

Arme shakes his head, arms folded not defensively, but pensively. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll Knight everything is fine, he must be worried sick by now.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

“Again, not your fault. Not Esper’s, either. Please go get some rest.”

Lusa nods, staring off into nothing again. “Yeah,” he says finally, when the sound of boiling water and the kettle squeaking reaches his ears. “Be careful on the way home.”

“I will. Good night, Lusa,” Arme tells him. He hesitates for a moment, though, then reaches up and softly claps Lusa’s shoulder. Then he’s heading back to his car.

The clock on the hallway wall reads 3:19 when Lusa closes the door and leans back on it to catch his breath, way past his or Arme’s bedtime on a weekday. They’re all going to be messes tomorrow.

But there’s someone who’s a mess right now who needs attention. Lusa paddles his way to the kitchen to find Esper pouring tea. He’s handed a steaming mug and Esper gives a wide smile to go along with it.

“Here. I thought it might help you sleep. It’s chamomile.”

Lusa puts the mug down onto the table. “Esper,” he says sternly, but not unkindly, “You don’t need to act like nothing happened.”

Esper’s falls off like a leaf in the autumn breeze. He holds his own mug close, fingers wrapped around the colorful ceramic. It’s Lusa’s, the one he keeps, the one that has the terrible cat pun on it.

“I’m sorry,” he says, quiet and gazing down.

“Come on, I wasn’t looking for an apology. I’m not angry at you, okay?”

“Uh-uh,” Esper nods, staring into the moving surface of his tea like it holds the secrets to the universe. He plays with the teabag absently, yanking at the damp string.

“I wanna… talk to you about it again, but not now,” Lusa says. His voice is soft, as gentle as he can make it. “For now, I bet we’re both tired.”

“Yeah.”

“Esper…” Lusa hesitates. Gathering all his courage to ask this, he goes ahead with it, but not until a few tense moments pass. “Would you consider sleeping with me tonight? In my room, I mean— I know, it sounds weird, but I’d just like to make sure you’re here, y’know?”

“Okay,” Esper nods, but Lusa frowns.

“You don’t have to say yes. If you don’t want to, nothing will happen. I won’t get angry.”

“No. No, it’s okay. More than okay— I’d… like to not be alone, actually,” Esper explains, a quiet confession like a giant secret no one was supposed to find out.

Lusa opens his arms and waits for Esper to put his tea away before he hugs him again. The lankier man reciprocates, squeezing Lusa with all his strength.

“Today was… long,” Lusa says as he pulls away, “I promise you everything will be alright. So let’s sleep on it, okay?”

Esper hums, nodding with a small, crooked smile. He can’t wait to sleep, really; is sure he’d pass out as soon as his head hit the pillow. Now that the adrenaline is gone from his system, his limbs feel like lead and head pounds with a headache from all the crying.

They take their teas and sip them slowly, savoring the sweetened taste. Esper makes the best tea, Lusa had decided. And the best food. And the best desserts.

He has the nicest laugh. He’s so funny. He gets scared by horror movies too easily. He gets that wrinkle between his brows when he concentrates too much. He’s skilled with anything he picks up almost immediately.

He’s family. Lusa can’t imagine life without him anymore, just like he can’t imagine life without Arc.

Esper drags himself more than walks up the stairs and Lusa can see just how badly this has affected him. Not that he couldn’t before, but with the storm — hopefully — behind them, it’s time to see what hasn’t gotten flooded. Esper hesitates in the doorway of Lusa’s room until Lusa motions him inside.

It’s okay, he repeats. To himself, to Esper. To the both of them.

They collapse onto the bed, teas forgotten on the bedside table. It should be weird, sharing such a small bed with two of them, but it isn’t. Lusa’s arms come to wind around Esper, to keep him close, almost unconsciously, and Esper kicks away the blanket so they’re not overheating. They’re still wearing their clothes — or, at least Esper is, Lusa had just thrown a shirt on to go along with his sleeping sweatpants. That should also be weird. Possibly uncomfortable. But Esper doesn’t even peep.

Just as he’d predicted, the sweet embrace of sleep takes him into its hold just as easily as  Lusa does, and he snuggles up to both.

[darveyfics]

GIVE ME ALL THE ANGST. THE ANGSTY MOST PAINFUL DARVEY ONESHOT YOU CAN. MAKE ME SOB. HAPPY ENDING NO HAPPY ENDING UP TO YOU. A N G S T. ANGST. angst.

It was finados last week which is what we call our day of the dead, I was melancholic so I wrote some separation angst but I don’t know if it reaches your desired levels of sad

plus, unrelated, but I advise all of you to listen to Sam Smith’s new album and like, suffer (Say It First is the new Darvey song)

Gap

It’s been a year but she picks up when he calls; because of the day,because she knows he needs her to.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

They let the static of poor reception fill the void of unspoken goodbyesfor minutes because there hasn’t been a word uttered between them in threehundred and fifty days. Neither are sure of the right thing to say when thelast things said were so tangled in barbed wire; instead, they breathe andneglect until she, like always, can’t stand his indecision.

“I wondered if you’d call,” Her voice is hoarse by lack of sleep andalcohol, and too sad, more than she’d meant to let on.

“You knew I would,” He counters, tired but clear.

Donna hadn’t anticipated being the one, much less the only one, buzzedfor this conversation, but it’s something like one in the morning and his voiceis re-breaking pieces of her and it’s so much easier to stand it with scotch.

“I did,” She whispers “But I wasn’t as sure after eleven.”

He silences on the edge of confession. She can sense the weight of itjust by knowing him, counts his breaths until the scale shifts whichever way.

“I was afraid of finding out you wouldn’t pick up,” He reveals, “Andyou’re slurring,” he adds a beat later to shield from too much truth.

Another day a year ago, maybe, she would have cared to second-guess andconfront, but now it’s all dull. If nothing sparks hope, there’s no point ingranting his words value.

“Dewar’s” She explains, “A quarter bottle.”

“Too sweet,’ Harvey complains, unfailingly.

She images his grimace, though time apart has wiped off clarity in thedetails, and snorts something like a laugh “You’re the only one who likesbitter things.”

Because of the scotch, she delays interpretation until his silencestretches to demand it, “Oh,” she startles, memory snapping back to one of theirlast fights You’ll die alone and bitterthinking everyone abandoned you when you’re the one who pushed them away “Ididn’t mean it that way,” she murmurs regretfully into the line.

He sighs, waits, backing away from the edge, “I know,” It hurts him morebecause he’s the one who stayed, even if it was all mostly his fault, “But…” but I still think you’ll be there when I getin after I have nightmares about the things we said, “But I wasunprepared.”

She nods, clears her throat “Did you visit her?”

That’s why he called after all, the anniversary of Lily’s death, or itwas until two hours ago.

“I tried.”

“And?”

“And then I took the train,” he tells her, and maybe she imagines theshame in his voice but it still catches her.

“It’s only been a year,” She softens, “I didn’t think you’d make itthere, but at least you wanted to.”

“I thought I’d forgiven her,” he whispers, “I thought we had workedthrough things.”

“You hadn’t had enough time together yet.”

“Because I wasted it,” he sounds defeated.

It chips away at her, how much she wants to comfort him, but they’re toofar apart in a million and a half ways and it would hurt too much to stretchthe distance, they’d rip before they made it.

“You were hurting,” Donna offers.

“I was being stubborn,” He argues and she smiles about the suddenaccuracy of his self-awareness, “Don’t feel too vindicated,” Harvey tells heron a hunch, “I’m still awesome.”

She rolls her eyes, “Sure.”

The banter heals and aches, its unfamiliarity paralyzes them. It’s notthe same to joke around on a battlefield surrounded by the smoking remains ofwhat they had, but it’s better than the full-fledged chaos of war. Better thancold stares, slaps and leaving without saying goodbye.

It’s also suddenly overwhelming the more they don’t speak.

“And how was it with your dad?” She blurts out to relieve the emotion ofit, to stop her eyes from welling up and spilling how much time she spentmissing him instead of moving on.

“I-” He starts confusedly, coming off the daze of their truce, “I talkedto him, like always, but,” He laughs, short and surprising but genuine “Iforgot the Macallan.”

She laughs too and remembering lets some tears slip past her guard“He’ll hold that against you.”

“I know,” He says, “But it wasn’t his day.”

“He never liked it when you showed up without at least a beer.”

“He’d probably prefer that. Sometimes I think he only drank scotch forme,” He jokes.

She bites her lip, recalling one of her conversations with Gordon“Actually…” she starts and stops, withholding suspense.

“What?” He demands, but it’s good-natured.

“He told me he thought scotch was for entitled suits withoutimagination; the more expensive the worse,” She reveals cheekily.

“No he didn’t,” Harvey whines.

She smiles, a few more drops rolling down her cheek with the relief oftalking without hating him “He did,” She confirms smugly then pauses, weightingon the mercy of explaining the full story. It seems to her like he deserves it,so she softens for the truth “He also said he loved you too much to not sharethe things you like.”

Takes a while for him to answer and she knows he’s smiling with theclear memory of Gordon’s voice “Cheesy,” He mocks.

“That’s your dad,” She says affectionately.

Harvey sighs, “He would be disappointed that I didn’t have the guts togo see her.”

Donna nods, disagreeing even though he can’t tell “He would never bedisappointed in you.”

“He would,” He declares, firmly and within the second, catching himself afterand hesitating until he collects the courage to out what’s on his mind, “Justmaybe not about this.”

Her veins chill with the imminence of what’s implied. It hovers heavilybetween them like charged storm clouds, begging to rain down their feelings andthunder their truths - a natural disaster, horrifying and inevitable.

“He would hate me for half the things I said to you,” He confesses, “Ido.”

And God, how it hurts; she doesn’t want to hear any of it “Please,don’t,” She whispers weakly, closing a fist until her nails dig into the palm.

“Donna,” He calls, it’s her name and it’s a prayer but she feels so muchless than divine.

She realizes he’s about to plead for forgiveness. It would be patheticif she didn’t want to concede immediately, “I didn’t pick up for this,” Somehowshe manages to sound cold instead of crumbling, another lie on top of everythingelse.

“Just let me-”

“No,” She cuts off, “We’ve hurt each other enough.”

“I won’t,” He promises desperately.

She might trust his word if she thought he knew what they meant.

“This isn’t where we patch things up,” She asserts, about to start chokingon sobs but too driven not to speak, “We kissed, we fought, then Lily died and noneof it mattered,” Her tears start falling in clusters, she breathes erraticallywith equal parts anger and sadness, “I was willing to forget, I would havestayed, Harvey, but you kissed me,” The absurdity heats and boils onher chest, the things he did with no intention of facing consequences, “And wecouldn’t even look at each other!”

“Donna-” He’s crying too and trying to hide it, she hears it in hisvoice; it shreds her to pieces.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” She says, forcing herself to simmer down.

It’s so frustrating the way they always do this, hurt each other whenthey know they only hurt together.

There are a lot of seconds where neither of them speak and she imaginesseveral outcomes, none of them good, until, finally, he clears his throat andshe’s sure he is about to break them forever, “The Yankees lost today, well, yesterday,” He says instead, almosthalfway stable.

She blinks, once, twice; stares at nothing trying to understand “What?”

“I’m just saying it was an all-around shitty day,” Harvey soundsuncertain but somehow still determined, “It was a close call, I don’t know ifthat makes it better or worse.”

“What are you talking about?” She asks, frowning.

“I’m not talking about it,” Heanswers pointedly, “And they lost to the Red Sox, that’s twice as bad.”

He is giving up absolution to keep her on the line.

“Harvey…” She whispers.

“Just don’t hang up;” He begs, lost and drowning, “A year is a reallylong time.”

And it is. His despair wakes hers and suddenly Donna wants to tell himeverything; every joke, event, new friend and client, all the things about herlife he missed because they were too proud and wounded to reach out. She evenwants to say how much she missed the most detailed and insignificant aspects ofhaving him around, but it’s too much, it crumbles under its own weight. Insteadshe corrects him “Hasn’t been a year yet.”

He snorts a humorless laugh, “It was too long after a day.”

Maybe this means she’s feeble but… it melts everything; the time apart,the months leading up to it, the fights, the sharp words. She’s trying to holdon to his mistakes, to remember the reasons why she left, but they slip andfall and shatter and she doesn’t reach to save them.

“It was too long after a day,” She echoes, tears resuming, “I…” Shedrifts, afraid of being the one to put her heart on the line first yet again.

He spares her the decision, “I missed you too.”

They start to mend.

[thesassybooskter]

HANDLE WITH CARE by Helena Hunting: Excerpt

AVAILABLE AUGUST 27, 2019/ ST. MARTIN’S PRESS

New York Times bestselling author of SHACKING UP and I FLIPPING LOVE YOU Helena Hunting mixes humor and heart in this scandal-filled romantic comedy.

HE WANTS TO LOSE CONTROL. Between his parents’ messed up marriage and his narcissistic younger brother, Lincoln Moorehead has spent the majority of his life avoiding his family. After the death of his father, Lincoln finds himself in the middle of the drama. To top it all off, he’s been named CEO of Moorehead Media, much to his brother’s chagrin. But Lincoln’s bad attitude softens when he meets the no-nonsense, gorgeous woman who has been given the task of transforming him from the gruff, wilderness guy to a suave businessman

SHE’S TRYING TO HOLD IT TOGETHER. Wren Sterling has been working double time to keep the indiscretions at Moorehead Media at bay, so when she’s presented with a new contract, with new responsibilities and additional incentives, she agrees. Working with the reclusive oldest son of a ridiculously entitled family is worth the hassle if it means she’s that much closer to pursuing her own dreams. What Wren doesn’t expect is to find herself attracted to him, or for it to be mutual. And she certainly doesn’t expect to fall for Lincoln. But when a shocking new Moorehead scandal comes to light, she’s forced to choose between her own family and the broody, cynical CEO.

  Pre-order: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | Apple Books

Add to Goodreads

  Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

WHAT HAVE I GOTTEN MYSELF INTO?

  WREN

I slip onto the empty bar stool beside the lumberjack mountain man who looks like he tried to squeeze himself into a suit two sizes too small. He’s intimidatingly broad and thick, with long dark hair that’s been pulled up into a haphazard man bun thing. His beard is a hipster’s wet dream. His scowl, however, makes him about as approachable as a rabid porcupine. And yet, here I am, sidling up next to him.

He glances at me, eyes bleary and not really tracking. He quickly focuses on his half-empty glass again. Based on the slump of his shoulders and the uncoordinated way he picks up his glass and tips it toward his mouth, I’m guessing he’s pretty hammered. I order a sparkling water with a dash of cranberry juice and a lime.

What I could really use is a cup of lavender-mint tea and my bed, but instead, I’m sitting next to a drunk man in his thirties. My life is extra glamorous, obviously. And no, I’m not an escort, but at the moment I feel like my morals are on the same kind of slippery slope.

“Rough day?” I ask, nodding to the bottle that’s missing more than half its contents. It was full when he sat down at the bar an hour ago. Yes, I’ve been watching him the entire time, waiting for an opportunity to make my move. While he’s been sitting here, he’s turned down two women, one in a dress that could’ve doubled as a disco ball and the other in a top so low-cut, I could almost see her navel.

“You could say that,” he slurs. He props his cheek on his fist, eyes almost slits. I can still make out the vibrant blue hue despite them almost being closed. They move over me, assessing. I’m wearing a conservative black dress with a high neckline and a hem that falls below my knees. Definitely not nearly as provocative as Disco Ball or Navel Lady.

“That solving your problems?” I give him a wry grin and tip my chin in the direction of his bottle of Johnnie.

His gaze swings slowly to the bottle. It gives me a chance to really look at him. Or what I can see of his face under his beard, anyway.


“Nah, but it helps quiet down all the noise up here.” He taps his temple and blurts, “My dad died.”


I put a hand on his forearm. It feels awkward, and creepy on my part since its half-genuine, half-contrived comfort. “I’m so sorry.”


He glances at my hand, which I quickly remove, and refocuses on his drink. “I should be sorry too, but I think he was mostly an asshole, so the world might be better off without him.” He attempts to fill his glass again, but his aim is off, and he pours it on the bar instead. I rush to lift my purse and grab a handful of napkins to mop up the mess.

“I’m drunk,” he mumbles.


“Well, I’m thinking that might’ve been the plan, considering the way you’re sucking that bottle back. I’m actually surprised you didn’t ask for a straw in the first place. Might be a good idea to throw a spacer in there if you want tomorrow morning to suck less.” I push my drink toward him, hoping he doesn’t send me packing like he did the other women who approached him earlier.

He narrows his eyes at my glass, suspicious, maybe. “What is that?”

“Cranberry and soda.” 


“No booze?”


“No booze. Go ahead. You’ll thank me in the morning.”


He picks up the glass and pauses when it’s an inch from his mouth. His eyes crinkle, telling me he’s smiling under that beard. “Does that mean Imma wake up with you beside me?”

I cock a brow. “Are you propositioning me?”

“Shit, sorry.” He chugs the contents of my glass. “I was joking. Besides, I’m so wasted, I can barely remember my name. Pretty sure I’d be useless in bed tonight. I should stop talkin’.” He scrubs a hand over his face and then motions to me. “I wouldn’t proposition you.”

I’m not sure how to respond. I go with semi-affronted, since it seems like somewhat of an insult. “Good to know.”

“Dammit. I mean, I think you might be hot. You look hot. I mean attractive. I think you’re pretty.” He tips his head to the side and blinks a few times. “You have nice eyes, all four of them are lovely.”

This time I laugh—for real—and point to the bottle. “I think you might want to tell your date you’re done for the night.”

He blows out a breath and nods. “You might be right.”

He makes an attempt to stand, but as soon as his feet hit the floor, he stumbles into me and grabs my shoulders to steady himself. “Whoa. Sorry. Yup, I’m definitely drunk.” His face is inches from mine, breath smelling strongly of alcohol. Beyond that, I get a whiff of fresh soap and a hint of aftershave. He lets go of my shoulders and takes an unsteady step back. “I don’t usually do this.” He motions sloppily to the bottle. “Mostly I’m a three drink max guy.”

“I think losing your father makes this condonable.” I slide off my stool. Despite being tall for a woman, and wearing heels, he still manages to be close to a head taller than me.

“Yeah, maybe, but I still think I might regret it tomorrow.” He’s incredibly unsteady, swaying while standing in place. I take the opportunity for what it is and thread my arm through his, leading him away from the bar. “Come on, let’s get you to the elevator before you pass out right here.”

He nods, then wobbles a bit, like moving his head has set him off balance. “That’s probably a good idea.”

He leans into me as we weave through the bar and stumbles on the two stairs leading to the foyer. There’s no way I’ll be able to stop him if he goes down, but I drape one of his huge arms over my shoulder anyway, and slip my own around his waist, guiding him in a mostly straight line to the elevators.

“Which floor are you on?” I ask.

“Penthouse.” He drops his arm from my shoulder and flings it out, pointing to the black doors at the end of the hall. “Jesus, I feel like I’m on a boat.”

“It’s probably all the alcohol sloshing around in your brain.” I take his elbow again, helping him stagger the last twenty feet to the dedicated penthouse elevator.

He stares at the keypad for a few seconds, brow pulling into a furrow. “I can’t remember the code. It’s thumbprint activated though too.” He stumbles forward and presses his forehead against the wall, then tries to line up his thumb with the sensor, but his aim is horrendous and he keeps missing.

I settle a hand on his very firm forearm. This man is built like a tank. Or a superhero. For a moment, I reconsider what I’m about to do, but he seems pretty harmless and ridiculously hammered, so he shouldn’t pose a threat. I’m also trained in self-defense, which would fall under the by any means necessary umbrella. “Can I help?”

He rolls his head, eyes slits as they bounce around my face. “Please.”

I take his hand between mine. The first thing I notice is how clammy it is. But beyond that, his knuckles are rough, littered with tiny scars and a few scabs, and his nails are jagged.

“Your hands are small,” he observes as I line his thumb up with the sensor pad and press down.

“Maybe yours are abnormally big,” I reply. They are rather large. Like basketball player hands.

“You know what they say about big hands.”

I fight not to roll my eyes, but for a brief moment, I wonder if what’s in his pants actually matches the rest of him. And if he’s unkempt everywhere, not just on his face. I cut that visual quickly because it makes me want to gag. “And what do they say?”

His eyes crinkle again, and he slaps his own chest. “Something about big hands, big heart.”

I bite back my own smile. “Pretty sure you’re mixing that up with cold hands, warm heart.”

His brow furrows. “There’s a good chance.”

The elevator doors slide open. He pushes off the wall with some effort and practically tumbles inside. He catches himself on the rail and sags against the wall as I follow him in. I honestly can’t believe I’m doing this right now.

He doesn’t have to press a button since the elevator only goes to the penthouse floor. As soon as we start moving, he groans and his shoulders curl in. “I don’t feel so good.”

Please don’t let him be sick in here. If there’s one thing I can’t deal with, it’s vomit. “You should sit.”

He slides down the wall, massive shoulders rolling forward as he rests his forehead on his knees. “Tomorrow is going to suck.”

I stay on the other side of the elevator, in case he tosses his cookies. “Probably.”

It’s the longest elevator ride in the history of the world. Or at least it feels that way, mostly because I’m terrified he’s going to yak. Thankfully, we make it to the penthouse floor incident-free. On the down side, now that he’s in a sitting position, getting him to stand again is a challenge. I have to press the open door button three times before I can finally coax him to his feet.

In the time between leaving the bar and making it to the penthouse floor, the effects of the alcohol seems to have compounded. He’s beyond sloppy, using the wall and me for support as we make our way to his door. There are two penthouse apartments up here. One on either side of the foyer.

He leans against the doorjamb, once again fighting to find the coordination to get his thumb to the sensor pad. I don’t ask if he needs my assistance this time since it’s quite clear he does. Once again I take his clammy hand in mine.

“Your hands are really soft,” he mumbles.


“Thanks.”


The pad ashes green, and I turn the handle. “Okay, here we go. Home sweet home.”


“This isn’t my home,” he slurs. “My cousin’s family owns this building. I’m crashing here until I can get the fuck out of New York.”

I scan the penthouse. It an eclectic combination of odd art and modern furniture, like two different tastes crashed together and this is the result. Aside from that, it’s clean to the point of looking almost like a show home.

The only sign that someone is staying here is the lone coffee cup on the table in the living room and the blanket lolling like a tongue over the edge of the couch. I’m still standing in the doorway while he sways unsteadily.

He tries to shove his hand in his pants pocket, but all he succeeds in doing is setting himself off-balance. He nearly stumbles into the wall.

“Thanks for your help,” he says.

He’s back in his penthouse, which means my job is technically done. However, I’m worried he’s going to hurt himself, or worse, asphyxiate on his own vomit in the middle of the night, and I’ll be the one catching heat if that happens. I’ll also feel bad if something happens to him. I blow out a breath, annoyed that this is how my night is ending.

I heave his arm over my shoulder and slip mine around his waist again, leading him through the living room toward what seems to be the kitchen. There’s a sheet of paper on the island, but otherwise it’s spotless.

“What’re you doing?” he asks.

We pause when we reach the threshold. “Which way is your bedroom?”

He looks slowly from right to left. “Not that way.” He points to the kitchen. It’s very state of the art.

I guide him in the opposite direction down the hall, until he stumbles through a doorway, into a large but simply furnished bedroom. Once we reach the edge of the bed, he drops his arm, spins around—it’s drunkenly graceful—and falls back on the bed, arms spread wide as if he’s planning on making snow angels. “The room is spinning.”

“Would you like me to get you a glass of water and possibly a painkiller for the headache you’ll likely have in the morning?” I’m already heading for the bathroom.

“Might be a good idea,” he mumbles.

I find a glass on the edge of bathroom vanity—which is clean, apart from a brand new toothbrush and tube of toothpaste. I run the tap, wishing I had a plastic tumbler, because I’m not sure he’s in any state to deal with breakable objects. I check the medicine cabinet, find the pills I need, shake out two tablets, and return to the bedroom.

He’s right where I left him; sprawled out faceup on a massive king-size bed, legs hanging off the end, one shoe on the floor beside him. I cross over and set the water and the pills on the nightstand.

I make a quick trip back to the bathroom and grab the empty wastebasket from beside the toilet in case his night is a lot rougher than he expects.

I tap his knee, crossing my fingers he’ll be easy to rouse. “Hey, I have painkillers for you.”

He makes a noise, but doesn’t move otherwise.

I tap his knee again. “Lincoln, you need to wake up long enough to take these.” I cringe. I called him by name, and he didn’t offer it to me while we were down at the bar. Here’s hoping he’s too drunk to notice or remember. His name is Lincoln Moorehead, heir to the Moorehead Media fortune and all the crap that comes with it. And there’s a lot of it.

One eye becomes a slit. “Every time I open my eyes, the room starts spinning again.”

“If you drink this and take these, it might help.” I hold up the glass of water and the pills.

“’Kay.” It takes three tries for him to sit up. He tries to pick the pills up out of my palm, but keeps missing my hand.

“Just open your mouth.”

He lifts his head. “How do I know you’re not trying to roofie me?”

I hold up the tablet in front of his face. “They don’t say roofie, so you’re safe.”

He tries to focus on the pill and then my face. I have my doubts he’s successful at either.

His tongue peeks out to drag across his bottom lip. “The cameras in the hall will catch you if you steal my wallet.”

I laugh at that. “I’m not going to steal your wallet, I’m going to put you to bed.”

“Hmm.” He nods slowly and opens his mouth.

I drop the pills on his tongue and hand him the glass, which he drains in three long swallows. “Would you like me to refill that?”

“That’d be nice.” He holds out the glass, but when I try to pull away, he covers my hands with his. His shockingly blue eyes meet mine, and for a moment they’re clear and compelling. Despite how out of it he is, and how much he resembles a mountain man, or maybe because of it, I have a hard time looking away. “I really wish I wasn’t this messed up. You smell nice. I bet your hair is pretty when it’s not pulled up like that.” He flops a hand toward my bun. “Not that it’s not pretty like that, but I bet if you took it down, it would be wavy and soft. The kind of hair you want to bury your face in and run your fingers through.” He exhales a long breath. “I haven’t had sex in a really long time, but I feel like I would have zero finesse if I tried right now.”

I smile and turn away. In the time it takes for me to refill his glass, he’s managed to get one arm out of his suit jacket. He’s made it most of the way onto the bed, feet still hanging off the end, but he’s on his back, which is not ideal.

I set the glass on his nightstand, along with a second set of painkillers, which I’m assuming he’ll need in the morning, and give him another nudge. “Hey.”

This time I get nothing in the way of a response. I poke him twice more, but still nothing. He can’t sleep on his back with how drunk he is. He needs to be on his side or his stomach with a wastebasket close by.

I can’t in good conscience leave him like this. My options are limited. I shake my head as I kick off my shoes and climb up onto the bed with him. This is not at all what I expected to be doing when I brought him back up here.

I stare down at his sleeping form. His lips are parted, they’re nice lips, full and plump, even though they’re mostly obscured by his overgrown beard. His hair has started to unravel from its man bun, wisps hanging in his face. He has long lashes, really long actually, and they’re thick and dark, the kind women pay a lot of money for. His nose is straight and his cheekbones— what I can see of them—are high. With a haircut, a beard trim or complete shave, and a new suit that actually fits, I can imagine how refined he’ll look. More like a Moorehead than a mountain man lumberjack. I shake my head. “I need you to roll onto your side, please,” I say loudly.

Nothing. Not even a grunt.

I pull on his shoulder, but he’s dead weight. Leaning over him, I make a fist and give him a light jab approximately where his kidney is. “Lincoln, roll over.”

And roll he does, knocking me down and turning over so he’s right on top of me. We’re face-to-face. Good God, he’s heavy. His bones must be made of lead. He shifts, one leg coming over both of mine. I push at his knee, but his arm swings out and he wraps himself around me on a low groan, pinning my arm to my side. He’s like a giant human blanket.

“How did this become my life?” I say to the ceiling, because the man lying on top of me is apparently out cold.

I try to wriggle free, I even yell his name a bunch of time before I give up and wait for him to roll off me. And while I wait for that to happen, I replay the conversation with his mother, Gwendolyn Moorehead, that took place forty-eight hours ago and put me in this awkward position underneath her drunk son.

I’d been standing in Fredrick’s office, still digesting the fact that he was dead. It was shocking that a massive heart attack had taken him, since he was always so healthy and full of life.

Gwendolyn, his wife—now a widow—stood stoic behind his desk, papers stacked neatly in the center.

“I’m so very for your loss, Gwendolyn. If there’s anything I can do. Whatever you need.” The words poured out, typical condolences, but sincerely meant because I couldn’t imagine how my mother and I would feel if we lost my father.

Gwendolyn’s fingers danced at her throat as she cleared it. “Thank you,” she whispered brokenly and dabbed at her eyes. “I appreciate your kindness, Wren.”

“Let me know what you want me to handle, and I’ll take care of it.”

She took a deep breath, composing herself before she lifted her gaze to mine. “I need your help.”

“Of course, what can I do?”

“My oldest son, Lincoln, will be returning to New York for the funeral, and he’ll be staying to help run the company.”

A hot feeling crept up my spine. I’d heard very little about Lincoln. Everything from Armstrong’s mouth was scathing, Fredrick’s passing references had been with fondness, and my interactions with Gwendolyn had been minimal as it was Fredrick himself who hired me, so this was first I’ve heard of Lincoln through her. “I see. And how can I help with that?” I could only imagine how difficult Armstrong would be if he had to share the attention with someone else, particularly his brother.

“Transitioning Lincoln.” Gwendolyn rounded her desk. “You’ve managed to turn around Armstrong’s reputation in the media during the time you’ve been here. I know it hasn’t been easy, and Armstrong can be difficult to manage.”

Difficult to manage is the understatement of the entire century where Armstrong is concerned. He’s a cocksucker of epic proportions. He’s also a misogynistic, narcissistic bastard that I’ve had to deal with for the past eight months on a nearly daily basis—sometimes even on weekends.

My job as his “handler” has been to reshape his horrendous reputation after his involvement in several scandalous events became very public. It wasn’t a job I necessarily wanted, and I was prepared to politely reject the offer, but my mother asked me to take the position as a favor to her since she’s a friend of Gwendolyn.

Beyond that, my relationship with my mother has been strained for the past decade. When I was a teenager, I discovered information that changed our relationship forever. Taking the job at Moorehead was in part, my way of trying to help repair our fractured bond. The financial compensation, which was ridiculously high, also didn’t hurt. Besides, Gwendolyn is on nearly every single charitable foundation committee in the city, and since that’s where my interests lie, it seemed like a smart career move.

“Since you’re already working with Armstrong and things seem to be settled there for the most part, I felt it would make sense to keep you on here at Moorehead to work with Lincoln. He’s been away from civilized society for several years. He’s nothing like his brother, very altruistic and focused on his job, rather than recreational pursuits, so he should be easier to manage.”

I fought a scoff at the last bit, since “recreational pursuits” was a reference to the fact that Armstrong couldn’t seem to keep his pants zipped when it came to women.

Gwendolyn pushed a set of papers toward me. “It would only be for another six months. And of course, your salary would reflect the double work load, since you’ll still have to maintain Armstrong in some capacity while you assist Lincoln in transitioning into his role here.”

“I’m sorry, what—”

Gwendolyn pulled me into an awkward hug, holding onto my shoulders when she stepped back. Her eyes were glassy and red-rimmed. “You have no idea how much I appreciate your willingness to take this on. As soon as your contract is fulfilled, you have my word that I’ll give you a glowing recommendation to whichever organization you’d like. Your mother told me you’re interested in starting your own foundation. I’ll certainly help you in any way I’m able if you’ll stay on a little longer for me.” She dabbed at her corner of her eyes and sniffed, then tapped the papers on the desk. “I already have an agreement ready and an NDA, of course. Everything is tabbed for signing.”

I’m pulled back into the present when Lincoln shifts and one of his huge hands slides up my side and lands on my breast. At the same time, he pushes his nose against my neck, beard tickling my collarbone. He mutters something unintelligible against my skin.

I’m momentarily frozen in shock. Under any other circumstances, I would knee him in the balls. However, he’s not conscious or even semi-aware that he’s fondling me. Thankfully, now that he’s moved, I have some wiggle room.

I elbow him in the ribs, which probably hurts me more than it does him. At least it gets him to move away enough that I can slip out from under him. I roll off the bed and pop back up, smoothing out my now-wrinkled dress. My stupid nipples are perky, thanks to the attention the right one just got. Probably because it’s the most action I’ve seen since I started working for the Mooreheads eight months ago.

I hit the lights on the way out of the bedroom, pause in the kitchen to grab a glass of water and check out the sheet of paper on the counter. It’s a list of important details regarding the penthouse, including the entry code. I nab my purse, snap a pic, and head for the elevators.

I have a feeling this is going to be a long six months.

  From Handle With Care. Copyright © 2019 by Helena Hunting and reprinted with permission from St. Martin’s Paperbacks.

  About Helena Hunting

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of PUCKED, Helena Hunting lives on the outskirts of Toronto with her incredibly tolerant family and two moderately intolerant cats. She's writes contemporary romance ranging from new adult angst to romantic sports comedy.

Website | Twitter | Facebook | Goodreads

HANDLE WITH CARE by Helena Hunting: Excerpt was originally published on The Sassy Bookster