#i’d rather have things revealed in the story

[urgentkettle]

I think you’ve hit my point exactly. Dracula (book) and Nosferatu are fundamentally telling different stories. They have the same kind of monster, a similar cast of characters and story beats, and then they diverge both narratively and philosophically. They’re just different.

Let me be clear, I don’t think friendship would have saved Ellen. Nosferatu (the 2024 version especially with that opening scene) is rather fatalistic in this way. Ellen is doomed to die by the story no matter what happens. The only way to stop Orlok is for her to sacrifice herself, which is the only real choice/agency she is offered. She can die like his other victims, die and stay at his side as a monster, or die distracting him until the sun rises. All bad choices. And she is fighting like hell to live (and keep her friends alive) until it is revealed that there is no alternative. The fact that Ellen chooses to kill Orlok is an interesting and inline with the themes of domestic abuse and power. The 2024 version centers Ellen as the protagonist. This is a story about her.

Just as you said, the men are doomed in this same way. In the book there are months of time to collaborate and ride trains in order to defeat Dracula (DRAMA queen indeed). Even more so, the Scooby Gang are first bound together by their love for Lucy. which becomes their solemn quest to defeat Dracula at all cost (thank you Art’s fat wallet) and save Mina. As is shown by their affection and recognition of her cleverness, the whole Gang comes to love her too. Dracula is a story about the Scooby Gang. On the flip side, Friedrich can barely stand Ellen before things go off the rails. He throws Ellen and Thomas out on the plague streets when he’s had enough of her hysterical lady talk! As a group, the Nosferatu crew (help me workshop a more clever name please?) are bound by fear and an aggressive ticking clock. They don’t stand a chance.

Did you see the 1922 version? How’d you like it? I’ve got thoughts about that too. If I hadn’t seen it before the 2024 version, I would have liked this new one even less for not meeting my “but it’s Dracula!?” expectations. Going in knowing that the two are different made it easier to open my heart to this new one. If that makes sense. I’ve got the 1979 version on my watch list.

Bonus thoughts that are only spoilers for Dracula (book) under the cut

You didn’t say it did, but I’d like to point out that book Dracula doesn’t have a pretty ending either. Mina is saved, but not before she is brutalized by Dracula repeatedly. Jonathan is barely holding it together in Transylvania. Lucy dies and is damned. Quincy dies fighting in the final battle (justice for my man, they keep erasing him). Many of the film adaptations do make the ending prettier/neater. And I’m like, babes this is horror. The count is supposed to be scary; he’s a monster. This shit is pure suspense I wanna feel fear in my veins. But I digress.

I think a fundamental difference between book Dracula and Nosferatu is how the protagonists work as a collective. In Dracula, they are the Scooby Gang (trusting, collaborative, polyamorous). In Nosferatu, they are the teens from an 80s slasher (suspicious, deceitful, jealous). The count can be defeated, but only the power of friendship can save Mina.

[coredrill]

koyanagi based

[shadowbriar]

Bucky Barnes — Dishwasher

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x (she/her) wife!Reader Word Count : 1.5k Warning : None? Synopsis : Bucky knew that he was a man out of time, but never would he expect that this world no longer accepts home appliances as presents. Notes : If you like this story and would like to support me, please visit my kofi page and perhaps get me a coffee?☕

Bucky’s palms were starting to sweat. He knows when she’ll return home, down to its minutes, but he still couldn’t shake the jitters that were brewing up his spine. He has more than enough window to finish his quest, perhaps even sparing himself a good other hour to clean up any possible mess and wipe the apartment clean before she could smell anything amiss, but with the ticking of the clock taunting on him, agitation was starting to pool a little thicker in his gut.

He taps on his watch, wondering where the technicians that were supposed to be here half an hour ago might be at. The drive from the store to their apartment shouldn’t be that complicated. He’s written in bold font the address and their unit number. There should be no issue for them to find it.

He was just about to ring the store when the doorbell rang.

“Mr. Barnes?” one of the technicians asked, looking at the clipboard in his hand “You ordered a dishwasher, Sir?”

“Yes,” Bucky answers with a slightly annoyed grunt “I’ve been expecting you.”

The technician shows a corporate disinterested smile, walking in the apartment as his partner wheeled the boxed item.

“Where do you want us to install it, Sir?”

“Right here,” Bucky says as he pulls the cabinet door that hid their old dishwasher “Could you bring the old one with you? I’d rather not leave any trace of mischief for my wife to find.”

“Of course,” the technician says as he begins to unbox the appliance “Wait, you didn’t make this your wife’s Christmas present, right?”

Bucky frowns, shaking his head with his brows knitted, “No, why?”

“Cause the guy at the last house did and that was a bad scene, man,” the other guy finally speaks up.

“Bad scene, why?” Bucky’s arms were folded to his chest now “They didn’t like the dishwasher?”

“No,” the first guy snorted with his laugh “They didn’t like it, alright.”

“The wife was insulted. Said home appliances don’t count as a gift,” the second guy further explained as he begins to take out the tools to install the item “She said it’s not fair that she always gets ‘gifts’ that are just things that their household needs to function while he gets all the niche personalised presents.”

“Not going to lie, I felt bad for the lady,” first guy chimed in “It was a bloodbath there, man. She was yelling and crying by the time we finished installing the dishwasher. Poor woman, I hope the husband found her something better for Christmas.”

Bucky could only nod in agreement. The crease on his forehead only gets deeper as the technicians continue their story. A new sense of guilt and anxiety brewed in his stomach. Perhaps the dishwasher wasn’t a great idea, afterall.

At first, he thought giving out a lie to a random technician about whether or not the item was his Christmas gift for her wife would never bring any harm. These men are just strangers that need not know any of his business, anyway. But now that they’ve told the story of their last customer, Bucky wonders if he should’ve just answered truthfully and see if these men have any better ideas for a replacement gift.

In his defence, the dishwasher was something she said was listed in her wishlist. He got her the very one she pointed at when they went to the electronic store the other day, down to the very colour that she said was her favourite. He thought that this would be the grand gift to reveal for her, the grandiose early Christmas present that would get her jumping and squealing in excitement, but having the story sinking into his brain now, such fantasy might not be the reality he’ll witness.

Bucky knew that he was a man out of time. That the world has progressed in ways that his mind couldn’t catch up still, but never would he expect that this world no longer accepts home appliances as presents. Perhaps he needs to whip out that notebook of his again and relearn the rules of gift giving in the twenty-first century.

—-

“Doll,” Bucky starts while his fingers cut through the meat of his dinner, trying his best to act as nonchalant as he could “I have a proposal to offer.”

She nods, chewing her food, “I’m listening.”

“Since you’re pretty busy with work and I have the whole month off from missions, why don’t I take the kitchen duty? I’ll cook our meals, make our coffee, wash the dishes, everything that’s involved in the kitchen, I’ll take care of it.”

Her head darts up to face him, an impressed smile tugs on the corner of her lips, “Okay..? Why?”

“Just wanted to take some of the burden off your shoulders,” Bucky lies through his teeth, shrugging “I’ve seen just how tired you’ve been lately. It’s the least I could do.”

“You’re very sweet,” she replies as she places a small kiss to his forearm “I’ll take the laundry duty, then.”

Bucky smiles, nodding in agreement.

His brain has been wiring since the technicians left their apartment. He wonders what he could get for her that would match the brilliance of the dishwasher that he thought would have been. He tries to squeeze the essence of his memory, trying to find anything that she might have mentioned that he could get for her, but everything she’s ever told, he’s bought, and he still wasn’t sure if there would be anything bigger than the dishwasher.

Now priding himself as a good husband, how could he not know what his wife wants most?

—-

In his defence, a twenty minutes longer sleep was something he earned for all the hard work he’s done in the kitchen for the past week. Bucky has made every meal, every coffee and every snack that he’s promised to make. He’s taken out the trash without being asked and has done all the dishes before the grease could even set on their plate. Now he might be a supersoldier, alright, but waking up early to brew some coffee and make breakfast was still something he’s not accustomed to and letting his eyes rest a little bit longer feels like a reward he’s very well earned.

So now he finds himself buried under the many layers of their blankets. The fluffiness of their pillows and how the scent of her shampoo still lingers on them made him drown in the pool of comfortness. He snuggles tighter to the pillows, burying his face on the softness of its fabric, before slumber was abruptly yanked off of his feet.

“Good morning,” she says after jumping right on top of him, now sitting on his stomach with a teeth-rotting grin “I love you.”

“I love you too, Sweetheart,” Bucky grunts, smiling through the regret of his lost doze “You’re up early.”

“No, I woke up on time. You’re just taking a little more nap than usual,” she answers as showers his jaw with kisses “When were you going to tell me?”

His eyebrows knit, trying to understand her words with a brain that’s still partially asleep, “Tell you what?”

“That you got me the dishwasher.”

Bucky’s eyes shot wide. His blue fraught-filled eyes were clashing against her fevered ones. He studies her face, trying to find any trace of disappointment or anger, but the only things he could find were the lovely creases around her eyes and the big grin that he thought must’ve ache her cheeks after a while.

He sits up, leaning against the bed frame as he tries to assess his situation better. Wrath was devoid from her face. She was jumping a little, evidently excited upon unravelling his confidence. Something that he wasn’t sure how to react to now.

“You’re not mad?” he asks instead.

“Why would I be mad? You got me the dishwasher!” she exclaims, placing another kiss to his lips “I was planning to get it next week after my Christmas bonus is in, but here you are playing Santa. You’re quite literally crossing wishes off my list. I love you.”

 “I love you,” he answers “But— You’re sure you’re not mad?”

She sits up, studying his attentive manner with a raised brow, “Why would I be mad?”

“Because the technicians said home appliances don’t count as presents anymore,” Bucky answers, looking further lost “They said dishwashers don’t count as Christmas presents.”

“Sure, they do! Home appliances or not, a present is a present,” she argues “It’ll only be an insult if all your gifts are home appliances. That wouldn’t count as Christmas presents. But that’s not what you’re doing. You’re giving me something that I want, which so happens to be a dishwasher.”

Bucky closes his eyes, letting out a sigh, “I am so confused right now. I thought I ruined your Christmas.”

“On the contrary, you’ve just made my Christmas,” she beams, pampering his face with little kisses “I love you, thank you.”

“I love you, Doll,” with his eyes still closed, Bucky pulls her face to his chest, trying to tame her excitement a little so he could recollect the drowsiness that was slipping off his fingertips “Does this mean I can forfeit from kitchen duties, now that you’ve found the surprise?”

She looks up, resting her chin to his chest with a satisfied laughter, “Yes, baby, we can get back to our usual schedule now.”

[its-avalon-08]

why did you leave me (cl16)

part1 !

multipart story! find masterlist here

summary : charles and y/n have always been best friends. but y/n has been in love with him forever. when charles starts dating a new girl, out of respect y/n distances herself. but how much is too much?

✦ pairing - charles leclerc x female reader

Y/N and Charles had been inseparable since childhood. They met on the first day of school, when Charles, a shy boy with striking green eyes, had been sitting alone during lunch. Y/N, with her boundless energy and warm smile, had plopped down beside him and declared they were going to be best friends. And they were.

Over the years, they shared countless memories. They would often sneak out of their houses at night to sit by the waterfront, talking about their dreams and fears. Charles, who loved racing, would talk endlessly about becoming a Formula 1 driver, and Y/N, who adored his passion, would listen intently, offering unwavering support.

One evening, they were at their favorite spot by the water. The sun was setting, casting a golden hue over everything. Y/N watched Charles as he animatedly discussed his latest race, his eyes sparkling with excitement. She loved how passionate he was, how he never gave up, even when things got tough. It was in moments like these that she felt her heart swell with feelings she was too afraid to voice.

"Y/N, you’re the best," Charles said, grinning. "I don't know what I’d do without you."

She smiled, her heart fluttering. "I’m just glad I get to be here with you, Charles."

Another time, they were at a party. Charles, always the life of the event, was in the middle of a group of friends, telling a story. Y/N stood on the outskirts, watching him with a mixture of pride and longing. He caught her eye and gave her a wink, causing her to blush and look away. She knew she was in love with him, but she didn’t want to ruin their friendship by confessing.

Then there was the day he had his first major racing win. Y/N was there, cheering the loudest. When he crossed the finish line, she ran to him, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug.

"I knew you could do it!" she exclaimed, her heart pounding with pride and something deeper.

Charles laughed, lifting her off the ground. "We did it, Y/N! We did it!"

But the moment she cherished the most was when they sat by the fire at a family camping trip. The night was cold, and the fire crackled between them. Charles looked at her, his face illuminated by the flames.

"Y/N," he said softly, "you’re my rock. I couldn’t have done any of this without you."

She smiled, her heart aching with unspoken love. "And I’ll always be here for you, Charles. No matter what."

Their bond seemed unbreakable, and Y/N cherished every moment, even as her feelings for him grew stronger. She knew she would rather have him as a friend than risk losing him by revealing her heart.

But one day a few years later, everything changed.

They were sitting in Charles' living room, watching a movie. Charles turned to her, a hesitant smile on his face.

"Y/N, there's something I need to tell you," he said.

Her heart skipped a beat. "What is it, Charles?"

"I’ve met someone," he said, his eyes shining with a mix of excitement and uncertainty. "Her name is Camille, and she’s amazing. We’ve been seeing each other for a while now and she is so lovely. You'll love her!"

Her heart stopped. Y/N's insides felt cold as she felt her heart shatter like glass. Tears started to form and her breath got stuck in her throat. She felt the world tilt on its axis. She forced a smile as hard as it was, her happiness vanishing. "That’s so great, Charlie!. I’m really happy for you."

He grinned, reaching out to squeeze her hand. "I knew you’d be so happy. I won't bother you every weekend for a movie anymore Y/N/N! I just want to thank you for putting up with me for so long. You’re the best."

She nodded, trying to keep her composure. "Always."

As Charles went on about Camille, Y/N's mind raced. She knew things would never be the same. She would have to make a choice: to stay close and risk her heart breaking every day and potentially damage his relationship or to distance herself out of respect for Camille and protect her own feelings. But right now, all she could do was listen and pretend to be happy for him, while her heart shattered silently.

Y/N stood up abruptly, needing an excuse to leave. "I just remembered I have to help my mom with something. I’ll see you later, Charles."

"Are you sure?," he said, looking a bit puzzled. She nodded. Charles muttered, "See you later, Y/N."

She walked out of his house, her chest tight with suppressed emotions. Once outside, she took a deep breath, feeling the weight of her unspoken love pressing down on her. She knew things would never be the same again.

And with that realization, she made her decision. She would distance herself, for both their sakes, even if it meant breaking her own heart.

taglist : @hiireadstuff @starz4me1 @f1fantasys @aundercover @ohthemisssery @ggaslyp1 @hadids-world @matcha---matcha @f1luvur @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @timmychalametsstuff

[artist-issues]

“At least it's not ferociously attacking God quite as directly as Steven Universe did…”

Not that I’m surprised by this statement, but can you elaborate on this? Kinda intrigued by your thoughts on Steven Universe.

Okie dokie, you’re not the only one who has asked me about this, so I suppose I’ll poke the hornet’s nest. 😅 I haven’t talked about this before because I assumed that everyone who wanted to hear my kinds of opinions on stories wasn’t watching or interested in Steven Universe.

It’s like asking vegetarian if they enjoyed a turkey dinner. The turkey dinner was so obviously not made for vegetarians to enjoy, so why would the vegetarian even bother analyzing the turkey?

But I think if some people are asking me why I think Steven Universe is anti-God (of the Bible) its because maybe they don’t know what the turkey is. Not completely. (Maybe not you, because like you said, you’re not surprised by my comment.) So I’ll explain my thoughts on Steven Universe.

If you’re just following me because you liked some stuff I posted, but didn’t realize that I’m a Bible-believing Christian and don’t want to hear about it, unfollow me now. Because I’m going to talk about some hot button issues here and the trolls will come out.

Steven Universe is really well-done. The jokes are funny, the writing is believable, the characters have great chemistry, great design, the concept is fascinating, the slow build-up and reveal of the plot elements is great. But when you watch the throne room scene in the last episode of Season 5 “Change Your Mind,” it’s alarmingly clear how much the whole show is not just settling for defending and championing the LGBTQ+ worldview—it goes all the way to attacking what Christians believe, on the other side.

Anything that’s pro-LGBTQ+ is doing that by default, but this show goes out of its way to do that.

You have to understand: God created and designed us. Deeper than that; He created and designed romantic relationships, and invented marriage. He didn’t just create love—He is love. So when humans come along and do what we’ve always done since the fall, and say, “I’d rather define what Your thing is and how it works for myself, God,” it’s not only an incredible slap in the face, it’s an attack on God’s actual identity—and it’s destructive for us and the people around us. Like a fish insisting it can breathe oxygen.

But Steven Universe goes beyond that. It knows that the Christian worldview is it’s biggest opposition. It digs right down to the heart of the worldview-battle. LGBTQ+ worldview says, “I should get to love what I want and be who I am, because I’m me. Love is love. (By which I mean, any action or relationship I choose to call love is love, because I’m the one calling it that.)”

Biblical worldview says “No, wait, you shouldn’t base your decisions on you alone; what you want changes day to day, and you’re broken, so you can’t ever be satisfied based on what you want—the Bible says God made you for something, and you rejected that, and it broke you. You’re not how you’re meant to be: even what you want and what you think love is is twisted up and can hurt you and others. But if you submit to God He’ll help you, He’ll fix what’s broken and give you new life by making you how you were supposed to be: He’ll live in you and through you.”

Are we beginning to get the picture?

See, the whole thing with the opposing views between LGBTQ+ and Christian people is as old as time. It’s not a new debate. It’s Satan and Eve in the garden. She says, “This is not how God said things should be,” and Satan says, “Are you sure that’s what He said? He knows if you do this thing, you’ll be like Him. You’ll be god: you’ll get to decide ‘how things should be’ for yourself.”

He lied and said that disobedience would satisfy her. That she knew what her own heart needed better than the God that made it did. That the very act of being imperfect would make her godlike.

And then Steven Universe comes along and says “if every pork chop were perfect, we wouldn’t have hotdogs.”

And has a cast of created being characters who’s imperfections (Garnet’s forbidden “love,” Pearl’s obsession, Amethyst’s insecurity) are supposedly “the best thing about them; what makes them who they are.”

And has a main character who used to be a part of the god-like creator relationship, but used her power to come down to earth and completely change who she is into a fully different person.

And has a godlike Creator character who claims she “doesn’t need” her created beings (just like the God of the Bible) but they all have a little part of their creator in them so she has to repress their imperfections; she holds them all to a standard that’s impossible to reach called “perfection” and punishes them when they don’t meet it even though it hurts them to try; she expects them all to do what they were created by her for; she fixes them when they can’t meet her standard by shining her light through them and making them extensions of their Creator.

And has a main character who argues, fights back, tries to stop her, and is answered with lines that sound surprisingly like what LGBTQ+ people hear when Christians argue with them: “you’re only making things worse; you’re just deceiving yourself; even while you resist it your actual light can’t help shining through,” etc.

White Diamond just wants everything to be perfect. Like her. She just wants her created beings to “be themselves.” But what she means is, be how she created them to be.

And she’s the bad guy. She’s playing God in this show, and Rebecca Sugar is saying, “If God is telling us that can only be happy by being perfect, as He is perfect, and doing what He created us to do, then He’s wrong. Our imperfections are what make us special—unique—individuals—free—and there is nobody who has the right to take that freedom away from us, not even out creator!”

And you know what?

If God were like White Diamond, like Rebecca Sugar believes Him to be, Steven Universe would be right.

But He is NOT.

God is not a dictator who forces us to conform to a standard of perfection and then smashes us when we don’t meet it. He is a King who made us perfect to begin with, and we rejected him, because He allowed us to do that. He knew that true love was love that had to be chosen, and He wanted us to love Him by choice, so he gave us the option. But Rebecca Sugar doesn’t understand—there was never “Choose God or Choose Yourself.” There was only, “Choose God or Choose Nothing.” There was nothing except God. Then He created everything. There is no version of reality where you have something better than God, or even slightly less good but different, to pick. You’re not jumping from one ship into a smaller one, but at least it’s yours—you’re jumping from one ship into a void, and then complaining that there’s no other ship. That’s humans. That’s not God. / White Diamond didn’t make her creations perfect (Amethyst) and she didn’t make them for love. She made them for power. That’s not the God of the Bible.

Even when we did choose to try and love ourselves instead of God, and therefore warped our ability to perfectly love at all, He didn’t smash us. True, everything fell and was cursed, which is exactly what He warned us would happen if we chose it, but it was a natural consequence of breaking ourselves. And then He didn’t leave us that way. He didn’t give up on us. And He certainly didn’t just zap us, snap His fingers, quick-fix it and turn us all into robots who are extensions of Him, who say they love Him but only because it’s His voice puppeting us to say it.

No. He came to us, chose to give up His life at the exact point on the timeline when Romans, masters in the art of slow, humiliating, torturous death, would be the ones to carry out His crucifixion, and saved us Himself. Through the sacrifice of His own life. And even then, we still have a choice. We get to choose to accept that incredible self-sacrifice when we don’t deserve it, and be given new life and a relationship with the Creator who knows us and loves us better than we can love ourselves or receive love from others—OR we can just keep stubbornly insisting that our slavery to the opposite of what God wants is somehow freedom, and our twisted versions of love are genuine, and we’re not broken, and die like that. Die broken creatures who lived their whole lives stomping their feet and screaming “I’m not a creature, I’m a god!”

White Diamond sacrifices nothing, because Rebecca Sugar doesn’t know the God of the Bible. She just knows her idea of Him. She’s never actually gotten to know Him. If she had, she’d learn how silly and twisted her idea is.

Because you know what, yeah, if every pork chop were perfect, we wouldn’t have hot dogs. But people aren’t pork chops. And hot dogs have flavor (not better than pork chops) but they are awful for you.

Christians aren’t perfect cuts of meat with no individuality or flavor. Just because we all know and love the same God doesn’t mean we have no personalities. It just means we don’t think so freaking much about what we are, or who we get to be, or what we like and want. Jeez, what a self-centered, narcissistic, self-obsessed way to live. She plays Steven like he’s this wonder-child, innocent and full of heart, who encourages his friends to love and keep trying. But honestly?

This is very pretty animation but it’s not real. Steven looks happy hugging Steven but self-love doesn’t ultimately get you that.

That’s all based on the premise that what he’s encouraging them to do is actually good, and will make them happy, and will help them love better. And it just won’t. Not in real life. That’s not how any of this works. Self-love is just self-obsession. And that is a sure-fire way to hurt you, and everyone around you.

You’ll never be free by choosing to run to a worse master. You’ll never be satisfied with your crappy attempts at loving yourself, because you were made to be loved flawlessly and forever by someone who is Love Himself.

And choosing to identify with your imperfections doesn’t make you uniquely you. It just makes you exactly like every other human being marching in the same line since the Fall.

White Diamond’s not relational. She’s up high and distant. That’s not God. He made you to be in relationship with Him. He loves you, totally and perfectly, and He proved it by sacrificing for You.

So yeah. That’s the problem with Steven Universe. Come get me, SU fans.

[irisbleufic]

REVIEW

Gatsby: An American Myth (Welch, Chavkin, Bartlett, Majok, & Tayeh; American Repertory Theater)

Something that most adaptations of Gatsby get wrong, whether film or stage, is the treatment of characters as archetypes rather than individuals. Symbolism drowns out most genuine attempts at capturing emotional connections and conflicts of personality. They forget that this story is not only a failure of the so-called American Dream; first and foremost, it’s a tragedy of failed roles and relationships. Almost every one of the players is attempting to be someone they are not, and even as they reach for what they believe they should want, they reveal with increasing fervor what they actually want. This is the heart of what makes Welch’s new adaptation so devastatingly, disarmingly unique, so true to its source.

The set design is literal wreckage. Crushed and warped automobile chassis scaffold the moving staircases, and concealed trap doors. The backdrop shows no clear incorporation of the infamous Eckleburg billboard; rather, it is made up of a dotted grid resembling headlights. These play out effects ranging from a downpour to camera flashes to, briefly and only once, a pair of eyes that make no effort to hide behind the owlish frames of glasses. The only thing infusing this jagged framework with meaning is the people who move through it.

The lighting design works with the set’s incongruences, deepening or excavating shadows as needed. The brightness, when it flares, is blinding. Jewel tones either enhance or diminish a costuming scheme that is composed of either very pale or very dark shades, no in between. And whether it’s the post-apocalyptic black and gray cabaret garb of the ensemble or the wealthy protagonists’ pale suits or the gunmetal and gray denizens of the wasteland, everyone’s trouser and skirt hems are conspicuously rimed with reddish dust. The visual effects are nearly impossible to describe without sounding like I had some kind of desperate fever dream.

So far, I realize that these descriptions of the set and lighting design sound like this production is about to fall into the trap of overplaying symbolism, but please bear with me. With all of that established, I can focus on what’s truly extraordinary here, what’s meant to and does shine unhindered. The acting, musicianship and vocals are all so precise that it was hard for me to believe this show is still in previews. It feels Broadway ready, West End ready, major international tours ready. If I was the production crew, I’d turn this loose on a massive scale from the get-go without a second thought.

Much like with Hadestown, the musicians are not down in an orchestra pit. They’re characters in their own right, present on the stage from start to finish on tiered risers that run up from the center on each side from one of the catwalks. I’m sure Chavkin’s involvement as director has everything to do with why this show feels so much like, moves so much like Hadestown. The company is on an equally small scale, about 23 - 25 people including the principals.

Costuming among the ensemble is delightfully gender agnostic. I mention a cabaret aesthetic earlier in this review, and I’m not kidding. If you had shown me the ensemble costume designs without showing me the principals’ designs, I would have assumed I was looking at a Cabaret revival. They’re the most talented dancers I’ve seen occupy one stage in more than a decade. The choreography relies on movements in eerie unison for a significant portion of the show, but not without allowance for individual flair within those constraints. The guy sitting next to me, when I spoke to him at the intermission, said he works as a choreographer in regional theater, and he’d never seen anything like this. I couldn’t agree more; the dancing is singular, and as impressive as the musicianship is, the dancing and unusual body movement are maybe the greatest achievements of this show on the living, breathing end of things. I could have watched the dancers for those three hours without any dialogue or vocal intervention and still understood the story. That takes so much fucking doing.

As for the principal cast, they’re constantly among the ensemble; when I say these are all triple threats in the purest sense of that terminology, I really mean it. You always expect a few of the principals to be less dance and movement focused, more polished on the acting and singing side, but this show gives you terrifying proficiency from every angle. Even the guy playing Meyer Wolfsheim is at the center of what I think is the most memorable dance number in the piece. I’ve just never seen such versatile principals all in one production. What’s even more extraordinary is that I had never heard of or previously seen any of them, and that takes some doing given how much live theater I’ve consumed in several decades of life.

Ironically, the musical composition is the one aspect of this production on which I’ll be spending the least time. I need not tell you why Welch and Bartlett were perfect for this job. They understood the assignment, and then some. There’s not a single weak number among the track listings, and I desperately hope they release a recording soon. The standout numbers all have something in common: they showcase Soleia Pfeiffer as Myrtle Wilson. You can tell that’s the role where Welch sank most of the sound that’s considered her signature style. I don’t even need to describe it; you already know what I’m talking about. What’s impressive otherwise is the restraint, the lack of over-reliance on that signature style.

The principals are fucking perfect. I’ve kept this review tautly professional without meaning to thus far, but from here on out is where I start bleeding feels all over the post. If you don’t already know who my blorbos are due to my writing history with a Gatsby-related novel (The Pursued and the Pursuing, 2021), you’re going to know by the time you’re done reading this. You’re going to know exactly who I love and why, who I hate and why, who I ship and why. But you’ll also know that I approach all three of those elements from a place of enjoying every moment of those characters, even the ones I hate. Nobody’s performance put me off or struck the wrong tone when taken in context of the novel and how the tragedy of how their relationships play out.

For a long time, I’ve been saying that there are certain support roles, certain sidekicks, that make or break the higher-profile person to whose side they’re stuck, ride or die, until the bitter end. Horatio is a great example that I’ve ranted about before; if your Hamlet production has a lackluster Horatio, then it doesn’t matter how good the Hamlet is. You have nothing if you don’t have the binary star system at the heart of that harrowing universe. I’ve seen other adaptations of Gatsby consistently fall apart because Nick Carraway is treated like the kind of voyeur who doesn’t matter, the kind of voyeur who serves as the audience’s eyes and ears, and nothing else. Anyway, this is all to say: Ben Levi Ross as Nick might be the most compelling argument I can make for the fact that the creative team behind this show understood the assignment. He’s awkward, warm, sincere, and reactive in all of the ways you need Nick to be. He’s not a passive observer; he’s in the middle of everything, and he knows it. There’s a self-deprecating response he makes when one character, Jordan if I’m not mistaken, quips that maybe he’s the reason for Gatsby’s parties for all he knows. “Maybe I am,” he says, and the tongue-in-cheekness belies a gutting meta-sincerity. We believe Daisy is the point, Gatsby believes Daisy is the point, but what’s borne out every breathtaking moment of this production is that Nick is the point. He always was. He’s also given his due as a gay man in context of the story for the first time ever. I might make some folks mad when I say Nick has always been gay; I’m going to point you to Myrtle’s apartment party and the hookup with Mr. McKee as textual evidence in the novel. The kiss with McKee, the hookup with McKee, is unapologetically here. His lack of belonging everywhere else he’s ever been, because he is gay, is unapologetically here. One of the most memorable numbers in the show hinges on the hope feels at being able to be himself in New York. Queer fans of Gatsby have been waiting a long time for this. Anyone who’s read the text closely and understood him has been waiting a long time for this. I’ve been waiting several decades as a reader, and I would’ve waited forever to have Nick so fully, lovingly realized.

One of the other things that Gatsby adaptations have persistently gotten wrong is the titular character himself. The invention of Jay Gatsby hides the underlying James Gatz, makes it feel as if that old self is truly subsumed, as if it never mattered. But Isaac Powell gives us a Jay who’s exactly as he should be, who can’t hide beneath his own attempt at artifice and reinvention worth a goddamn. He’s young (as young as Nick; they’re 32 and 30 respectively both in the novel and here), painfully earnest, and just barely keeping a handle on the criminal shit he’s had to do in order to get where he is. When he says old sport to Nick, it’s not an affectation; when he says it to Tom, it becomes a biting insult. This is a Jay who knows where and why he’s vulnerable; he latches onto Nick like a not because he sees a man close to Daisy that he can exploit, but because he sees another young man who’s equally vulnerable, equally an outsider, equally haunted by the things they had to do in the war. From the moment they meet, they are almost always touching—a hand on the shoulder, on the back, getting in social harm’s way for each other, eyes seeking each other without cease in the most crowded of settings. When Jay takes Nick to lunch to meet Wolfsheim (who has in this production taken on the function of Dan Cody as well), it’s not to have somebody else vouch for the artifice of who Jay Gatsby is. It’s taking Nick to meet his fucking father-figure, and all of the messy, sincere “if you hurt my boy, I’ll kill you” sentiment that Wolfsheim aims at Nick was the moment I knew just how much the Nick’s loss by the end was going to hurt. Jay’s love for Daisy is a ghost of itself, even if as painfully earnest as everything else about him. Meanwhile, his attachment to Nick is so disarmingly genuine from the start that you understand the true tragedy you’re about to watch untold: these men who need each other, maybe even were made for each other, each prove unable to step outside their parallel distractions from what they truly are to each other. Jay’s interactions with Daisy and Nick’s interactions with several male and/or gender ambiguous members of the ensemble have something in common, which is a shocking level of physicality. This show had an intimacy coordinator; that’s the level of no holds barred we’re talking about. When you look at Tom and Myrtle, you can see why that was merited, too.

Speaking of Tom (Cory Jeacoma), the treatment of him here is every bit as scary as it should be. There’s no attempt to make him palatable, unlike what I’ve seen done with him in other adaptations. He towers over everyone else in the cast, I mean everyone, to a physical degree that’s uncomfortable. The way his wife, lover, and friends all flinch when he gets too close to them speaks volumes to the fact that he’s an abuser in every sense of the term. Even Nick, the prodigal college friend from Yale, is on eggshells around him (which, by the hotel blowup at the end of the show, becomes a sneering, reckless contempt, one of the driving forces that drives Nick to put himself between Jay and Tom whenever real harm is on the table). At the same time, this is a Tom who sincerely loves his wife and was only ever using Myrtle as a fling. You can tell he never meant any of the promises he made Myrtle. When Daisy tells him she didn’t stop the car on purpose, it’s as if his wife’s unapologetic act of manslaughter (“It was her or me!”) is the thing that wins him back. They aren’t careless people; they are people who consciously choose, day in and day out, to use others until they’re bored or done with them. The ruthlessness of Tom and Daisy as a couple is impressive, played up to a level that I feel more adaptations should do without fear of exaggerating the text.

As mentioned above, Daisy (Charlotte MacInnes) is no delicate, nervous creature who can’t help her actions under duress. She knows what she’s doing every bit as much as Tom knows what he’s doing. They use people, hurt people because they get bored and restless and enjoy it. I respect a Daisy who’s in control of her actions every step of the way even if I don’t like her; it’s better than trying to depict her as weak and at the mercy of the men around her. She’s a pragmatist and a survivor. So many of her songs are about choices and being conscious of those choices. She is a person you should fear every bit as much as you fear her husband, and even Jordan knows she’s not safe in Daisy’s orbit.

As Jordan, Eleri Ward is one of the neatest personalities on stage. Like Tom, she’s noticeably taller than most, which gives her a commanding physical presence. She has no romantic interest in anyone; I fucking love that this production show her and Nick bonding on the basis of being queer and tired of everyone else’s shit. This is a more likable, relatable Jordan than I’ve seen in the past. This is a Jordan whose relationship to Gatsby is much more familiar and warm, much more akin to the friendship she forms with Nick. In fact, the queer-and-tired vibes that roll off several of the principals in this production are palpable.

Myrtle and Wilson (Matthew Amira) aren’t always played as effective foils for Daisy and Tom, but here? They unquestionably are. They do actually love each other in spite of the things they’ve done to hurt each other, and it’s a constant dance of daring each other, challenging each other. The most memorable duet in the entire show is between them, during Act II. The confrontation is positively electric. These are two people with deep, complicated history. Of all the couples in the show, they feel the most real, the most alive. It makes the loss of Myrtle so much more wrenching; she’s not just a plot device emblematic of the bad choices they’ve all been making. She’s not shallow or frivolous or anything like that. She’s a shrewd woman with complex motivations, and for the first time ever I find myself loving her and caring what happens to her. She’s thrust even further into the action in that one of her part time gigs is working as a maid at Gatsby’s parties, a conceit that works shockingly well and hastens the devastating consequences of her affair with Tom.

I’ve made mention of Meyer Wolfsheim’s (Adam Grupper) uniquely enhanced role previously, so I’d be remiss if I didn’t comment on him again. This is a man who does, in fact, seem to give a shit about Jay above and beyond using him as a tool in his criminal empire. It’s not necessarily a healthy father-son dynamic, but Wolfsheim is usually played as ruthless, opportunistic, inhumanly calculating. Here, he’s a charming, but unquestionably dangerous man moved by a young soldier’s plight. He seems conflicted between his love for Jay and his need to have Jay continue to hold the party line within their business relationship. Wolfsheim is deeply conflicted about Jay in a way that I haven’t seen any Wolfsheim be played previously. And, as I mentioned earlier, the actor has a showstopper of a song and dance number. That may be the #1 “I wasn’t expecting that, but I’ll take it!” moment for me in this show. And I say “may be” only because the moment that truly stopped my heart, will stay with me until everything else fades from memory, is perhaps only understandable in the context of my engagement with the text of Gatsby as a writer of transformative works.

Daisy’s and Tom’s daughter, Pam Buchanan doesn’t always appear in adaptations because she’s a toddler. Even in the novel, she a throwaway mention plus a single scene near the end where the nanny brings her out to meet Jay and Nick. She’s most often left as a throwaway mention without even grave of the scene where she appears. The scene in the novel, however brief, is memorable—and has been captured in all its fragile beauty for the first time in this adaptation. Jay and Nick both pay bewildered, wondering attention to this kid when she’s brought out. Jay drops to his knees and takes her hand when she greets him while Nick looks on in a moment of singular focus on both of them. The child who plays Pam here has a spark, an expressiveness that made me choke up even though she’s only on stage for a few minutes, if that. The tableau is one in which you can feel the shock of reality, however brief, touch on these men—Daisy’s and Tom’s reckless actions may yet do harm to someone who’s barely even begun to live her life, but who is just conscious enough to be a participant in it. They recognize that they, like this child, are probably in for a word of ruin—and that they have let it go on for so long that there’s now nothing they can do about it. For me, the deepest tragedy was watching Nick and Jay throw off that moment of heartbroken, horrified recognition prompted by Pam and return to the parts they’d decided to play out until the moment one of their hearts stopped.

Speaking of grief, of Nick’s grief since he’s the one who loses so much: there is only one person who loses more, and that’s Mr. Gatz, Jay’s father. They preserve his arrival at the house when Nick is the only person who stays around to carry out Jay’s funeral and burial. And when he arrives, the visceral shock of seeing his dark skin, braids, and beaded elements of Native regalia in juxtaposition with his otherwise period-typical Western garb underscore the tragedy of what young Jay was running away from, of what he never quite succeeded in erasing from himself. The burial scene shows Nick reverently bringing several of Jay’s folded shirts from the house and handing them down into the grave to Mr. Gatz, who places them reverently as possessions to accompany his son into thereafter. The cultural ramifications are all at once understated and devastating. Nick has moments with each of Jay’s father figures that are among the most complex and moving in the show. The program does not make clear the name of the ensemble member who takes on this most memorable of all Mr. Gatz appearances, and this erasure in and of itself is both unfortunate and telling. This is a world that never belonged to the majority of those who inhabit it, and Nick realizes it with heartbroken clarity after having this final interaction. Even though he’s an outsider, he’s part of a world that has erased and betrayed the man he loved so much at every turn.

The closing number, “We Beat On,” felt like it needed something more, but it utilized the final line of the novel to a deeply moving effect. The lights go down suddenly as the last word is sung; it feels like the song is half finished. When the lights came up, Nick and Jay were center stage in each other’s embrace, just withdrawing from each other as the entire company transitioned into final bows. That’s how I’ll remember them, always: touching even when they’ve already lost each other, borne ceaselessly back into each other’s arms. If Nick is Orpheus, then I have no doubt that he, too, will tell this story again and again until someday, somewhere, something gives.

[beanytuesday]

Hey, I love your art -- I was wondering if you ever posted your illustration for Kafka's "A Hunger Artist" on here? It's really evocative and gorgeously framed, and I find myself thinking of it frequently!!

Thank you for the kind words. A Hunger Artist by Franz Kafka is one of my favorite short stories of all time, and it’s a very quick read. You can read it right here:

https://www.kafka-online.info/a-hunger-artist.html

Go ahead, I’ll wait here.

I’d like to take us opportunity to talk a little bit about the story, if I may.

Although there are a couple different interpretations of the story's meaning, it unambiguously read to me as an allegory for the plight of the creative, likely drawing from Kafka’s own experience. The ‘starving artist’ comparison is obvious, but there’s much more to it than that. In a departure from most other depictions in media, the plight of the artist is not depicted as something noble or redemptive, but as a sort of self-destructive madness. The hunger artist dies alone and in obscurity, his impact on the world ultimately being completely marginal and insubstantial. When questioned about why he chose a life like this, he reveals that he doesn’t even enjoy fasting, he simply couldn’t find any food he liked. That is to say, a true creative does not select this kind of self destructive lifestyle because they enjoy it; rather, it is because they cannot possibly bear to do anything else. Kafka himself, It should be mentioned, supposedly despised pretty much every job he ever had.

As some of you may know, I developed severe tendinitis a couple months ago. Mentally, September was probably the worst months of my entire life. I reflected on this story a lot –I had wrought my own self destruction, and for what? A couple of bucks? A few comics that i’ll become embarrassed of in a year’s time anyway? Unsure about my prospects for recovery, I became incredibly depressed.

But having been starved of the ability to write or draw, I had a genuine epiphany. Standing at the corner of Boston liquors in Allston, I resolved that I would muster the strength to endure this, regardless of how long it took, because what awaited me at the end was nothing short of the greatest prize a person could ask for: That very thing derided by Kafka –the life of an artist.

There is no greater pleasure than making art. I mean that genuinely, I mean that literally. No, it isn’t noble, no, it isn’t redemptive, but in a totally hedonistic and self-serving way it is simply the greatest thing that life can offer, ambrosia in the mouth, better than sex, better than drugs, better than anything that money can buy, and I feel pity for anyone unable to experience it. I am not being hyperbolic, I am not being metaphorical. I am stating this in the plainest of terms, having lived a life without it for the last couple of months.

So although my personal relationship to the story has changed in the past couple months, Kafka was right about one thing; nothing else tastes good, at least not by comparison. We must imagine the hunger artist happy.

[eunnieboo]

IYHM ask replies! (2/3)

🌸 @csevet asked:

hi my copy of iyhm just came in and my fiancee and i snuggled up and read the whole thing cover to cover and CRIED!!! i love when lesbians 💕💞💝💗💝💗💘💞💖💗💝

AHHHHH thank you SO much!!! OMGGGGG 🥺 live laugh lesbian..... 💞💗💖💕💖💞💕💖💗

🌸 @chrysalis-the-butterfly asked:

I read If You'll Have Me a few months ago and I loved it! Your art is so pretty and Momo and PG are such cool characters! 🥰 If you're okay with sharing, I'd be interested to hear what inspired you during the creative process? Were there any pieces of media or any other characters which influenced the formation of Momo and PG? Or did you do your own thing?

oh my gosh! thank you!! i really love character interactions and relationship dynamics, so i wanted to depict two girls who seemed like opposites - one cool and laid-back, the other soft and sweet. after a while they started to take on a life of their own, and i thought it'd be wonderful if their story could evoke the feeling of a shoujo romance!

i had a lot of things on my mind when i wrote the script... friendship, intimacy, communication... communication can be so hard! sometimes it's harder with someone you're close to because their opinion is so important to you. and what happens when you've got a character who's non-confrontational and has low self-esteem + someone who prefers actions over words, and would rather burn bridges than admit to feeling vulnerable? how would they get past that? i wanted to write their flaws as believable, and how their life experiences have shaped the way they think about themselves / the way they respond to personal conflict... but also how they learn from each other and grow ❤️ tysm for the question!!

@bisexualgoof asked:

Hi Eunnie! I just finished reading “If You’ll Have Me” and let me tell you, it was spectacular! I saw it in a local bookstore the other day and it was a no brainer to grab. The characters are so fun, the story is beautiful and heartfelt, and honestly every character is attractive… I especially fell in love with the pages of the books without words, especially 312-313, it made me cry. Such beautiful art! I related to PG’s annoyance with her long hair, I felt very seen with her comments. I’ve definitely said “I’d like to forget” so many times myself, right to my butch heart haha. Thank you for sharing this story with the world, and thank you in particularly for your acknowledgment at the end of the book, it made me feel seen. What an amazing love story, hope to see more of this adorable couple in the future!

oh my goodness!! this is so lovely and wonderful and ahhh T_T thank you so very much. it's such a dream, having these girls be out in the world with their personalities and backstories revealed at last! and i'm so happy to hear about the cast and side characters, i love designing people hehe ♥ i'll definitely keep drawing this couple, alongside more sapphic couples that are to come 😍 thank you!!

🌸 @skittles-rainbow-cat asked:

HI HI HI!!! you’ve been one of my fave artists forever and i just got done with iyhm and it’s sooooo amazing im in love with it. also i think strawberry blonde by chloe moriondo fits mono and pg very well :] i hope you’re having a good day and thank you for all your art it heals me in many ways <3333

HIIII omg!!! thank you so much! this song is so cuteeee oh my gosh this line:

Takes my hand in hers when the lights aren’t on Smaller than mine and oh god I am gone

it's so sweet ;_; thank you forever, i hope you're having a wonderful day!! <3 <3 <3

🌸 @lord-of-the-froggies asked:

Howdy Eunnie! I know you're probably swamped with work right now, but I just wanna let you know that I got my copy of your book today!! I'm gonna start reading it right away, it looks and feels amazing. From a fellow Washington artist to another--congratulations on such a huge achievement!

yay hello fellow washingtonian! and fellow artist!! thank you so much for your kind words 🥺 and i'm so glad the book got to you safely! wishing you a happy read~

🌸 Anonymous asked:

I just found your art today and after scrolling through your stuff I went and pre-ordered your book. I'm so excited!!

omggg thank you that means so much!!! ;_; <3

🌸 @ddooyoung asked:

I got my (signed!) copy of the book, and I love it SO MUCH. It's everything I was hoping and more. I love finally getting to know them, especially Momo. Since the first time I saw them, I thought Momo was a lot like me and now I have confirmation 😆 Thank you so much for writing such a wonderful story!!! I'm excited for everything you do 💗

WAHH thank you so much!! yesss i'm so overjoyed to finally share their story after so long! i hope the signature turned out okay, i was very nervous signing books for the first time (shaky hand and everything) 😱 i think next time it would be fun to make a custom stamp and stamp a doodle next to my signature hehe. thank you again!!! 💕

🌸 Anonymous asked:

I somehow missed the news about your having created a whole damn book?? was just flipping through yu & me books's holiday gift guide and did a double take when I saw priscilla and momo!! zoomed in and sure enough, there was your name at the bottom! congrats on ihym and congrats on being featured on rec lists from shops as cool as yu & me 🎉😍

omggg thank you thank you!! 🥰 AHHH yu & me books looks so amazing! i've been to new york just once but if i ever get to go back i have to visit them... i'm always looking for indie bookstores to throw my money at 😤

🌸 Anonymous asked:

1. Will there be an “if you’ll have me” sequel? 2. Is Momo her full name or a Nick name? If it’s a Nick name what is her full name? Thank you i love your work! ❤️😊

ahh there's no sequel planned as of right now! but i'd love to make one if i get the chance... i have some ideas that i think would be fun <3 and momo gardner is her full name! i liked gardner because it made me think of flowers ☺️❤️ thank you so much!!

🌸 @upsidedown-shadow-dreamer asked:

Hello, long time fan here. If You'll Have Me was delivered an hour ago and I've already finished my first read. OMG it's AMAZING. I love the story, the beautiful art, the inner thoughts, the pacing, the page color changes for back story… Just major WOW. I hope you are so proud of this work. I'm already looking forward to reading it again. Thank you!!!

this is sooooo AHHHHH T_T i'm in tears. i can't tell you how happy and thrilled i am to hear this!!! it's so encouraging and uplifting and ahh!! i want to make more stories... and just knowing that this book will be read by the same person more than once, omg! it's truly the highest of praise. thank you from the bottom of my heart <333

🌸 Anonymous asked:

Hello!! I just remembered I could borrow graphic novels as e-books from my local library, found IYHM, devoured the entire thing in one sitting, then went through your tags so I could look at all your other IYHM art, and I was wondering if you'll make more stories about Momo and PG because I can't get enough of them! Absolutely obsessed with these two and I love seeing them so happy together 💖💖💖💖

hello!! oh i'm absolutely over the moon about this! i can definitely see myself making a follow-up book if i'm so lucky 🙏 but i'll keep on drawing more minicomics and illustrations no matter what!! thank you so much for this wonderful message 💕💕💕💕

🌸 Anonymous asked:

hi!! love love love your art!!! do you think we can expect to see another graphic novel about momo and priscilla in the future?

🌸 Anonymous asked:

I’ve read IYHM so many times already and I absolutely loved it!!!! Are you planning on writing another book with Momo and PG? Is is there a way we can buy more of your stories?

thank you both so much!!!! <3 a sequel is actually one of the ideas i pitched for my second book! my editor cautioned against it in case IYHM didn't perform well, so i ended up going in a different direction - but my fingers are crossed for future opportunities 😤 realistically, it will probably depend on sales... but for the record, i'd want to do one regardless of the numbers...

i have one more book coming out, which i'm working on right now! the timeline is a bit up in the air atm but i'll try to keep everyone posted. making a book is so slow but i'm so grateful to you all for waiting 🥺💛

🌸 @randomqueernoun asked:

Do you make webcomics for other apps/websites? If yes where can I find them and what do I search in them to find your comics?

ahh not at the moment! but thank you SO much for the interest! one of my biggest goals right now is to set up a website where i have all my work in one place, and that would definitely be the place where i post future webcomics 👀

also, just as an aside... i want to make webcomics so bad. i think after my next book, i might take a break from traditional publishing to do that. sometimes i can't believe i'm drawing hundreds of pages i can't post... i'm like, how are people supposed to read this if i can't show them? how will they know?! ahh it kills me... but yes... someday!!!

part 3 to come~

[fandom-oneshots-etc]

Hey, can you write a story about Evan Buckley and Reader announcing that she’s pregnant to the 118 at like a family gathering :)

🍄 Pairing: Evan Buckley x Reader

🍄 Genre: Fluff

🍄 Summary: At a 118 family gathering, Buck's overprotective nature reveals a little more than the two of you had planned.

🍄 Word Count: 1618

🍄 Abbreviations: N/A

🍄 Warnings: Pregnancy, implied pregnancy complications

🍄 Note: I really liked this request Anon! I hope this is what you were looking for. I thought about this scenario and I instantly imagined Buck accidentally announcing the pregnancy rather than planned. If you would rather a planned version, just pop in another request. A similar request came from @quinnstan247. Enjoy :)

You could feel the eyes following you closely as you slipped into the kitchen to refill your glass of orange cordial. Your overprotective, puppy-dog boyfriend remained outside in the garden of the Nash household along with the rest of the team as they stood around Bobby and the BBQ grill. You knew that Buck was searching for any reason he could to follow you inside, but you met his gaze through the windows and offered him a reassuring smile that seemed to subdue him for the minute.

Since the second you found out, Buck had been glued to your side. It had been three weeks since you took that test, since your doctor had confirmed it and in that time you had, had to convince him every single day that he could leave you and go to work. Every day he fought you, wanting the both of you to stay home so you could rest and he could wait on your every want and need, but you couldn’t do that. You were only thirteen weeks along and there was hardly any reason to be confined to the bed just yet. You knew that he was only concerned about the safety of you and the peach you currently carried in your womb. It was endearing and one of the sweetest things you’d ever seen, you hadn’t thought that Buck could get any sweeter, but here you were one act away from having a mouth full of cavities.

What hadn’t helped was that Buck had been responding to a number of pregnancy calls in the past few weeks a few resulting in sadder endings than anyone wanted. They had definitely struck a chord with Buck and had only made him hover all the more.

Adding the water to your cordial, you took a sip of the orange, a light buzz filling your taste-buds. You had become obsessed with anything orange flavoured since your pregnancy diagnosis. Whether it was orange skittles (which Buck had kindly sat and sorted out for you), or orange flavoured chocolate, or even the orange flavoured cupcakes you had found at the grocery store and ate within an hour of buying, anything orange and you were all for it.

Walking back into the garden, your entire body seemed to clench a little as you stepped back into the gaze of the sun. As much as you were enjoying this down time with the 118, it was so hot. The heatwave had only hit LA in the past few days but already it was in full swing and you were feeling every beam of it.

“Y/n,” you turned over to where Athena was sat with Hen and her daughter May. The three of them were stood around the mini bar that Athena had installed, in direct sunlight. Already hot, you fought down the urge to grimace as you moved to stand by them, the sun glaring on your skin. “We were just telling May about Buck and that kiddie ride at the mall. She doesn’t believe us.” Hen informed and a grin split across your lips, taking your mind off of the sweltering heat.

“Oh my, God. I have a photo, hang on,” You pulled your phone out of your shoulder bag and set your drink on the bar, thumb flicking through the many photos in your gallery in search of the one from the Saturday before. “He thought it was funny and I tried to tell him he wouldn’t fit but he insisted,” You giggled and turned your phone for May to see. “I honestly thought I’d have to call nine-one-one.”

Displayed across your screen was the photo that still had you giggling a week later. There sat Buck, who had squeezed his way into the small metal bus which was obviously aimed for children 7 and under. But Buck had twisted his body at all kinds of angles and had somehow managed to worm his way into the ride. His head was poked out of the door hole, his legs curled up against his chest, unable to stretch out in the tiny space that his body was occupying.

What Athena and the others didn’t know was that Buck wouldn’t have gotten into the ride if it wasn’t for you. That morning your hormones had been playing you like a fiddle and every little thing had upset you, the bin bag had broken when you were trying to change it out for a new one, somehow a red sock had slipped in with your whites and now everything you owned was slightly toned pink and they had shown that advert with the puppy sat in a box, in the rain, on the side of the street with people walking past ignoring it. It seemed, that morning, that everything was stacked against you. Buck had offered to come with you to the mall so you could pick up your clothing order from a store, you had ordered certain items that they didn’t have in stock and they had delivered into the store the day before. You were buzzing to see the new pair of pumps you had ordered. You knew that in a few months if not weeks, the shoes would probably be pressing against the sides of your feet and ankles because of the pregnancy swelling, but that hadn’t stopped you from ordering them in your size. However, like everything else that morning, even that didn’t go as planned. The shoes had been delivered in the wrong colour and in a size smaller than you wanted, making them impossible to wear. Buck had seen how disheartened you had been when you left the store, trying not to cry in frustration. He had wanted to do something to cheer you up and in a joking manner he had made a bet with you that he could fit inside the kiddie bus ride.

It had definitely succeeded in cheering you up, if not from how silly he looked, his large muscular frame curled up inside the ride, from when he got stuck and couldn’t get himself out straight away. You had done what you could to help him out, but you were giggling so hard your entire body went weak. When he had finally gotten out, the two of you had continued to giggle all the way home and your mood had been lifted for the rest of the day.

“Oh, my God,” May giggled. “That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. Please send me that!” she begged.

“Of course,” you agreed with a laugh of your own. “I could never gate keep on a photo like this.”

“What made him get in there?”

“It’s Buck, does he need a reason?” Hen scoffed. As the ladies continued to giggle, the heat seemed to make it’s presence known as it glared down onto you. The side of your temples was beginning to throb and your skin was starting to get slick and sticky, sweat oozing from your pores. You raised a hand to swipe at your brow, glancing around the garden for the closest seat, your legs aching.

As you moved towards one of the sun loungers, your boyfriend’s eyes caught onto your movements, already on high alert.

“Y/n? What’s wrong?” he asked, abandoning his drink at the grill and rushing towards you, one arm slipping around your waist to help guide you to the seat.

“Buck, I’m-”

“Dammit, it’s too hot out here for you. We should’ve cancelled,” he began muttering to himself. “Are you dizzy? Do you need a drink of water? What about something to eat? Is your blood sugar low? What if you’re dehydrated?” The only thing making you dizzy was the hurricane of questions Buck was sending your way, not even leaving a chance for you to answer them. One of his hands instinctively came to rest on the front of your stomach.

“Babe? Baby?” You tried to pull Buck out of his panicked rant, his eyes not once meeting yours as he kept scanning you for any visible injuries. Not that there were any, but the paranoia was getting the best of him and the heat probably wasn’t helping.

“We should get you in the shade,” he decided. “Shit, you should’ve stayed inside. You’re carrying precious cargo now, baby. You and peach can’t take this heat. We shouldn’t have come. This is all my fault-”

“Buck!” You pressed your hands to the sides of his face, directing his eyes to yours so you could try and ground him. “Buck, baby, I’m fine. We’re fine. I’m just a little hot and tired that’s all. It’s normal.” He still seemed a little uncertain, and his eyes held a lifetime of worry for you and his unborn child. “We’re okay. I promise.” You offered him a reassuring smile, your thumb coming to brush against his bottom lip rhythmically, giving him something to focus on. His eyelids pressed shut as he breathed slowly for a second.

“Are you sure? ‘Cause we can go home-”

“We’re fine. I just need to sit for a minute that’s all.” You peeked over his shoulder. “While I’m sitting, we should probably talk to the people behind you, they seem a little shocked. You kind of let the cat out of the bag.” Buck twisted his head to look around at the team behind him, everyone stood, jaws dropped and eyes wide. Eddie was the most comical of the bunch, his glass halfway raised to his mouth ready to take a sip but frozen in time with the news that Buck had unintentionally shared.

“H-Hey, guys,” He chuckled awkwardly with a sheepish grin. “I guess we have some news to share.”

[jonsnowunemploymentera]

The thing about Jon that a lot of people forget is that he is actually a rather well known figure all around Westeros. I don’t think it’s incorrect to say that he’s Ned’s most famous kid by a large margin, and perhaps even one of the more famous teens in Westeros; especially now that he has become Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch and his reputation has began to stretch to a different continent. Because of his very unusual origin - being honorable Ned Stark’s bastard son by an unknown woman - his name has been passed around in noble houses across the entire continent. He’s not some random kid from the North that no one has heard of. The majority of people may not have seen him, but they have at the very least heard of him.

I bring this up because people tend to act as if Jon would be automatically scoffed away by just about everyone if his true parentage ever came to light. After all, they say, why would anyone believe that some random kid from the north is a Targaryen prince? But this is not really true. Jon is not a random kid. His father was one of the most powerful men in the entire land. And not only that, but Ned’s reputation as an honorable man with no fault ensured that the scandal of begetting a bastard was known by everyone who is someone. The thing is, readers tend to ignore a very large gaping hole in the story when it comes to public perception of Jon’s parentage. People all over Westeros have been talking about Ned and his bastard, but no one can agree on the mother - this is actually important!

Most people would not have questioned Ned to his face, but they too want to know who Jon’s mother was, even if it’s just for a little bit of gossip among nobles. Jon’s parentage is a mysterious puzzle that a lot of people have tried to solve themselves. Catelyn hears one answer in Winterfell, but Davos hears another on his way to White Harbor. Edric Dayne from Dorne says a different name to Arya, while Cersei and Robert (who both live in KL) hear different things. That there’s so much variation all around Westeros is actually proof that a lot of people are talking about this one issue. And Ned’s refusal to name a woman may actually end up having unexpected consequences when someone finally mentions the name “Lyanna Stark”.

So I would like to push back on the belief that no one in Westeros would care about the R+L=J reveal or that they would immediately write Jon off. GRRM deciding to keep Jon’s mother an in universe mystery that is the topic of constant conversation will have major payoff. While I could see some being incredulous, it’s absolutely not a foregone conclusion that most people will choose not to believe it. And it’s not a foregone conclusion that this reveal will only matter to the Stark kids and no one else. Sure GRRM is playing with fantasy tropes, and Jon squarely falls under the hidden prince/king. But something that makes Jon quite different from a lot of his genre counterparts is that he’s not an unknown figure who shows up at the last minute to claim the crown. Jon is not an unknown entity. He is well known, it’s just that very few people have dared to think too deeply about the very large elephant in the room regarding his origin. But I’d imagine that if R+L=J was to be revealed, it wouldn’t be too shocking for a lot of people. It’s not so far fetched that honorable Ned Stark actually chose to protect his sister’s son.

And in regards to GRRM playing with fantasy tropes, Young Griff always comes up in conversation as Jon’s foil. People say that he will be the one to be believed because he looks the part of a Targaryen, whereas a random kid from the North won’t be believed because of his brown hair and grey eyes. Jon doesn’t look like some random unrecognizable Northman. He very specifically looks like a Stark! And anyway, is Jon’s story - that Ned took him in after his sister died and raised him as his own under the protective banner of House Stark - any less believable than Young Griff’s - that Varys had the foresight to save him and whisk him off to Essos before the Mountain bashed his head in? Until now, people have never heard of Young Griff so they’ve never had the opportunity to ruminate over and gossip about his origin story. But they know Jon. And they know about Rhaegar and Lyanna. And Jon looking so very undeniably like a Stark (like Lyanna Stark!) could perhaps work in his favor.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hello ! Just so Agatha all along and I have a request if it's ok 😊

How Agatha will convince witch!reader who has a crush on her to join her in the witch road 👉👈

Gn reader if possible

Thank you ! 😁

Agatha would probably be aware of your feelings in all honesty, and she couldn’t blame you! She’s amazing!

However she’s probably use this infatuation with her to her advantage when her and ‘teen’ come over to your home, following the trail of magic that drew them there. It was noticeable, stronger the other witches she’s recruited but still there was room for growth and new powers.

‘What tricks are we going to have to use to recruit this witch/wiccan?’ Teen asked Agatha as they stood on your doorstep.

‘No tricks, this one’s got a little thing for me, it’s adorable but it means that most of the work in convincing them has been cut out for us.’ Agatha replied as she went to knock on the door, only for it to open on its own to reveal you on the other side.

‘How did?’ Teen questioned.

‘I could sense you the moment you drove into the driveway, your magic is far more potent than others.’ You answered as you stepped to one side with a welcoming smile. ‘Want to step inside and continue this conversation because I don’t think the neighbours will want to hear about the sales pitch you’re bound to give me into joining your cult.’ You add.

‘It’s not a cult it’s a coven.’ Teen interrupts but you weren’t listening when Agatha moved past you, making sure to brush her hand against the back of yours as she does, and immediately you felt your resolve to stand your ground crumble like a deck of cards. It must’ve been obvious as teen only looked at you knowingly as he past into your house and once they were both inside, you shut the door harder then you should’ve but at this point you wanted this to be over with.

‘Go on then, convince me to join you on your journey to the witches’ road.’ You crossed your arms over your chest.

‘I’m assuming you’re more than aware of the fact that if you were to make it to the end of the road, any wish your heart desires can be granted.’ Agatha started.

‘I do know this factoid, yes.’ You said and Agatha crept closer to you until you were a hair’s width away from one another as she now spoke lowly. ‘Then I’m also lead to assume that you know that extends to crushes, infatuations, all that important stuff also.’

‘Yes but I’d much rather the feeling to be mutual without the usage of magic, as ironic as that sounds.’ You replied as you stared deeply into her beautiful eyes.

‘And it can be,’ Agatha whispered as she grasped your hands with her own, intertwining your fingers, ‘I really need you by my side y/n as my moral support, my confidant and my strength during the most difficult situations that we’ll face.’ Agatha could see that you were buying her sales pitch into getting you on the witches road, but knew she couldn’t stop there and decided to make this visit short and sweet she adds.

‘I wouldn’t want anyone else to join me on the witches’ road other then you my dear, you have the potential to be the most powerful witch/wiccan in our coven. All those other witches can barely hold a candle to your fire. I need you.’ She finishes and teen had to give it to Agatha, she was certainly an actress when she needed to be as he watched you both as though he was watching his favourite drama.

You were at war with yourself. You swore that you wouldn’t resort to magic for even the most simplest things, never less the witches’s road, you knew the stories of how dangerous it was but your infatuation with Agatha tended to lead you into doing something stupid; even agreeing to going on the Witches’ road with nothing but the hope that Agatha might actually see you for once.

However before you could reason with yourself, your mouth moved faster then your brain could intervene with logic and common sense. ‘Fine, I’ll join.’

‘Yes!’ Agatha and teen cried as Agatha brought you into her arms, holding you tight so that you didn’t see the smirk across her face, that wasn’t so hard if anything it was barely even took her five minutes to get you to say yes; she didn’t understand why she didn’t come to you first just to get it over and done with, every other witch before you was a tougher nut to crack then the last. You were merely the reward for a hard days work.

‘You won’t regret this darling, that I promise you along with power, love and so much more.’ Agatha tells you as she rubs your back.

You poor, idiotic fool, let’s pray you do survive the road and not die with a broken heart when you realise the truth…

[memymay]

~ Mychael ~ Mushroom Oasis Oneshot ~

Reader who’s legally blind / has really poor eyesight

fluff, comfort - NB reader - No TW’s

Reader Insert Masterlist ⭐️

(For those of you who don’t know, you can still have sight while being legally blind, for this MC is going to have glasses. I’m legally blind without my glasses, and I’ve had this idea in my head for a good long while, enjoy!)

“Mychael… is that yours…?” You asked, staring at the tail now tightly gripping your cup. Your eyes slowly gazed up to look at Mychael, head now hanging low in his hands. It hurt to seem him like this, he was so cheery just a few moments ago.

“I… I’m sorry (y/n)” he spoke softly, “I-“ he paused, debating his next words, “I should be honest…” he slowly tilted his head up, pulling his hair back to reveal his two sets of eyes.

You stared in shook, looking from one set to the other, and taking in his expression. His brows were knit, and a small frown adorned his face… he was scared. He looked away from you, avoiding your gaze and looking around the room. His dark eyes were downcast, and his eyes were teary.

“Please…” his voice was low, almost a whisper, “I know… I…” he stopped and took a deep breath to steady himself, before closing his eyes and speaking again, “I know its a lot… but… this is what i really look like. Who I really am…”

“I know what I look like, just please,” he finally turned his gaze back up to you, eyes pleading, “Please don’t be scared…” he begged.

Finally gathering your senses, you turn your gaze to flick between his eyes, tail, ears, and horns. You weren’t scared, as much as fascinated. He was like the fae your grandmother would warn you about, like the fairies, elves, and dragons in your story books.

However, this did not reach Mychael. His perception clouded by fear, he took your silence as a bad sign. he dropped his head on the table, quietly muttering out a sentence that was barely audible, being muffled by the table. “I can hide my face, if that’s what you want, just… I…” he let out a staggered breath, not knowing what else he could say. Slowly he peaked up through his hair to see your face.

You were smiling

A soft reassuring smile, one that slightly eased his growing anxiety.

“There’s nothing wrong with how you look.” You said plainly, meeting his eyes as he picked his head off the table. He was preparing for the worst, and hopping for the best. But even so, your reaction was the farthest from what he expected. Not even in the “good ending” he had hoped for.

“R-Really!?” He asked, face lifting from disparate to a slight hopeful look, “even though I look like this?”

You reached up to grab your glasses, taking them off and setting them on the table.

“There,” you said, smiling fondly, “now I can’t see you, problem solved.”

“That’s not-“

“Mychael.” You interrupted, “You have treated me better than most of the people I know would have. And im a stranger. Your kindness means more to me than what you look like.”

You reached out to put your glasses back on, and laid your hand on his, “I’ve spent most of my life with eyesight so bad, im considered legally blind. Only recently did I finally get the right prescription. I know there are mean people, and there are nice people” You gave his hand a small reassuring squeeze, “I’d much rather spend my time with someone as thoughtful, kind, caring, and sweet as you over most.”

Mychael stared at you in disbelief as a few small tears streamed down his face. He couldn’t have hopped this would happen, not even in his dreams, yet here he is.

“And besides,” you continued, “you’re pretty in your own way. Like the mystic, natural beauty of nature infused into a person. Unnatural yes, but ugly…?” you paused, staring deeply into his eyes,

“That’s the farthest thing from what you are.”

.

.

.

And that was it, he decided then and there, that you had to stay. Those words, he could feel the meaning behind them. He could see the warmth in your eyes, and the honesty in your voice.

You were perfect.

And hopefully, you’d forgive him for being selfish, just this once.

notes~

Damn…. I kinda got carried away 😅. Started to feel more like I was talking to my past self rather than writing a fanfic, but I hope that emotion just made it better 🥰

[bullet-prooflove]

The way you smile, the way you walk

Tagging: @kmc1989 @trublu2u @alisbackalleybbq @mia1653 @privatetruths

Companion piece to:

Thrill of the Chase (NSFW) - Rip has always loved the thrill of the chase.

 If You Want Me, You Can Have Me - They say that Rip Wheeler doesn't have a heart.

Stay Tonight - Rip asks to stay the night.

Use Your Words (NSFW) - Rip teases you.

Clover - Rip comforts you.

When you walk into the bar that night Rip can’t take his eyes off you. You’re wearing a white lace country dress that falls just above your knees and a pair of brown cowboy boots that used to belong to your mother. You’re the prettiest damn thing in this place and he’s not the only one that knows it. He sees the way other men look at you, like you’re the next notch on their bedpost.

They don’t know that he spends every single night, fucking you into the mattress, reminding you of exactly who you belong to.

“That dress would look good on my bedroom floor.” One cowboy calls out and you roll your eyes because this shit it’s nothing new.

“Oh Johnny, you couldn’t handle a girl like me.” You bat back, giving him the middle finger as you drift by. “I’d rather clip your balls off than give you the time of day.”

The other fellas they titter at the comment, they’ve seen you in action on their farms. They know you were an army vet before you retired to take on your father’s practice. Johnny though, he’s new. He didn’t get the memo you’re not someone to be fucked with.

Which is why he gets a punch to the face when he grabs you by the arm and hauls you towards him like a fucking ragdoll. Blood explodes from his nose with a loud crack as his head snaps back at the force of the blow. Rip’s too stunned to move, he just watches as you look down at the crimson spatter blossoming on your dress as you shake out your fist, muttering.

“Fucking asshole.”

There’s two ways things go when you get punched in the face, you fight or you stay the hell down. Johnny, he’s a fighter. A roar cuts through the bar as he comes back at you fists flailing and that’s when Rip’s instincts take over. He’s off that stool in seconds, forcing himself between you and the threat.

“Touch her and it will be the last thing you ever fucking do.” He says, his dark eyes filled with malice as they meet Johnny’s. He has a couple of inches on his asshole and a whole lot of muscle. It should be enough to make him back down but he’s too drunk or too stupid to read a fucking room.

“She fucking owes me.” He snarls, his gaze coming to land on you, blood still streaming from his nose.

“That sense of entitlement is what got you a broken nose in the first place.” Rip reminds him as he places a hand on his hip revealing his gun. “Now if I were you I’d kindly fuck off before I pistol whip the shit out of you for laying hands on my girl.”

He stands down then, Rip watches the fight go out of him as he spits on the floor and then turns his back on the two of you, retreating to his buddies. Rip turns towards you and sighs as he takes in the mess that’s been made of your pretty white dress. He was really looking forward to getting that dance tonight and now the whole date is ruined.

“Come on darlin.” He says as he wraps his arm around your shoulders and guides you towards the door. “Let’s get you home so we can burn that fucking thing.”

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[piratefishmama]

Fake it 'till you make it | Prompt

When Steve Harrington came out to his parents, he expected a few things to happen. Jumping back a little, he hadn’t even meant to come out. His parents meant well, they did. He couldn’t deny that they meant well.

They knew he was lonely when they were gone, they knew he was the type of person who kind of… needed someone around. He wasn’t a lone wolf, he wasn’t someone who could just go it alone, while they were away for months, and while Robin was lovely, Robin was also a lesbian.

So Robin was out of the question.

So it fell to the women they knew. Through their connections. And unfortunately those women tended to be, for lack of a better phrase, ‘Daddies money is how I intend to live for the rest of my life’, and completely comfortable in switching out who Daddy was.

Steve… didn’t have a daddy kink, thanks.

Okay maybe he did a little but not in the call him daddy kind of way. More the other way around.

After the fifth attempt to throw some business partners daughter at him, a woman who’d actually kind of impressively deep throated a hot dog at the office barbeque while looking directly at him before he’d even gotten her name. Impressive, kind of terrifying.

An image of his life consisting of an unhappy marriage where his wife used sex as some kind of transaction rather than the big family full of love that he wanted flashed before his eyes.

He'd had enough. So when the sixth one came up, Vivian, he hadn’t even been able to wait for them to explain who she was, which business associate she was related too, it just. Came out.

Or rather he came out. Spectacularly.

“I’M GAY!” Okay less spectacular initially, more manic desperation. He expected a few things to happen after he realised what he’d blurted out.

He expected anger, he expected disappointment, he half expected disownment, not fully expected, his mother would probably be on his side. He expected violence, judgement, demands of him to tell them it wasn’t true, or demands that he hide it, keep pretending for appearances sake. He’d heard the coming out horror stories.

He did not expect—

“Oh oh! What about Jonathan!! From Tennis club, honey you remember Jonathan right? Peter’s son?” His mother turning to look at his father, who’d turned a little pale. That was it, his father would be the one to blow up, his mother was in his corner that was sort of expected but his fa—

“Lynda he is not dating someone with the same name as me, that—no. No, I don’t think I’d recover if those thin walls at the chalet struck again.” Goddammit. “What about Timothy, Dorothy’s nephew? Didn’t she say she’d caught him with some punk boy on that family holiday to London?”

“Yes but she was trying to get points around the water cooler for being hip and homophobic, did you not hear what she called the poor boy? I’m not associating with Dorothy, good heavens.”

“I hadn’t heard, why have I not heard? Lynda we’re trying to create an inclusive work environment, I can’t have homophobic people working in HR!” And John was up, newspaper down, and off to his study to deal with Dorothy muttering about how he was sure the monthly office newsletter, which included the updated company values, would have weeded the bigots out by now.

“…Did my coming out just get someone fired?” Steve finally broke his shocked silence, his mothers attention turning back to him, her eyes wide, mouth puckered in a little, silent, oh.

“……Maybe.” His shoulders slumped, expression dropping to deadpan, she moved quick to reassure him “Don’t worry about it, Steven, she really wasn’t well liked.” It didn’t make him feel better… okay maybe it did, one less homophobe in the workplace. “Oooh, what about—”

It didn’t stop the matchmaking. The potential suitor pool just got bigger. Especially when he quietly, defeatedly corrected himself, revealing it was bisexual, not just gay, accepting his fate.

So it was no longer Vivian, Jessica, Bethany, Barbara, Carol, etc.

It was Vivian, Thomas, Jessica, Peter, Bethany, Robert blah blah blah

“Okay but you know some people would kill for that kind of support right?” Robin spoke the truth while rewinding the latest batch of returns. And maybe he was whining, maybe he was being overdramatic, his parents were supportive and were trying to make sure he’d be happy while they were gone on their long business trips.

Honestly they could have probably just let him get a dog. It’d have been easier. Less expensive than any of the people they were suggesting.

“I know… it’s just… they could at least try and find out what my type is. Instead it’s like they’re trying to throw a whole Indy gay bar at me in hopes that one person just kinda sticks. And now I’ve got a whole week with them coming up in some remote chalet, what if they bring someone, Robs? What if they bring someone and try an set us up an—”

“Can your parents just… adopt me?” She wasn’t listening “I’d kill to have the dating thing simplified for me, I can’t even talk to girls, you’ve got your mother doing all the work for you. I’d appreciate them, tell them I’d appreciate them.”

The door chimed, neither of them looked up, too engrossed in what they were doing. If a customer needed their help, they’d make it known.

They’d just adjust language used to not out themselves to strangers.

“You tell them! Pretty sure they’d find you someone.” Apparently his parents would be thrilled to help. He wanted to be happy about that, he really did, it was just exhausting having to fend off people who were interested in him but only for the last name, the business connection, the money. He wanted someone who wanted him for him, and none of those ‘potential suitors’ fit that bill. “Robbie I’m serious here, what if— what if they try when I can’t escape. I can’t spend a whole week in the woods with some stranger they’ve thrown at me, I think I might actually perish.”

“Then take a date.” Both young adults turned to look at the culprit behind the door chime.

“Henderson!” Steve’s favourite of the brat pack. Having met him while ferrying the kids home when Jonathan couldn’t pick Will up from Mike’s on a night when Steve had been hanging out with his at the time girlfriend Nancy. The kid was hilarious, a little bit of a know it all, but when you actually know it all, you’ve kind of earned the right to be obnoxious about it. “What did you hear?”

“That someone’s setting you up with people? Which is that a bad thing?” He directed the second question to Robin who shrugged and rolled her eyes.

“Not in my book lil man, not in my book.”

“Okay It’s not the attempt that’s the problem, it’s the quantity of attempts, and the quality of people they’re throwing at me! Quantity and quality are the issues here, people, it’s not that they’re doing it,”

“It’s that they’re doing it badly.” Dustin finished, Steve pointing at him with clicked finger guns.

“Exactly… and I don’t want my parents at my future wedding claiming they were responsible for getting us together cause that’d be weird! And pathetic. I want a fun first date story, a meet cute, or a ridiculous ‘yeah we were trapped in an elevator for like, three hours and bonded’ kind of story, I want an ‘I met them on a train’ or ‘they hit on me at the bar, and it just worked’ not an ‘my parents set us up in a remote cabin in the woods’, do you get me?”

“I can see your dilemma, but remote cabins in the woods can be really roman—"

“Nobody wants to hear about you and Suzie again! We get it, she’s your soulmate and future nerd wife you lucky little shithead.” Long distance and tricky as it may be, they were kind of perfect for each other. “Now what were you saying about taking a date?”

“Exactly that, take a date with you. Tell them you’re bringing someone and just… bring someone.” Dustin let his eyes flick to robin purposefully, quirking his head a little to subtly nod at her “you could take Robin” as if to say now’s your chance, dickhead, take it.

“Somehow I doubt Robin would be able to convince them that we were dating.”

“Cause we’re not.”

“And will not be.”

“At all.”

“Eh—"

“—ver”

“You guys make no sense.”

“We make perfect sense, my strange little child friend. You just don’t have all the information to make it make sense.” Robin wiggled her fingers at him as if it was some kind of mystery, it was to Dustin but that wasn’t important. “He does have a point though, you could take a date, there’s plenty of people in Hawkins who’d kill for a rich person get away, just gotta let them know that it’s a pretend date situation. Or… actually find a date. If you can.”

The "you suck" board flashed into his mind momentarily. He couldn’t. Not within the time frame he had. He was so far off his game his parents were matchmaking for him.

Dustin’s voice broke through his thoughts once more, offering salvation. “I know someone you could hire for that…” hallelujah, Dustin Henderson everybody.

Part 2

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

People asking which one we get between Jack Skellington and Oogie Boogie, while I'm sitting here in a Comm class thinking "Why not both? Lmao". We all recognize them easily, so having it a twist(heh) of both, with Jack's being a hero character and Oogie being the main bad, could work out with how they actually are.

How Yana could go about it, idk, we'll have to wait and see. But honestly, am so fucking hyped for it. But what exactly do you think could be a possible plot idea or what do you think could happen in the event?

You can answer at your own leisure.

[Referencing this post!]

I don’t think it’s strange at all that people are speculating which character will be the one twisted. Yes, Fellow and Gidel were introduced as a pair, meaning that there is no limit or precedent set for there only be one new character revealed. However, it’s very clear that Fellow was the star of the show, as he has the stronger presence (and ended up getting the SSR as well). Ultimately, it does mean they end up being treated like a single character rather than individuals anyway. So really, I think most fans are still running on the logic that only “one” can be twisted.

The problem with Jack and Oogie is that they are both strong presences, neither dominating the other when it comes to being attention grabbing. Fellow and Gidel go together, but Jack and Oogie are opposing forces, not teammates, in their own story. This makes it hard to predict which of them will be twisted and makes it less likely they’d be crammed into the same card.

(ncbsbsvwjwheisn NOT GONNA LIE, I’m really hyped for a twisted!Jack Skellington… but a part of me is also really attached to my OC that’s twisted from Jack 🤡 That’s not to say that I don’t want a canonized one; I think I’d actually ASCEND if we got a twisted!Jack Skellington for real!!! It’s just that I wouldn’t know what to do with my OC after the fact 🤷‍♂️ Something similar happened with my Snow White OC when Neige was introduced in book 5 www)

A popular idea I’ve seen in circulation is another isekai plot where either the students go to Halloween Town or the Nightmare Before Christmas characters come to Twisted Wonderland from Halloween Town. I’d wager that’s a pretty safe guess! Like… they’re doing their Halloween parade prep and there’s a new character disrupting things. Maybe they’ll have to pull off a heist or kidnapping of some kind?? 🤔 It would be funny if the NRC boys had to help play matchmaker for a Sally and Jack/j Personally (and this is a stretch), I really would like to see some kind of casino or gambling element because I love those design details for Oogie’s lair. Not sure if it would make sense being a large part of the event story, but it would be cool to consider.

[hazelfoureyes]

hello babies! I’m honored to kick off Kinktober! This whole month we will be posting stories alternating between us 6. The culmination is the prompt Ducky Ball Gag, that all 6 of us will be posting a story for. That is 36 stories this month….!💖 below is the schedule for this first week. Be sure to follow my fellow coven lovins to have an October that’ll keep you sweating 💦 you’re welcome to use the hashtags as well and share your kinky stories 👀

Coven: @fraugwinska @minkdelovely @sugoi-writes @macabr3-barbi3 @synamartia (banner by Syn!)

Kinktober 2024 - Day 1 - Ride

Alastor visits New York to hunt down Mimzy’s ex and takes a younger Angel Dust as his tour guide, despite Angel….. not being a tour guide. Angel decides nearly immediately he will fuck this fancy tourist. ꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷

「warnings/promises: TopHumanAlastor x BottomHumanAngel, physical abuse mentioned and referenced through bruises, smut, Alastor gets into being called Daddy, Age Difference, prostitution, jerking off fingers in the cinema, lube needed prescriptions, condoms came in cans, oh murder is on the menu but not ordered, pretty cocks, creampie」

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MDNI 🕷️ 🎥 📻

For Anthony, Alastor looked like a good ride. Clean cut, tall, built well (but nothing he couldn’t take in a fight if things got froggy), and nice clothes to boot.

He shoved the others out of his way to get to him first.

“Hey sugar, lookin‘ for a friend?” He beamed, proud pearly whites his best front facing indicator of his cleanliness. “Cuz I’m quite friendly.”

Alastor stiffened, the alarmingly youthful man sliding lithe fingers down his back. “You could say that! I was looking for a tour guide of sorts.”

He and Anthony briefly looked around at their surroundings— they were standing in front of a rather obvious hourly motel. Anthony was…. clearly not a tour guide. Was this strange man an idiot? He wasn’t above taking an idiot’s money but he drew the line at false advertisement.

“Oh.” Anthony’s tone fell flat, a tinge of disgust.

“I’d pay for your time.” Alastor offered, reading the other man’s expression with ease.

“Oh!” Sweet as honey and twice as thick, “Why didn’t ya lead with that! Sure!”

Alastor looked the young man up and down. He was dressed sharp, his shirt a little open for a man with the top two buttons undone to reveal pale and slick skin, slacks high and showing off his petite waist. Perfectly respectable enough.

“Whaddya wanna tour, daddy?” The pet name was said with a deeper voice then the the rest of the question, Anthony being sure to meet Alastor’s eyes when he said it.

Alastor extended his hand, glossing over the word entirely, “Where are my manners! Alastor.”

Anthony inspected his hand, turning it over before grabbing the left hand. No ring. He shook his hand back, “An-,” a cough, “Angel.”

“Angel?”

“Yeah, cuz I’ll make ya see heaven,” he winked. Alastor’s cackle hurt his feelings a tad. He nervously ran his fingers through his soft, blonde hair to self soothe.

“I just wanna see the city, Angel.” A pregnant pause, Alastor fidgeting a little with his vest, “How old are you exactly?”

Angel’s turn to laugh, but nearly immediately his face went flat and his bright eyes turned dark, “I have a baby face, but I’m of age. If you’re lookin’ for younger you’d bettah hop on a train back to whatever backwater hole you came from.” He tapped his foot, ready to turn and leave.

“Just a local guide, thank you!” A sigh of relief, “You’d be perfect.”

Sometimes customers claimed they just wanted a date, but this one seemed to actually want a tour guide. But money is money, so Angel hooked his arm into Alastor’s arm with renewed hospitality, “What’s your scene, fancy pants?”

“I’d like a drink, how about that first?” Alastor’s ever present smile beamed.

“Uhhh it won’t be the kinda places you’re used to.” He let his eyes drift down and back up the tall tourist with broadcasting judgement.

“Dear you don’t know the places I frequent. Do your worst.”

Angel felt a tingle down his spine, oh, he liked this one. “My worst? I know just the place.”

It took a head nod, a series of knocks to a tune Alastor didn’t recognize, and a secret phrase but finally he had a room temperature glass of illegally imported Irish whiskey in his hands.

“If you want a pick me up I can get you one of those too,” Angel watched him sip.

“Very generous but I’d rather keep my nose clean while in a new city.”

“Oh right! Are you visitin’ or can I expect to be seein’ yous around?” Angel’s fingers walked their way across the bar top to tap softly on Alastor’s left hand. The older man’s hand slid out from under his touch.

Alastor had left New Orleans for a reason, but not one he could tell others about. A certain person had been particularly cruel to his dear friend and bar owner, Mimzy. Alastor had made the extended weekend trip to give the man his opinion of such things.

“Just the weekend, I’m afraid,” he said it with a sing song voice void of any supposed fear, “I work in entertainment, so I’m hoping to find some new talent.”

Angel nodded, sounded like bullshit but he knew prying could make people switch up attitudes fast. His family taught him well enough to not ask too many questions. But then a lightbulb went off for him. The kind that overshadowed his smarter senses.

“Speakin’ of, you talk funny. You an actor or somethin’?” Angel asked, leaning on the bar with his body fully turned to Alastor.

“Radio show host.”

“Oooh fancy!” Angel smacked Alastor’s thigh, causing his newest client to jump. With a roll of his eyes, he whispered an apology and leaned his chin on his palm. His foot began to shake. Eyes flitting over to Alastor, who was motionless and grinning with unfocused eyes.

“You’re so quiet. Bor-ing.”

“Silence is a virtue.” Alastor’s ears were peeled for certain keywords. Hints for where to go next. Mimzy was tight lipped on where she’d worked before, but he knew the kind of places she enjoyed.

He wouldn’t call the trip a failure if he never found Chester. But it sure would be nice. His usual means of disposal were unavailable, but since he was so far from home and the city already quite busy with crime, he’d just roll ole boy into the water. It wasn’t like Chester’s associates didn’t usually rid each other of deadweight this way.

Angel chewed his bottom lip. This wasn’t necessarily better than fucking but he figured it was nice to have someone buying him the good hooch rather than stealing it from distracted bars and his uncle’s refreshment cart.

He inspected Alastor closer with a sharp side glance. His hair looked soft and fine, his skin washed and smooth. When he’d taken his hand he checked for dirt under his nails and didn't find a speck.

“You don’t look like you get a lot of hookers.” Angel twirled his finger in his glass and sucked the tip. Alastor choked a little, drink clanking loudly when he brought it down.

Angel watched him flounder, glasses slipping down his nose. Cute, he thought. When he smiled, his eyes wrinkled at the corners and Angel found it uncomfortably endearing.

“No, I don’t.” Alastor patted his chest. He thought Angel had been trying to get a rise out of him but instead the younger man was just toying with his drink, seemingly unamused and unbothered. If not for the smallest smile pulling his lips to the left he’d had assumed he imagined the comment.

Angel thought about the kinds of men and women he encountered. Often times, the most dangerous seemed to be the ones you didn’t expect. The gaunt bookish type always had some fetish for choking until you blacked out. The rich liked to make you scream in the worst ways.

“You’re not some weirdo like that guy in ‘The Most Dangerous Game’, are ya? Hunting people for sport.” He narrowed his eyes, waiting for a physical tell.

The apt comparison flew past Alastor as he was too thrilled with the other aspect of that question, “You watch thrillers?!”

“Oh do I, I’m a fan of anything that gets the blood pumpin’,” Angel winked at him.

“Do you actually watch these movies or are you just in the theater.” Alastor was suspicious, given Angel’s overall focus on sex.

“Well it started as just a nice and shady place for some hand stuff, but I started gettin’ really into ‘em. Pissed off the Johns so I started goin’ solo.”

Angel did enjoy the movies, but free time and disposable income could be scarce. Letting dates, of sorts, take him allowed the excuse he was working. Until the complaints started. His face and name were known by most in the neighborhood, so it wasn’t difficult for people to find a cousin or an uncle and vent about their poorly behaved slut of a family member. The missed screenings were worth the absence of bruises. It’s harder to work when you’re different shades of red and blue.

He didn’t understand how the small common interest made his new friend feel invigorated.

Alastor downed the last sips of his drink, “Alright! Let’s dance. Take me somewhere we can swing.”

“Finally! Thought ya hired me to bore me to death. A very slow hitman.”

With a quickly hidden panic, Alastor let the comment die and linked his arm with Angel’s.

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Angel was amazed at the sight; Alastor could dance.

“You aren’t as tightly buttoned up as I thought!” Angel’s hand was in Alastor’s as their bodies disconnected and spun away from each other. Meeting back again, hands to hands, their feet did all the work.

“You’re quite the dancer too, Angel.” Alastor leaned in, saying it loudly into the shell of the other man’s ear.

The blush it earned made him grin, he wasn’t trying to impress him but he did enjoy seeing the cocky man go quiet and pink.

“That’s a lovely color on you! I’ll have to keep making you blush.” Alastor whispered now, lips pressed to Angel’s skin not to entice but to ensure he was heard.

What’s life without a little teasing? And the younger man had been so talkative and assertive. Nothing gave Alastor quite the same thrill as making people act unlike themselves. Inspiring a meek woman to be brazen; a cocky man to shy away; a loud person to go silent.

Self betrayal. Influencing that in the people around him was his second favorite hobby. Maybe tied with dancing.

“Do you go out to dance often?” He asked, now peeled off of Angel. Angel shook his head. “But I thought you liked making your heart race?” He smirked.

Alastor was equal in size to Angel, but the blonde felt slight in the other man’s hold. There was a magnetism rolling off of Alastor’s body. Something in the way he spoke and moved made Angel want to please him. To get his approval. To make him waver that well coiffed image.

While Angel plotted how to do that, he kept his eyes glued to Alastor’s own, unable to break away. He knew his usual charms (grabbing his dick and pulling him into the bathroom) wouldn’t work, but an opportunity would surely present itself.

“You seem the kind of man who knows how beautiful he is. Odd, given you don’t seem arrogant about it.” Alastor was reading Angel with skills honed over decades of moving amongst others in secret. Commentary he usually kept to himself given freely as he wanted to understand the man more, “Who is making you think otherwise? You should be arrogant.”

Deep blue eyes looked to the left, escaping Alastor’s own now that the topic made their gaze too intimate, “Whaddya mean? I know I’m a dish! No one is sayin’ otherwise.”

Alastor observed the way his tour guide’s shoulders drew up and in, making himself physically retreat from the subject. He advanced.

“I said beautiful. Not some dish. And I didn’t mention anything about words bringing you down.”

A roll of his eyes, “You sure are talkin’ a lot now, I’m beginning to see the radio skills. Tell me then, Alastor, what actions are you prepared to do to confirm my beauty?”

A loud laugh, Alastor feeling cornered in the most exciting way. The only music was from a radio playing weakly on a table on a rather useless looking bar, but Alastor swung Angel around with the same energy he did for the live bands in New Orleans. It was silly, Angel thought, how quickly he forgot where he was.

He was, for the record, at the only place he knew was open and allowed dance. One he knew too well.

“Hey Anthony!” The man behind the dark wooden counter bellowed much louder than necessary. Alastor could feel Angel recoil in his arms, the dancing coming to an abrupt end. In truth, they’d been dancing for quite a few songs already. It felt cut short anyway, as they could have gone on for much longer. No one else was dancing, he noted, though the bar only had a couple other patrons.

“I’m workin’,” his hands slipped from their place in Alastor’s with a palpable reluctance before striding to the bar. Alastor followed shortly behind, not drunk enough to cut a rug alone in a strange place. The music wasn’t even that good if he was honest. In fact, every foot Angel grew further from the dance floor, the less appealing the beat became.

“Oh sorry, Angel,” the short man said it with an overt sarcasm that made it clear how he felt about Angel. Alastor found it quite grating. “Uncle wants to talk. Go upstairs for a sec.”

“I’m busy right now.” Hissed as he leaned over the bar too far, body stretching with a leg kicking up. Alastor admired the line from nape to ankle. He wondered what kind of life Angel could have as a dancer.

“Oh ya know what, that’s funny you mention it cuz,” the bartender smacked Angel’s head with his hand, “I wasn’t fucking asking.” Angel winced, excusing himself to Alastor and disappeared behind a door. The unnecessarily mean man sniffled, swallowing whatever he managed to inhale, and said, “You look like a bitch.” He pointed at Alastor with a short and blunt finger.

Alastor’s head shook slightly with the surprise of the statement. His smile was sharp and drawn in, failing to suppress a chuckle. He made a point of straightening his back and looking the man up and down. Red face, an alcoholic’s nose, little grubby hands, and cauliflower ears. Had the barkeep been kinder, Alastor could label the details as charming. But given the frame of cruelty they were in, they made his lip curl up in disgust. Looking down his nose at the man, he hummed.

“Ya know, it’s funny you mention that,” he parroted, “I was just thinking the same thing about you!” Alastor said it with measured pacing but quickly leaned away from the bar in time to dodge the unsavory barkeep’s hand smacking at his head.

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“Where did Dom go?” Angel seemed to bounce out the front door, looking back with worry. Alastor thought it was terribly misplaced.

“In the bathroom! Poor man slipped and his hit head.” Alastor wiped the grubby little finger smudges off of his glasses with his handkerchief, “Let’s just walk for a bit. The bars are a bust at this time of day.”

Angel’s brow rose at the statement, what did it matter if the bars were empty? Hell, a busy place was more likely to get raided than an empty one. He let the door close and rejoined Alastor’s side. Reaching over, he smoothed a few of the other man’s hairs back in place. His fingers continued down the back of Alastor’s ears and to the nape of his neck.

“Your hair is so short in the back.” He raked his nails in the prickly hairs.

“And yours is quite long in the front.” The back of Alastor’s hand pushed the blonde hair from Angel’s eyes. It was quite easy to look Angel in the eyes, as he was nearly the same height. He took a step back and offered his arm, “Shall we?”

A prideful chill, seeing that pink blush spreading across the milky white of Angel’s cheeks. Angel knew it was just pleasantries but he couldn’t help the way his body reacted to the gesture. Touching his hair so tenderly, willing to link arms together. He knew he’d get it bad if someone saw and told on him, but he’d let tomorrow’s Anthony deal with that. Today’s Angel was enjoying himself too thoroughly.

They walked in silence, not out of boredom or awkwardness, but a misplaced familiarity. Well, seemingly misplaced. Neither man knew how much they shared in common. How they both came from broken homes, for one. Nor that they both had killed men before with their hands and tools alike.

When Alastor stopped just outside a theater and looked to Angel expectedly, the New York native took his arm back.

“Really? I’m not doin’ hand stuff.” Angel pointed sharply at Alastor, an oddly effective show of control.

“I really don’t want you to.” Alastor opened the door for Angel, “After you.”

Settled into their seats, Angel was vibrating with excitement. He didn’t often have time for movies and nearly never did he have company. Actual company. Alastor saw the fidgeting and smirked, the unhidden joy was something he could admire.

“I wanna be an actor someday. Be a star. Doesn’t that sound grande? Everyone knows your name and face?” Angel leaned dreamily into Alastor’s left shoulder.

Alastor couldn’t imagine something worse, that’d be a sign he royally fucked up.

He chuckled to himself, realizing he was a semi public figure whose voice and name was quite well known. So, actually, it was quite grande. Angel asked him what was funny but he just shook his head.

Angel’s eyes lingered on him. The screen light was bouncing off his date’s glasses. He looked so nice. Like the kind of guy who cleans off your seat before you sit and always tops up your glass. The kind of guy who wipes off your back after he cums on you and then draws a bath.

He decided he’d make it his goal to cause Alastor to fold, to be as love drunk as all the others he set his sights on. Why not? He seemed well off enough, maybe Angel could get a sugar daddy. Someone to take him to movies and spin him around dance floors.

His hand came to rest on Alastor’s forearm on the arm rest, and when Alastor asked him if he needed the space he shook his head no. They watched the thriller in silence, Angel’s hand drawing little lines and circles onto the top of the radio host’s arm.

When the movie was over, they stayed behind a little. Angel sliding his hand down Alastor's arm and blanketing the much larger hand.

“So this is what would happen.” Angel gripped two of Alastor’s slender fingers, “During excitin’ moments,” he made a fist around the digits and began short but fast jerking motions, “my hand would slow.” He mimicked the story with his mock handjob. “And when something shockin’ happened, I’d squeeze em waaay too tight.” He gripped Alastor’s fingers.

The action made the older man bite his lip, he wasn’t normally cognizant of sexual needs but Angel’s eyes never left his as he tightened and pumped his digits. He’d be lying to say his heart didn’t quicken a little.

“So, I had to stop bringin’ guys here.” Angel released his fingers. He watched with sharp eyes as Alastor stood and adjusted his pants slightly before offering a hand to him.

As they walked out and into the soft glow of dusk, Alastor asked if he disliked his job.

“Seems very impersonal.” He added.

Angel hooted “I love my work! Honestly the sex is the best part. I can’t stand that slow lovey shit. I need a good hard fuckin’ to get off. Plus, I like the variety.”’ His eyes brows danced up and down. The topic made Alastor grimace, he didn’t like the mental image of Angel receiving a variety of men.

“Do you ever find … more with your clients?” Alastor was curious, genuinely. Angel was younger than him, mid-20s it seemed, but he didn’t seem interested in anything deeper than sex. Surely by this age he was hoping to find meaningful companionship?

Angel kicked a rock, “Nah. I’m not opposed. But most men, they’re not exactly advertisin’ their love of cock.”

“Not like you.”

“Exactly! I’m not gonna be some guy’s dirty secret he rage fucks when his wife nags him too hard about … I don’t fuckin’ know. Money. Dirty clothes. Small apartments.” His hands were animated, moving around themselves to jazz up the point. Alastor nodded. It made sense to him. He didn’t want to subject someone to being a placeholder for society’s expectations of him. Alastor didn’t want to be the kind of person Angel didn’t want to be kept by. A man living a lie for the sake of pleasing the world around him, that fictional closeted man in Angel’s example, he could understand him well. And he didn’t want to become him. He hummed to himself low and quiet, taken aback by the compatibility he hadn't anticipated when he approached the group of men and women loitering in front of the shady motel. The non-response made Angel feel he’d been too open. He needed to close that vulnerable topic. “Sooo, did you want to go anywhere else or what?”

It was getting late, meaning Alastor’s chances were even better of finding some clues that could lead to his target.

“If you have the time…,” Alastor trailed off. Angel nodded in approval but stopped walking. He stopped too and looked back at his guide. Angel’s shirt seemed to have been unbuttoned another button, and his hand on his hip accentuated his shape. The mental image returned, but it wasn’t variety he saw now pressing Angel into a soft surface.

Something about the conversation, the realization they both were just trying to live their lives freely and as openly as they could without prosecution, made Alastor want to explore the other man more. Inside and out.

“Ya know you’re rackin’ up a pretty bill here. How’s about we stop at mine, you pay up for the day, and I can get ready to go out properly?” The sly smile made Alastor’s heart skip a beat, but it was the blatant challenge in Angel’s eyes that made his cock twitch. Angel barely said anything suggestive at all, but the way he seemingly dared Alastor to say no to the invitation was plainly a tell.

Had Angel asked him a couple hours earlier, he’d had handed him the cash and left. But, now? Well…

Alastor’s hands settled into his pockets and he leaned back on his heels, “Sounds grande. Lead the way.”

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“Take a load off, I’m gonna freshen up.” Angel slunk off into the bathroom as soon as the door was shut.

Alastor roamed the small one room apartment. A curved bar hung in the corner, a couple shirts and two trousers on hangers there. He felt the material between his fingers; expensive. Out of place in the space. Clearly he prioritized his image over his comfort. Alastor could feel a draft coming from the closed window, and the floor was warped.

He looked over the dresser, small make-up items neatly set in front of the mirror. Powder foundation and cream concealer. A faint lip tint. Alastor sat on the bed — it made a loud squeak as several springs whined under his weight. Leaning down he spotted a box and pulled it out. Heavy. Inside was a pistol, several photos, a small tin of condoms, and a silver money clip of bills. He closed it and slid it back.

The door creaked open and Alastor looked over his shoulder. Angel was in a black robe patterned with pink roses— a woman’s robe, it seemed. He knelt on the small bed and slide his long arms down Alastor’s torso from behind. Resting his head on his shoulder and pressing his chest into Alastor’s back, he undid the top button of his suit jacket.

“I want you to pay me now.” Angel’s tone was husky and, Alastor was sure he was misinterpreting this but, provocative. When Alastor tried to get up Angel’s strong arms pulled him back down. Chuckling, the now nervously excited Alastor raised his hips and fished out his cash.

“I never did ask how much.” Alastor realized.

Angel hummed, “How much ya got?”

A breathy laugh, Alastor pulling out a Jackson. Angel whined. Alastor unfolded another. Angel whined longer in a higher pitch. When he pulled out a third bill Angel pressed a kiss to his cheek and took the cash. Lying on his stomach he slid out the box, set the money within, and closed it.

“Now that that’s done.” Angel grabbed Alastor by the shoulders again and pulled him down, his strength startling. Alastor let himself be maneuvered, Angel putting his legs up and pushing his back into the pillows barely cushioning his spine from the metal headboard. Alastor didn’t say anything, just watched curiously at where this was going.

When Angel straddled him a smile pulled at his mouth. “What’s this, Angel?”

The robe opened, Alastor seeing Angel was entirely nude, a soft shine on his thighs catching the dirty yellow light of the room’s singular hanging bulb. His eyes drifted down a shaved and pale chest, a flat and toneless stomach, and a mess of bright blonde curls above a very pink and half hard cock.

“I prepared in the bathroom. And,” Angel leaned over and grabbed a small bottle, “I’m going to prepare you now, too.”

Alastor opened his mouth but Angel kept talking, “I know a guy, in case you were wonderin’. Doctor who will give anyone a lubricant prescription for enough money. Crisco is so hard to wash off…”

Angel didn’t see Alastor smirking or nodding, his hands busy undoing the other man’s buckle and pants. He found no resistance, Alastor letting him tug off his clothing until he was naked from the waist down. “Be a doll and take off your shirt and shit.” Angel poured the lubricant onto Alastor’s still very limp dick and began pumping. Alastor did as he was told, shrugging off his suit jacket and vest, then undoing his shirt and letting them all lie half behind him and half around him.

As Angel felt Alastor grow heavy in his palm and watched him become larger and longer, his mouth began to water. It was an attractive cock, two toned tan and pink. Not something he often saw. Little fantasies of choking on that length danced in his head. He nestled himself into the tan thighs and inspected Alastor for any signs of disease.

Not a blemish in sight, no growths or warts. He was clean, and Angel dared think he was even quite pretty to look at. As his foreskin drew back and his head was made bare, Angel decided to take him into his mouth. He hadn’t planned on it, but it seemed so enticing. He had to know, did he taste as sweet as he acted?

Alastor hissed, not in displeasure but from sensitivity. No one had sucked his dick in ages. He wasn’t a huge fan, but he liked watching Angel do it. His cheeks were flush, that complimentary color back. It made the light corn yellow of his hair seem to pop even brighter.

The weight of him on Angel’s tongue grew and Angel revelled in the reaction. Something about it made him feel powerful. His goal was coming to fruition.

“Glad to see you could get it up!” He teased, mood becoming light when Alastor tasted vaguely of soap.

“I’m only 40, Angel.”

“Meh sounds old. I’ll be long dead before then.” He began running his fingers along the impressive length. The other man wanted to argue how sad it was to think he’d be dead in what…a dozen odd years? But Angel moved on too quickly. “You’re packin’ more than I thought. This might actually be fun.”

Angel climbed onto Alastor and began lining him up. He was impatient now, hard and leaking from the little bit of Alastor he had in his mouth. “Don’t worry, I’m clean — and don’t let ‘em finish in me. My work rule. Condoms and all that.”

When Alastor’s slit was swiped over the lubed but still puckered entrance, Alastor clenched his eyes in response. He wasn’t sure how he’d started the day looking for someone to kill and ended up here, cock in the hands of a pretty man being rubbed along as his asshole. When Angel began the push, Alastor sat up reflexively. He felt blunt, and like the hole he was being squeezed into was not able to take him.

Angel knew better, and bit his lip in preparation for the initial pain. He hadn’t used enough fingers when he was frantically trying to get himself ready. But Angel was nothing if not ambitious. He held his breath and let his weight drop a few inches. Alastor’s hands shot to his slender hips to still him, the little cry Angel made worrying him that he’d hurt the man.

Or, that Angel had hurt himself.

Eyes wide and panicked, he felt himself go a little soft despite how tight he was being gripped. His cockhead was forced in, Angel’s hole quick to try and close again as soon as Alastor’s glands were past the rim. Using his hand to hold Alastor firm, Angel managed to fit the rest of him in.

When his balls came to rest on the curly hair above Alastor’s cock, he took a moment to breathe. Alastor hadn’t regained his erection fully, so when Angel lifted up his prize nearly folded out.

It happened sometimes– sometimes men just got caught up in the minute details of anal sex and got soft, is what Angel told himself as he tried to grind against the heated lap and bring Alastor back to life in him.

It felt good for him, soft or not the movement of his hips made himself jump with flickers of pleasure. Surely, Alastor would be hard again soon.

But when he looked up to Alastor, expecting to see a pleasured expression, he saw the man looked nearly confused. Face to face, suddenly he felt embarrassed. He felt naked and foolish.

Clearly, Alastor wasn’t into him.

Obviously, he’d made a mistake.

“What’s wrong with ya? You’re not— fuck, I get it.” Angel hurried off of him, sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. Alastor froze, unsure what had happened. Had he hurt him, after all? Or was he angry he became soft? Alastor sat up and leaned forward, moving that well tended to hair from his almost-lover’s face. “Just go. You’ve made a joke of me enough already.”

“Where’s the joke? Am I laughing?” Alastor asked softly, smile impossible to banish.

Angel grabbed his robe and bunched it into his hands, burying his face there. “If you don’t wanna fuck me then that’s fine,’I’m not some creep whose gonna make ya!” Alastor looked at him and couldn’t help but think he was quite cute when he was overreacting.

“Well you were fucking me, I think. Though, I’m not the professional here.” His hand came to rest on Angel’s shoulder. Alastor wasn’t sure where else was appropriate to touch.

Angel turned his head and gave him a sharp look. A little chill came to Alastor, it was a glare that could cut and he found that uniquely arousing.

“Would you like to try again? Come here.” He threw his legs over the side of the bed and sat beside Angel, patting his thighs, “Facing me.” Angel’s eyes looked from cock to face, then back. His pout made Alastor melt a little. Such a cute face on such a dirty boy. He took Angel’s hand and set it on his lap, “Do it like you did with the men in the movies who got mad.”

A flame flared back up in Angel’s stomach. He wrapped his fingers around the small and pliable cock and started slow and gentle, before squeezing him tighter at the base. Alastor leaned back on his palms, letting his eyes close and focus on the sensations and less on the odd situation he was in. Not that he was complaining, it was a stress relief he hadn’t turned to in ages. He felt that build up of heat in his crotch, pleasure lighting up the darkness of his closed eyes. Opening them again, he patted Angel on the hip and urged him back onto him.

“Could you help me-?” He asked, focused on trying to catch his now swollen head on the slick entrance but knowing he wasn’t sure exactly where to press in.

“Do you have much experience with men?” Angel lifted up and guided Alastor back into him. His hole was still softened, Alastor hard enough to be pushed in easily. A small pleasured sigh tumbled out as he was filled again.

Alastor hissed, still sensitive slit raking over Angel’s heated flesh from the inside. He shook his head no.

“None?” Angel sank down slowly.

“Does this count?” Alastor’s eyes were transfixed onto where he was disappearing into Angel. Rarely did he take interest in the mechanics of sex, but seeing his thick member be taken into the small frame was making his head spin.

“No,” when Angel laughed, Alastor tensed. The shaking of the chuckle reaching his core.

Fully in and feeling Angel’s heartbeat around his most sensitive area, Alaster grabbed his waist with both hands and began to roll his hips up into Angel. Not thrusting yet, he wasn’t sure how long he could last if he did.

A loud, sudden moan tore through Angel’s lips, breath rocking Alastor’s tousled hair. The sound was nice. The radio host kissed at his escort’s cheeks, feeling the warmth of his blush now against his lips. It tasted even better than it looked. His mouth moved to the side to pepper his hairline with quick pecks. It was sweet, nearly too much so for Angel. He leaned back with one hand on Alastor’s knee and changed the angle. When he found the spot he needed, he began to bounce on the stiff cock buried so deeply in him.

He hit his g-spot, moaning louder with each swipe. His head fell back, every breath now carrying another wispy moan into the otherwise silent room.

And then it happened. Alastor groaned, the feeling of his cockhead rubbing against puffy and slick walls compounded with the vision of Angel crying while he rode him made him lose his control. The sound made Angel shudder, now with both hands on Alastor’s legs he picked up his pace. He needed to hear it. He wanted more of Alastor’s noises for him.

When he hit his spot again, harder than before, his body shook and once deep moans now became high pitch and short screams. That thick cock twitched forward in his guts somewhere imprecise, making his knees draw in between their chests, feet planted on the bed.

“Does– fuck, it look like I’m mocking you,” Alastor moaned mid sentence, needing a few breaths to regain his composure, “now?”

Angel could only shake his head, focusing on his tempo.

Alastor was losing his breath. His hands took over the rhythm, pulling Angel down and toward him harder and faster as he felt his balls drawing up and near. Angel felt like hot, tight silk gliding over his cock. When he buried his head into the crook of his neck he found his skin the same — soft and luxurious to the touch. He moaned into his neck, “I’m going to finish; where?”

Angel’s arms wrapped around Alastor’s head, drawing his forehead in to rest on his, “Finish in me.”

“I thought you said that’s against your work rules. You don’t let them-.” Alastor’s eyes wandered over Angel’s shining blue irises before kissing him on the mouth. The sentence wasn’t worth finishing.

Angel returned the kiss, pulling apart to gasp out a reply. “I’m not working right now,” rushed into Alastor’s sweat covered cheek, “I was just a tour guide you already paid, remember?”

Alastor wanted to laugh, but he couldn’t control his body anymore. His lips reclaimed Angel’s and he used his often overlooked strength to fuck up into the tight, melting pleasure until his hips stuttered. His climax weakened his muscles in his thighs and stomach, only allowing another three deep thrusts as he came into the other man. Angel broke the kiss to moan Alastor’s name, the feeling of powerful and overflowing spurts of his seed filling him up. He felt warm inside and out.

After a few calming breaths, but before Angel could dismount, Alastor began stroking his still hard and leaking cock.

“What— ah, your hands are so soft.” His head fell onto Alastor’s shoulder.

He rocked his hips again, despite Alastor softening already. But as Alastor’s fingers slid over his head and spread his precum down his shaft, he started to ride again in earnest. Repositioning so his knees were on either side of Alastor’s thighs, he started fucking himself like Alastor was his newest toy. Head lolling to the side he let his mouth run, “Oh, fuck yes, daddy.”

Angel felt another twitch as Alastor hardened again in him.

“Oooh, you dirty old man!” Faster, his face smug but breaking into a pleasured slack jawed mess with each heavy hit, “Come on daddy, fuck me. Pound into me until I cum on your cock.”

“Anthony.” Alastor’s attempt at chiding was betrayed by his erection, now fully formed again and stretching Angel’s hole. He reached his lips to Angel’s, “You talk too much.”

“Then shut me up, daddy.” Their teeth hit with the clumsy, impassioned kiss. Alastor couldn’t figure out why exactly the nickname was getting him so worked up. He wasn’t a father and sure as shit didn’t think highly of them. But when Angel moaned it like it was some high praise, a singular position above him that granted him some kind of power, his heart quickened.

His hand began to stoke faster, hips thrusting up as Angel rolled his own hips forward with every meeting of skin. “Fuck me like a slut, Alastor.” Alastor could feel the carefully shaved and lotioned body tensing against him , “Use me. Be rougher.” It wasn’t a request, and Alastor loved that tone on Angel.

He fisted a handful of his hair and pulled back his neck, that hair in grip just as silken as the rest of him. Angel himself very much like the elusive fabric, his wit allowing him to glide effortlessly along Alastor’s own intellectual way of speaking and charm letting him slip through Alastor’s many attempts to know him on a deeper level.

Angel wanted something harder, and though it was out of the celibate’s wheelhouse he tried to meet expectations. Head dipped down, he let spit drip onto his pistoning hand, “You get off on being a cock sleeve, Anthony?” Watching the prim Alastor lube his cock with spit was so out of character Angel’s eyes rolled close, hole clenching tighter. “Daddy’s little slut?” Angel whimpered and nodded enthusiastically as best he could.

A moment to inspect the younger man’s face, Alastor wondering if he’d ever again see such a sight. Angel’s pristine chest and shoulders heaving, sweat sliding down his enticing neck, and mouth hanging open as he choked out his name.

“Come undone for daddy.”

A broken and strained, “Fuck!”, Angel pushing Alastor down onto the bed and riding him through the final thrusts he needed to cum. He bottomed out, knees coming to touch over Alastor’s modestly toned stomach.

His spend spilled over Alastor’s knuckles and stomach weakly, small cock twitching pitifully as it ran dry.

Leaning up on his elbows, Alastor inspected his hand. Messy. Angel patted his chest twice and dismounted, promising a speedy towel.

“Did I do that?” Alastor’s voice was quick and seemed to briefly lose its trans-atlantic pitch. There was a dark bruise on Angel’s ribs, nearly to his back, that he hadn’t seen before until the young man turned around. He gently traced his fingers along the edge and found his fingertips painted with a soft pinkish white powder.

“Oh no, ha.” Angel pulled away, slipping on his robe. When he turned back to offer the hand towel, he saw the upset worry painting Alastor’s usually smiling face. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m not some freak. I like it rough, not abusive. Just a family issue.” Eyebrows to his hairline, smile noticeably flatter, Alastor was unconvinced. “My family’s a real… uhh, tight knit one. Lots of rules and all that jazz.” Angel added.

“And this? Also… familial?” Alastor wiped away the make-up hiding a discolored wrist. Now that he knew what to look for, he was finding suspicious patches across Angel’s body.

“Ugh, that tone. Like ya pity me. Like —like, ya think I’m some victim.” He snatched the towel back and began wiping Alastor’s stomach. “This is just how things are, alright? Ya fuck up and you gotta learn to — to stop makin’ everything harder for evergone else.”

“I don’t pity you. Nothing about you is pitiful. I’m just surprised. You seem like the retaliatory type.” Alastor reached to take the towel back but was denied.

“You got that right. But no one hits back against my cousin. It’s best to just keep your head down.”

“And is that what you do? Keep your head down?” The insinuation wasn’t lost on Angel, who scowled while taking the other man’s hand and cleaning it finger by finger.

“Angel?” Alastor asked, naked and still being glared down at.

“What.” Angel set his hand down and walked to the bathroom. Alastor lied back down and let his head hang over the side of the bed, watching an upside down Angel saunter by. A vantage point he didn’t mind, eyes level with a very pert and now pink ass. Thanks to Alastor’s thighs.

“One last tour stop, before we enjoy a proper night out. If you have the time.” Angel leaned back so he could see Alastor’s face and nodded, waiting for more. “To a telegram office.” Alastor would need to let work know he’d be gone a little while longer.

🕯Kinktober Masterlist 👻

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