#if i had gotten to learn and now know how to be a human and a person i would've... been a person

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (part 10)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

A burlesquer with a penchant for conning men, you find your latest game interrupted when your next mark saves you from an aggressive fan— by killing him. The chance encounter left you curious, still half convinced you could complete your normal chase. Unbeknownst to you, you were the one being tracked.

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds 📍

Part 10 Good Deeds

Alastor takes you out as promised, but work/hobbies call him away. Not that you mind, you have your own hobbies to pick up.

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem!Reader, references to racial violence, reference to a word that’s now very much a slur, Hate for Aubrey, inaccurate portrayal of how easy it was to drink, oh yeah murder, mentions of a dismembered body, bloody shoes, physics hijinks with a corpse, these idiots in love, gators aaaaaye baby, domestic fluff?? Kind of?? Did I do it?!」

I think about Emmett Till often. Though his heinous murder came after the time this story is set, what happened to him wasn’t an isolated incident. So it is referenced here in a sense, because I can’t stop thinking about him when I think about racial violence in the south both what it looked like before and what it looks like now. I don’t say anything explicit and change the act, but it is still important to warn you. If you don’t know about the tragic death of Emmett, here’s a site with links to articles and essays. Be careful, it is awful and his deceased and battered face will come up on some links, as his mother wanted the world to see what they did to her baby. It’s an image I cannot forget and I rightfully shouldn’t. I know it’s off to have such a heavy topic before this love story but this case is the kind that would motivate such a killer as Alastor, and I don’t want to miss an opportunity to remind us of Emmett’s short life even if it’s done in a silly fanfic surrounded by nonsense. So forgive me for perhaps an odd real life addition, I’d be disappointed in myself for not addressing it when Emmett has been on my mind every time I think about the era someone like Alastor could have lived in. An era that did exist and people did live and suffer in.  An era not far removed from us, my father was alive when this happened.

Part 10 - Good Deeds

minors if you interact I will interpret that as a deep hate for me as a person so MDNI 👌🏼

“I’ve got to speak with the valet, go on ahead and find a table you like.” 

You didn’t want to do that at all, but knew Alastor wouldn’t ask if he didn’t want it. Well, he didn’t really ask, did he? He was certainly in his element, the shining and towering hotel every bit as pristine as his own public image.

It was as if every head in the room spun around to look at you. Everyone’s hair freshly styled, jewelry shiny and heavy, clothes immaculate. Your dress was lovely, no doubt, but no one looks at the elephant in her tutu at the circus and proclaims, “A ballerina!” This was, rather obviously, not your scene.

Alastor had presented the dress to you so sweetly, though. You woke up to find it hanging on the closet door hook, the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes. He had either waited for you to fall asleep to hang it or woken up before you for just the reason. It was red, his favorite color for you. The latest fashion, loose and straight. No corset. The neckline showcased a large, flat bow. 

“Partly a gift for me,” he had said as his hands slid down your sides when you had gotten dressed, “Such softness shouldn’t be hidden behind rigid boning.”

You settled into a large seashell shaped booth, the back coming up and over like you were the speck of sand yet to form into a pearl. The table was small, a glittering pattern under its shiny veneer. Everything was…glistening. Even the darkness past the windows seemed to be sparkling back at you. A few people turned to look you up and down, smiling and beginning to speak to their group before even turning back to them. 

You could wither, or bloom. So you learned back as if you were bored, legs crossed and feet gently shaking with anxiety or boredom, you hoped no one could sus out which. 

It was so odd. In your usual haunts, newcomers were greeted with curious smiles and maybe the tiniest suspicions. You were being picked apart to the bone by sharp stares and even sharper tongues, no matter how silent their jabs were to you. 

“They’re probably jealous.” Your head snapped up, when had Alastor made it in? “They look at you and know, ‘oh, that’s the kind of woman my husband would rather have a conversation with.’” You laughed, you absolutely could have stolen the attention and more from at least one of these women’s husbands.

“Perhaps they recognize these earrings, gone missing from their jewelry box earlier this year.”  You weren’t above accepting a woman’s stolen jewelry. It was her husband's fault anyway, might as well enjoy it. 

Alastor’s finger came to your chin, lifting your face further into the light, “Give em a good look, darling. I want them to eat their hearts out.” The blush that swept across your features was so fierce, the difference in temperature between your cheeks and your arms caused a chill to run down to your shins. He took a seat beside you, scooting up close and flashing that smile. A smile that had you chasing him into dark alleys and grabbing dead men by the ankles. 

A waiter came by, placing a drink in front of Alastor and asking what you’d like. You were so used to being in such spaces with the kind of men who answered for you that you didn’t reply immediately. When Alastor brought his drink to his lips, you realized it was you who was expected to speak. 

“Oh! A corpse reviver please.”

The man smiled and left with a nod. Alastor choked, hitting his chest with the fleshy part of his palm, “That was intentional, wasn’t it?”

You danced in your seat, “I’ve never been somewhere that has the stock for it that I was…allowed to order what I want.”

Alastor set his drink down and leaned back, shoulder pressing into yours teasingly, “I can’t imagine anyone disallowing you a thing.” With a sigh, you reminded him of the things you did to get your marks drunk and off their guard. You were surprised when he nodded like he remembered. “I saw that! You would sit so quietly on their laps. I remember thinking you were much more boring than you had initially made me believe.” You recoiled, and he shot you a look, “Who stalked who first, hm?” 

With a huff, you let it go. You weren’t actually sure the answer to that anyway. Focus let free from Alastor, you began to notice the looks were back. But no longer cutting into you, but wide and devouring. A few smiled at Alastor, some tipped their heads to him and offered a look of recognition. “Aren’t you popular.”

“I haven’t been out in awhile. They’re probably curious.” He took another sip, “Should be, atleast.”

A prideful smile slid up your face. You uselessly tried to mask it by licking your teeth. 

Something that happened when in public with Alastor that was unlike you was the tendency to become small. Not shrinking to provide him space; it was a turning in of your shoulders and touching of your knees in a subconscious effort to curl into a little ball of joy. Actively fighting the tug, you leaned back and opened your chest. An exercise in mental focus. 

“It’s weird. How you can be friends with my kind of people and….well, whatever is happening here.” Your hand waved at the room before you both. 

“My friendship with these people compared to our friends at the dives is…. A light bulb compared to a fire. One was manufactured to fit a need, one exists somewhat naturally.”

Tall and slim, body flat from collar bones to knees, a slip of a woman entered the room and you felt a shift in the atmosphere. Her hair was short and pitch black, fashionable to say the least. A few heads turned, a few upturned lips shifted into sneers. Side glances, hushed words, intentionally heard huffs. You turned to Alastor to find his face was as confused as your own. 

“Who is that?” You said it low, not knowing if she was friend or foe. 

“That would be Mrs. Aubrey Debreaux. Popular socialite and frequent hostess.” A sip of his drink, speaking about her like a character in a novel. “This icy reception is news to me though. She’s usually the life of the party.”

“She’s a real wet blanket now…Your circles seem really fickle. Always a bit of gossip.” You realized as soon as you said it that, well, that was the point. Alastor needed the gossip, and, well, he clearly enjoyed it.

“That’s what the wealthy do. Gossip and pretend the drama is as stressful as someone looking for their next meal.” Swirling his drink absentmindedly, his eyes followed Aubrey through the hotel bar. When you asked if he knew everyone there, he said it was his job to know people.

“Your job is in radio. You host a show, Alastor.” You laughed through your nose.

“Well, my other job.”

“I’d call that a passionate hobby.” Your hand came to rest half on his and half on the booth bench low and hidden, not wanting to monopolize, but he quickly took it and held it on the table. Another struggle to keep your shoulders from drawing inward.

The room moved on, forgetting you both were there and eventually about Aubrey too. Or so you had thought. When you drink was starting to mellow you, you turned to Alastor to admire the view. You’d come to enjoy that silence, the kind that only existed between people comfortable enough to know they didn’t need to entertain each other to enjoy each other’s company.

He was scanning the bar still, elbow on the table as he rested his chin there. From a distance of space or familiarity it could be seen as boredom. But up close and personal, you could see the wheels spinning behind his eyes.

“Golly, when in Rome!” Alastor hooted and grabbed you by the hand with one of his and carried his drink in the other, “Let’s go gossip. Bring your drink.”

He pulled you into a group of four people in a circle talking. They opened and let you both in, smiles warm. A clamor of excited ‘how long has it been’s, ‘how are you’s, and ‘you look well’s.

You’d expected him to ask for gossip like he’d said, but realized that’d be pretty conspicuous. Instead he waited, and when Aubrey passed by one of them rolled their eyes and he had his opportunity.

“What’s that look for?” He asked. 

Everyone got quiet and passed a glance between them. Finally a woman in a beaded dress and finger wave bob piped up.

“She reported a young boy touched her on the street.” Alastor watched Aubrey cycle through the groups as the friend spoke. “Grazed her hip with his hands, made a comment about white women as he did it.”

Alastor’s head whipped back around. “He got taken away that night.”

You gasped, hand coming to your mouth in sincere horror, “Just for touching her? Is he still in jail?” 

The woman’s lips pursed together, no one looking at you.

“Bless your heart. He didn’t touch her and he didn’t make it to the jailhouse, sugar.”

Suddenly the way everyone was looking everywhere but at each other sunk in. 

Panicked, you looked to Alastor. His expression was still, like the calm waters of a deep and foreboding bay. What horrors lie underneath? His tongue wiped across his teeth, and you reached out to take his drink from his hand. The action snapped him out of his daze for a second, expression softening a tad as he nodded a thank you.

If he shattered that glass now, people would remember. And when Aubrey went missing they may recall Alastor’s dramatic reaction. You knew his smiles intimately, the ones that were true and the ones that were illusions. The expressions of joy and the mask for his rage. The smile painted on his face now was nothing short of shallow.

You spent so many days in a bubble with Alastor, shielded by his grace or by the accepting and illegal circles you ran in that you sometimes forgot the reality of life. A dark privilege you hadn’t seen until you were the one looking naive for once. 

That’s right. The world was a bad place, of cruelty and injustice. Not just for you, or for parts of you, or for sides of you. Not just for women with smart mouths or a love of dance. No matter how safe the comfort of your friends and the dark halls you all commiserate in, no matter the like minds and mixed complexions of your peers, you were all just one cruel voice from being dragged into the night. Just a single accusation from being a whispered story in a glittering hotel bar. A headline no one would write. 

And some of you would be mourned more than others. 

You took a second, blinking rapidly to dry your eyes. 

“Apparently, she did it to get Hubert to leave his mistress’s apartment and come home.” A short man whose name you never got took a drag of his cigarette, “Worked. He’s been yapping all week about the state of New Orleans society and the importance of protecting the fairer among us.”

Alastor was quiet still, lips tight. You’d seen the photos in his home. You’d never discussed it, no need. Things can’t become normal if you’re always pointing them out. Plus, that was his piece to share. 

“Glad to see most of us here aren’t too keen to welcome her. I’d hate to have to find another bar.” Someone said, glancing around the room. “George just started making my martinis right.”

“Care to dance?” Alastor abruptly turned his entire body to you with a slick swivel on his heels.

You nodded, offering small polite goodbyes and setting your drinks back on the table before turning to him.

His open palm was outstretched and offering you a dance. You spread your hand over his and felt him hold you firmly before pulling you into him. 

He held you so close, much closer than anyone else on the dance floor. A scandalous lack of distance between you two. Quiet, Alastor’s eyes were distant. You were in front of him but he wasn’t seeing you. You let the song carry on a little longer for appearances before sighing into a smile.

“Why are we dancing when you have work to do? You have your tools.” Looking up at a man was rarely a view you enjoyed but the way his eyes slid down his nose and landed so sharply on you made it worth it. A look that said he’d devour you if he didn’t adore you so much. Your hand snaked behind his back to touch the hidden outline of this trusty little knife. He briefly wondered if this could be considered foreplay, the way he felt your hand on his lower back and running over his weapon. Much more intimate than he’d ever let anyone else be.

As your bodies swayed, the lights slid across the curve of his eyes and lit that bright honey brown color like a diamond twirling in the sun. The facets of his irises mesmerizing you. 

How terribly did you love him? 

How far would you fall for him?

“This would be a long one. You’d be waiting… could be a couple of hours. I need to be out of sight before she leaves.” A chill. Oh, you’d forgotten for a second, Alastor was a killer. He didn’t do it for ‘justice’ alone, he enjoyed what he did. Immensely. His voice had a note of giddiness and anger that didn’t mix well, but was oddly arousing. 

“Correction, I’d be dancing for hours. Drinking. Letting handsome men waste their money on me.” 

“Oh? Can they buy me a drink, too?”

You brought up your pointer finger, “You remind her of her humanity, and I’ll get a man to buy you a drink.” 

He linked his finger with yours. “I’ll need to give her special attention. She’s earned it.”

You loosely understood this wasn’t attention like you’d be given. This was attention that ran opposite affection. 

“I’m not here to be in your way, Alastor.” A quick kiss to your hand, one you hoped no one else saw. While no one here would be bothered by Brady, you still wanted to keep some semblance of confusion on what you two were to onlookers. 

His laugh was louder than you expected, a few heads turning, “Impossible. I’m always going wherever you are, dear.”

Would you never get up again?

“I’ll stay at the bar. If they close, I’ll just go to Beth’s.” Your fingers lingered in his, “Be careful. The best good deeds are done in the dark.”

A kiss to your nose. So gentle despite the topic. You could imagine it, the violent death of a woman. You could hear the sounds. Hers, his, the knife’s. A pang of guilt set in before you could remind yourself why this woman was going to die. A tiny smile settled on your face, he offered you a gentle command in return, “Understood, honey. Be safe.” 

You let him kiss your hand again and bow out of  the dance. You were doing it, it dawned on you as you watched him walk away. Truly kissing him goodbye at the door as he went off to work. The closest you’d ever gotten, atleast. 

He stopped by a group and said some quick goodbyes, apologies for leaving early, and left the hotel bar. 

You knew he had killed women before, Alastor was all for equality, but a part of you worried. Women tend to scream louder, and be heard more often, than men. A man screams and people just…keep walking. What would he do? Where would he do it?

With a sniffle, you let the jealousy of just what he would need to do to get her alone flutter away. Taking a seat back at your table, you sipped your drink and watched the others dance and chat. How odd, they could sway in such large places with big windows and bright lights with no fear of cops. Your scenes were dark, dusty, never seeing the sky. 

“He left ya?” One of the earlier women came by, someone you vaguely remember him nodding a ‘hello’ to at some point in the evening. 

Thankfully you were still quick on your feet. “Well, we came separately, of course we’d leave separately.”

A laughed, “Of course.” She leaned down, touching at your hair for a second, curiously, “Don’t hold your breath. But, it is nice he got you in here, huh? Must be a treat for you.” 

Your own laugh was just as abrupt as Alastor’s earlier, your hand coming to hide your smile. All you could muster was a nod. Yes, you stood out. Yes, you didn’t fit in with these people for many reasons. But, it wasn’t your first time in nice spaces. First time not pressed into a man who’d been made to believe he was more important the whole time, but still. 

It took two more drinks for Aubrey to leave. But there was a problem. As she was trying to bow out of the room, a man kept hooking his fingers under the loose belt of her boxy drop waist dress.

With practiced skill, you took note of where her eyes lingered on him, how her hand came to his arm but didn’t actually press him away. Not earnestly.

The pushy man saw it too, every little soft ‘no’ was a half ‘yes’. And Aubrey seemed to like that. It was almost ironic, given what she had done, how she egged on the younger man before her now by pretending she didn’t want him. His hand landed on her hip forcefully, her hand on his chest gingerly. He leaned in close, she pulled away barely.

The next act was the most classic to women of your era. The false exit.

Aubrey whispered something, he nodded eagerly and his many hands returned to himself.

She smiled at the back of everyone’s heads, as nearly no one would look her way, and she slipped out the doors.

You couldn’t stop yourself from shimmying as you slid from your booth. Barely a step away, you leaned back and grabbed the last sip in your glass. You swished it around your mouth like listerine, and swallowed it. Before you got too close, you pinched your cheeks until your eyes began to water.

You’d just found a way to make yourself useful.

“Whoopsie Daisy!” You giggled, shoulder colliding with the man’s chest as you stumbled past.

“Watch - ooh, hey,” the free hand that had come to keep you from getting closer quickly softened, curling around your waist. The same hand that’d just been on the socialite. You were sure to look up and sigh into him, your breath soaked in alcohol. “You okay, doll? Had a bit too much?”

With glassy eyes you nodded, closing them and letting your head nod lazily, “I lost my thing!” You laughed, hitting his chest.

“Your what? I happen to be a thing.” 

How quickly he forgot his target when easier to pick fruit appeared.

“No, silly!” A practiced hiccup, “my little…”

“Your little…?”

Your fingers wiggled in the direction of your hip.

“Purse!” A beaming grin. He asked if you needed help finding it. “Well, how else am I gonna get another drink!” The hand on your waist fell to your hip and slunk lower. 

“Oh well, I could help ya with that.” He leaned in, looking around first as if he had a secret, “I have a room upstairs.”

You tutted, “No no, I am a married woman!” He lifted your left hand, turning it over in a dramatic search for a ring. “Well, engaged…” you diverted your gaze. He lifted his hand to his brow then and scanned the room like a sailor to the horizon. “He’s working late.” You whined.

Why did his kind of man always want the taken woman? Did they think the chase was more meaningful then? Did they feel like they’d won some tug-of-war with an invisible, unaware opponent?

Maybe they were hardwired to hoard resources.

You let him seat you at the bar, and when he ordered you a drink you asked to know your savior’s name. William.

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Alastor was none the wiser, smoking a cigarette under the streetlamp just off to the side of the hotel awning. He didn’t smoke often before you, but he found the lure of sitting on the porch passing a pill between you both too hard to fight. And soon enough the habit grew from a drinking pastime to just… something to do with his hands.

As Aubrey appeared, waiting for her driver to retrieve the car, Alastor tossed the butt to the street and walked up on her.

“I’m quite cross with you, Aubrey.” His tone was smiling as his hand slid behind her neck and tugged her away from the safety and lights of the awning.

“Oh! Alastor, I’m actually waiting for my car.” She struggled to keep up with his pace in her heels, weakly pointing back to where the valet had stood earlier. She resisted a little, the palm on the nape of her neck silently shutting her down.

“Nonsense. We have business together.” Alastor let his hand fall to her upper arm as he yanked her into the closest side street. “I hear you’ve been a very bad girl.”

Aubrey huffed, pulling back against him once, then twice, but ultimately acquiesced when she could see his car down the street.

“Fine, you can drive me home then.” A misplaced giggle, her survival skills dulled by ego.

He tossed her roughly against the car, hand gripping her face tightly. She tried to say his name, but his hold was so firm her jaw was locked.

“You’re going to get into my car now.” Alastor’s eyes had lost their pupil, an expanse of a seemingly endless dark brown in the heavy shadows left by the lamp’s light. When he let her face go, she rolled her eyes and pulled open the back seat door.

That wasn’t what he had meant, not there, but he closed the door behind her and got into the driver’s seat. He hadn’t brought the tarp tonight, not expecting to need it, so maybe the backseat was his best option regardless.

When he pulled away, she reminded him he didn’t know her address.

“I’m not taking you home. I told you. I have a bone to pick with you.” Alastor found himself incapable of putting on a ruse for her. His patience was entirely lost in his unraveling anger.

“Oooh? A bone, you say. Well, well.” Aubrey leaned forward onto the front seat, hands snaking down his shoulders and chest so she could nip at his ear, “Finally letting me have a ride.”

He had to set his right hand in the darkness of his lap to hide the tremble, a disgusted rage manifesting in uncommon ways. 

As her fingers found the buttons of his waist coat, Alastor struggled to see the road in front of him. His vision was going white, and then red. His blood pressure was so high he was nearly blind. 

And when two hot fingers broached the small space between buttons of his dress shirt and touched the bare skin of his chest, the car came to an abrupt halt. The force threw her into the backseat. 

Alastor slammed the front seat door shut before opening the back and caging her in. “I can’t stand another second of your existence.” She crawled backward, making room for him. “I’m going to fucking kill you.” 

Aubrey settled her back against the opposite door, “Oh, the petit mort.”

His head hung low in frustration, a growled  “No, the big one.” as he raked his fingers through his hair to keep from punching his own car seat.

“So I’ve heard.” She pulled up the hem of her dress slowly.

“For fucks sake Aubrey! I’m not using double entendre!” His hands wrapped around her neck. “Must I really remind you of what wrongs you’ve committed?!”

A brief panic finally came, “Wrongs?? Excuse you.”

He could have sworn the snap in his brain had been audible to her as he lost his last bit of patience.

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“Excuse me.” You settled back into the seat, having taken a bathroom break to down some water in secret. You weren’t trying to actually end up blacked out.

“Anyway,  that's how we secured the riverside house.” William leaned into you. You tried to sip your drink and found it empty, having managed to finish it absentmindedly while he rambled on about himself earlier. As you stared at him you let your eyes lose focus and drift into plans for the morning. You’d like biscuits. Alastor had some sausage he’d picked up the other day, maybe a little gravy and some eggs. It’d be like a Sunday meal nice families ate after church. You assumed. Out of the peripheral of your daydream you saw him tap the bar twice and hold up two fingers. “Charge to 1033.” He said. With the clarity of someone who wasn’t pretending to be drunk you quickly held up three.

William shot you a confused look.

“One for my darling.” He made a show of looking around, the bartender pausing. You gave him a confirmation nod, “Three, please.”

“And is he in the room with us now, Helen? I’m beginning to think he’s imaginary.”

It seemed a fine enough name to give him.

“No! But I made a promise. Or…,” you returned the lean, head resting on his shoulder, “are three drinks a little steep for you?“ With a huff, he pulled out a pair of C notes and set them on the bar. The bartender nodded, reaching for the top shelf. You whistled at the sight. Too much money for the total seven drinks he’d ordered, if you weren’t somewhere Alastor frequented you’d have slipped them under the lip of your stockings when the man wasn’t looking. He was charging the room anyway, the large bills were just for show…

“One reviver for the miss, one brandy for the sir, and a rye whiskey neat for the beau.” The bartender set the drinks down on red napkins. The whiskey sat between you both, and after a beat you realized you hadn’t actually told him what to make for Alastor. And come to think of it, your last drink hadn’t been a reviver at all but a brandy ordered by William.

“Ya know I stood up another woman to help you,” he said it into your cheek, stealing your attention by breaking your line of thought. His arm around your shoulder curled to hold you closer, “Don’t I get a reward for that?”

His breath reeked of sickeningly sweet brandy, the taste sticking to the back of your throat. Your head tilted back so you could look at him down your nose, right hand coming to rest on his thigh.

The heat of his body was radiating through the fabric of his pants and made your stomach turn. How many hot and sweaty bodies had you had the pleasure and displeasure of touching?

A smirk painted your face, remembering seeing sweat sticking to Alastor’s forehead the last time he fucked you. What had you done for that reward? Ah right, the somehow shocking act of not withholding praise for how well planned out his greenhouse was. How impressive he was to you in so many ways. You could have lingered on that recollection, on how Alastor set down his coffee and kissed you. And how he didn’t stop until you were both left undone and flustered. But movement stirred away the pleasant memory to bring you back to an unpleasant reality.

His hand roamed down your arm, uncomfortably warm palm on your exposed skin. 

“Oh, I know you did.” You said.

William chuckled, absolutely no idea what you were talking about and not particularly giving a shit. “Did I mention I have a room here?”

“Ten thirty three.” You repeated. 

He looked genuinely shocked, “How’d you know that?” The man was absolutely mystified.

“I— you just…,” your mask slipped in the face of such abject stupidity, “Lucky guess.” William drank his brandy slowly, mentioning you should bet on the ponies together. You nodded. 

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Alastor didn’t care for strangulation. It took so much time and wasn’t particularly satisfying. No pleading, no screaming, no blood and gore. Just…. someone flailing beneath you and turning purple. Boring. 

He brought up the accusations before he began to squeeze, and her panic transformed to relief. “Oh that?” She tried to sit up, but he pushed her back down, “Are you really miffed at me about that?”

“Yes, Aubrey! You condemned an innocent child to a horrid death!” His hands loosened, all of his neurons firing off to feel pain in his own heart. 

She rolled her eyes, “I wouldn’t call them children. You seem so upset, hun. Did you have a mam-?”

The rest of the word was barely squeaked out of her, he couldn’t let her finish it. He wasn’t sure what face he made. But whatever it was, it scared her. The carefree way she’d been handling the interaction finally died, and he could register actual fear in her eyes then. 

But the rage just … withered. How many children had his mother loved and doted on before her last, much kinder position? How many Aubreys had she raised. It was nothing short of an overwhelmingly violent sadness that laced his finger together around her neck and tightened, the full weight of his body coming down to crush her airways. He wanted such sentiments to be smothered out of the world like the air in her lungs. If he killed enough, could he make a dent in their influence? He could try. For her. For his mother. 

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“Ya know, I could take real good care of you. If that’s what’s stopping you from coming upstairs.” 

With a deep breath, you gulped the drink halfway down. “Your fella doesn’t need to know. I could even get you your own place, you could wait for me there when he’s late with work. Have dinner ready. Slip off my shoes like a good girl.”

“Trust me; you’ve got a better chance of her smacking you with your shoes than slipping them off like a maid.” Alastor was resting his elbow on the bar behind you, head leaning on his hand. “Hey doll. That one mine?” He pointed at the glass.

“Oh? Alastor is the fiancé?,” William gave off a snide laugh as he was interrupted, Alastor standing up and walking to come between you two, “This guy?! Everyone knows he’s a frigid bitch. You must be a dive alley-cat if you’re—,” Alastor’s fist connected with the man’s jaw, eliciting a sickening crack. He needed both hands to keep himself from falling down with William as he was knocked back out of his bar stool. Alastor’s feet slipped on the spilt brandy, causing him to seize the stool for momentary support.

Alastor took the glass of whiskey with his non-dominant hand and downed it. He cooed, “Top shelf, Georgie?” The bartender nodded. “Good choice. Picked a worthy sucker, sweetheart. Ready to peel?”

You watched William try to stand, glass stuck to his palm. He did manage to get on his knees, shouting at the staff who stood motionless and unphased behind the counter. They didn’t say anything at all, oddly, until Alastor extended his swelling hand to you.

“Have a good evening, sir.”

Alastor flashed his signature smile and guided you out of the hotel bar. You only got a few steps before quickly running back and snatching one of the 100$ bills from the counter. William would’ve taken it back from the bar anyway. What a waste!

When a waiter offered Alastor a warm and familiar look you had to wonder, did people really not know what he did in the darkness of the New Orlean’s alleys? Did a part of them not feel some kind of debt to him? Or was he just painfully friendly when socializing?

“Just to be clear,” Alastor let the doorman open the lobby door, “It’s not the accusation of sex work that compelled me to sock him. It’s the implication you’d be cheap.” He waved the valet from the car and opened the door for you, “If you chose to sell your companionship at true worth, his daddy’s money couldn’t even buy him a kiss.”

“Aww,” you smiled at him through the thin windowpane, “Would you really be so cavalier about such a job if I did?”

“Would I? Gosh that’d make retirement much quicker for me.” He slid into the driver's seat and the door shut with a sharp ting. As he took hold of the wheel he reclined to let his hand settle behind you on the backrest, and then you three were off. 

“Oh by the way, Aubrey’s in the backseat.”

You turned slowly, first coming into view were her tiny, shining silver shoes. Your eyes kept traveling; stocking covered calves and then the bottom of her dress just past her knees.

Alastor’s coat draped over her torso and shoulders caused you to flit to him, confirming his jacket was gone, and back to her. 

Her face looked like that of a sleeping passenger. 

No blood.

When the car was a few blocks from the hotel, you leaned back and lifted the jacket. Her abdomen was clean, the white of her dress pristine. At first her neck seemed clear of cuts or abrasions until you rode past a streetlamp and a beam of light revealed the slowly forming collar of bruises.

Special attention.

For a hair of a moment you began to gently cover her again, before remembering her crimes and dropping it on her unceremoniously.

“Trunk not good enough for her?”

“Got interrupted. Booked it back to you.” He shook his head and patted the seat in tandem.

What luck that just as he felt sure she was too far gone for revival, he let go over her neck and sat up in time for someone to notice him. Fishing in his jacket draped over the seat, he found his cigarette case just as—

“What exactly are you two doing?” An officer was flashing his light through the passenger side back window.

Alastor froze, Aubrey motionless between his legs and a cigarette dangling unlit between his lips. “You startled me, officer! We were just canoodling. But she’s gone and fallen asleep before the main event.”

The officer’s brass light shone down but couldn’t reach the dead woman’s face past the shadow cast by the car door and glass. “She alright?”

Alastor’s eyes drifted down to the deceased socialite, “Truth be told sir, she’s had a bit too much of the giggle water.” Fishing your lighter from his waistcoat pocket, he lit this cigarette before setting the jacket over Aubrey like a gentleman.

“Alright y'all better get lost. Tell your moll this ain’t ladylike.” The officer tapped the window with his knuckle and when she didn’t stir just left with a huff.

Alastor was quick to leave the backseat and drive off, circling around at the next block to head back to the hotel.

“Is… everything alright?” You asked, very obviously concerned.

“Peachy! I just said we were necking before she passed out drunk.“ he leaned over and kissed your cheek, “Anything exciting on your end?”

Patting his leg you beamed up at him, “Always so quick on your feet! I don’t know why I worry so much.” His face lit up and you wanted nothing more than to launch into a praise filled rant that fueled his smile. But, you moved on to the question at hand. After a moment to think, you remembered ‘the best good deeds are done in the dark’. “Nope! Just got tipsy on William’s dime. An odd woman did touch my hair…,” you recounted every second, leaving out why you chose William, to Alastor. You hadn’t meant to, and he hadn’t actually asked, the evening’s events just seemed to flow out of you. The way he always added little comments and nodded made it feel like a conversation and not just you rambling. 

When the car was pulling into the driveway, you asked Alastor if you could drive it behind the house. Puzzled, he put it in park and let you sit between his legs. You started slowly, but quickly began to accelerate. As you approached the house you turned sharply to the left, right side tires ever so slightly leaving the ground. A sharp correction to the right to straighten out. One of his hands clutched you at the waist, the other gripping the seat.

He tried to form some kind of words but they came out a jumbled and panicked mash of sounds as you barreled toward the greenhouse. 

You slammed your foot on the brakes and Aubrey flew off the back seat and hit the floor with a loud thud.

“Ha!” You slapped the wheel, “I’ve been wanting to hear that sound the whole drive!” 

He used both arms now to squeeze you appreciatively, “You’re just the bee’s knees.” Alastor nuzzled into the back of your neck, truly feeling his heart flutter. You made him skip a beat. So many days and nights not even imagining such a pairing.

The best scenario he could think up was a partner who wouldn’t ask questions, who didn’t care to know, who was maybe a little too naive but otherwise capable. Even in his wildest dreams he hadn’t dared to think someone would exist who could support him.

And not just in the killing, which was a hurdle of course, but the other parts of him. The little sacrifices you made for him without complaint. 

What did he do for you, he worried. Your body was his on the occasions he wanted but never did you ask for him. You shared the housework equally. Yes he drove you around but your skills with the car were still new. Insignificant things, like making your coffee when he awoke first and waiting for you after work. With the detective still looking for connections, he couldn’t even properly introduce you or flaunt you around to his circles.

Like a flash of lightning taking down a tree, insecurity shook him. What on earth was keeping you there? Of all the people in New Orleans, how was he any more worth your time than the next?

If anything, he was nothing short of troublesome. His hold on you twisted from thankful to desperate.

Even the lovely evening out he had promised you, he’d left you alone in a strange place. A stranger had bought you more drinks than he had. 

“Would you like to go to the woods with me tonight? To dispose of Aubrey?” His lips swiped across the fabric of your dress as he said it.

The sudden advancement into his hobby took you by surprise. You hugged his arms against you, “Really? Are you sure?”

“If you don’t want to…”

“Is that what I said?”

“Well, no….”

“Don’t put words in my mouth! I absolutely want to go!” Your arms squeezed his.

He chuckled into your shoulder and gave your hip a pat, “Let me get her packaged up. You go rest your feet and I’ll come get you when I’m ready to go.”

You watched from the kitchen, the light he hung from the greenhouse ceiling setting the entire space aglow. When he finally emerged, his sleeves were rolled up past his elbows and his hair was falling into his face, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose before he could push it back into place. He waved from the porch, and when you made it out to him he was already pulling out small bundles.

“We’ll bury the pieces in separate places.” He dragged out a small trash tin with the lid already clapped down. “And this goes into the water.”

The packages were like Tommy’s, but smaller. They fit easily into the trunk, and beside them he snuggly fit the metal bucket.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The Ford was parked down a dirt road far from sight, taking a parcel at a time and a shovel, you followed him into the woods. 

You had to ask, why not just his land? Wasn’t that safer? Easier?

“Well, a skull found out here is easier to act shocked about than on my property.”

The ground was still soft, but you could imagine it was rock solid in winter. “Isn’t this dangerous? Aren’t you slowed down in the colder months?” You kept your eyes open wide, adjusting to the pitch black of the forest. The trees were too close and too full still to see the stars. But soon they’d brown and die, revealing the sky’s light. Revealing Alastor.

“Eh it’s mostly busy during mating season because the hunters come out in numbers. But in general I avoid being here in the very early morning hours.” He paused and you reached out for the shovel for your turn, “It’s not too bad overall.”

“They mate in fall. It’s almost fall now.” You widened your stance for balance and began to dig. 

“Yeeees but I’m not alone!” He chirped.

“Fine… just, don’t come out when I’m not able to join you. Just wait or, I don’t know, burn them or something.” You tried to dig fast, wanting to spare his injured hand another turn.

“Very ineffective, brings too much attention and the body never burns all the way. It’s still identifiable in many cases.” Alastor said it quickly, as he’d had nearly a lifetime to think of these things and test them. 

You huffed, “Well, fuck. Okay. Still.” You leaned over and offered your index finger, not looking at him as you did. He laughed before wiping his hand clean on his pants and hooking his with yours. 

A small scream erupted from you, startling him. Your short heel sunk into the dirt when you leaned to lock fingers. The sudden loss of balance startled you. “Sorry… flat shoes. I need flat shoes…these are gonna be the death of me.”

Alastor’s hand came to his heart, pounding in his chest, “Of us. My heart nearly stopped.”

You dug many holes, all of them quite small in radius, just wide enough to slip in what you needed to. After each was deep enough by some standard you didn’t know, he would untie the twine around the package and let the contents spill out and down into the little cylinderical pocket of dirt. 

The first package had her hands. Then next was her feet. Her arms in pieces and then later her legs. The hips, the chest and shoulders, and finally, her head. You were grateful for the darkness, not wanting to see her face now that it was no longer attached to her body. 

The brush was so thick and the woods so dense that you found it hard to distinguish the burial spots once they’d been filled in and covered up. He explained most people came out there with a purpose, not really noticing some disturbed dirt here and there. It’s not like they’re people sized.

“You’re just something else, ya know that?” You said it into the shadows and didn’t see him wince. But you somehow, accidentally, knew to clarify, “I’m always so impressed by your way of doing things. You’ve really thought it out well huh? I know I should worry less but it’s hard.”

Because of the shade you didn’t see the way his shoulders relaxed. You never made him regret your inclusion.

Alastor carried the bucket as you slowly made your way through the darkness. You could hear the sounds of bugs, though you couldn’t see any.  The water surprised you, his arm coming to stop you from walking into the bayou.

“In winter they’ll get really still, so I slow down then too. But we still have time, it’s not too cold yet for them.” He took off the lid, the smell of copper blossoming from the tin.

With practiced moves, he tossed the viscera as far as he could into the small inlet marsh of the river. 

Within seconds the water frothed and rolled with the snapping of powerful jaws.

“Gosh they’re so neat.” You said, reaching out into the darkness for his hand. You couldn’t see him looking at you as you watched the prehistoric animals dispose of his crimes.

He wanted to kiss you. To confess every little happiness you filled his formerly hollow chest with. But he held back. He knew better. He’d tried before, once. When he thought settling was better than nothing. It ended terribly. It was better to just exist beside you for as long as you’d entertain his company. If you knew, he thought, of all the futures he imagined with you, you’d just feel tied down by his hopes. You weren’t a small bird he could hold in his home. 

You promised to not get in his way. The least he could do was not cage you with his love. He wouldn’t hold you back.

“Alastor.”

“Yeah?” He said dreamily.

“I think… ” You fought the urge to scream at the sensation between your toes, “Aubrey dripped into my shoes.”

Alastor yanked the bucket away from you, the angle he haphazardly held at it with a single finger to hold your hand having caused the liquid remains to leak out.

“Ankle boots. Ankle boots, no heel.” You muttered, the shoe rinsed off in the water with a paranoid speed now squishing under your sole. The action was enough to draw attention to your shore, long and round snouts moving toward you in the night as you got rid of Aubrey. It was time to go. 

The drive home was dark and silent. The bucket and tarps rinsed with the gas can full of water he always kept in the oversized, custom built trunk. It had taken longer than you had realized, which just brought up renewed worry for his sleep schedule.

When you finally made it home and into the bedroom, he mumbled it was too late to shower. A coordinated grumble between you that you’d both just wash the sheets in the morning. Alastor sat on the end of the bed and bent down, your hand coming to his shoulder to stop him. 

Exhausted, aching, and quite confident you smelled of sweat coated dirt with the tiniest hint of dead Aubrey mixed with alive William (blood and brandy, respectively), you lowered yourself to your knees. You untied the waxed laces of the right shoe, made of a shiny brown leather, and slipped it off. 

Alastor felt his throat tighten as he had to blink to keep tears away. You always seemed to listen when he spoke. Really listened, even when he was just being playful. Another tiny sweetness piled onto the mountain you were currently burying him under. Another ounce of inadequacy tipped on his self measured scales.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Hush, I don’t have to do anything.” You said it and he laughed breathlessly knowing he’d heard it before and praying he’d hear it forever. “I want to.”

You set the left shoe beside the right. When you didn’t stand but instead stared at him patiently, Alastor undid his pants and lifted his hips to push them down. You folded them neatly beside his shoes. Feeling up his legs as if you couldn’t see them there in front of you, you found his sock garters. 

“Keep the socks, please. It’s getting chilly.” He undid his shirt and folded it on his lap. 

When he was in just his underwear and socks, you looked up at him and wondered if he knew. That this was the closest to expressing “I love you” you had ever been. The act itself perhaps far louder than any words could be.

Sitting back, he patted between his legs like he had in the car. As you sat, he undid the buttons down the back of your dress. Why were so many women’s clothing items made in a way that required two people?

In the mirror above the dresser you took in the sight. When the dress fell to your waist he kissed your shoulder and met you in the reflection.

“Quite a pretty couple, if I do say so myself.” He rested his chin where he had just kissed and smiled at you. “What did I do to deserve your attention?”

“Affection,” you corrected. “Aubrey got attention.” He nodded slightly. “I think it’s karma.” You watched his brow arch. “You’ve earned me. Whatever that means, or looks like. We were put together for a reason.”

It was the sappiest thing you’d ever said and a year ago you’d have laughed in someone’s face for saying it. If a character in a novel spewed it out in a confession you’d have closed the book. But you meant it. Every single word was part of the fact this was supposed to happen. The idea that any timeline existed where your paths never crossed gave you the shivers.

Alastor closed his eyes, exhaustion catching up quickly as comfort opened the door for it. That didn’t make any sense to him at all. Why would anyone, god or the devil, give him something good just for the sake of being a good thing. He was very plainly bad. There must be a catch. That fear he felt before, the fear of wanting something too much, reappeared. Turning its ugly head to him as if called by name. 

Why? He could feel something, someone, setting their sights on him. 

When he opened his eyes, you were there still, looking at him. A smile too sweet. He felt the compulsion to tell you to run. That if this was his karma, it would end the way he deserved. And he didn’t deserve happiness. He didn’t deserve you.

But instead he leaned down, lifted your dress, and unclamped your garters. He wanted to be selfish. He wanted to cling to what good he had now. Even knowing he couldn’t possibly get to keep it. His fingertips delighted in rolling down the delicate nylon. He watched the red stained end loosen around your toes, a mental note to burn them before he continued his undressing.

“Lift your hips, my love. I’ll get you all ready for bed.” As he pressed forward and bent into you so he could slip off the stockings he turned to look at the you in front of him, “And I’ll keep you warm.”

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ⋆Masterlist.ೃ࿔*:･

˖ ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

@eris-norwega @reath-solia @catticora , @angelicribbons , @xalygatorx

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @moonmark98

, @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog ,

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, @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 @watereddownmilk , @bontensbabygirl @smoky000

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@dontfuckbutimfab @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12

[bunnihearted]

being too weird and unlikable and off putting and always being shunned and turned into an outcast everywhere i go and not having felt the connection and healing friendship has on you for so many years has really done a number on me

[ocpdzim]

what you’ve got to understand about working conditions in education (and also other care-oriented careers) is that if they’re shit, two things are true at once:

that does not ever excuse being cruel to a kid, no matter what

until those conditions are fixed, education will continue to suck absolute shit

this is because when working conditions for teachers are really bad, many of the good teachers who recognize when they are reaching a point where they can no longer be the sort of teacher the kids deserve due to burnout WILL quit. they will do the responsible thing and go away for their own sake and the sake of the kids. and you end up stuck w a combination of new teachers who are trying their best but won’t last long, burnt out teachers who are trying their best but have nothing left to give and therefore aren’t very effective at actually teaching, and cockroach shitheads who take out their misery on the kids.

we have all had terrible experiences with bad teachers, many of them flat out traumatic, but for fuck’s sake please try to look at the systemic underpinnings of the problem for one minute. spitefully declaring that teachers don’t deserve good working conditions or even the right to complain about bad working conditions because ms. whoever in 5th grade was a bitch is only going to create more of her. if you want good teachers then we need an education system they can survive in

[arolesbianism]

Doodle of my boy

[sysig]

Size difference.png (Patreon)

[deadtime-stories]

[inkykeiji]

so i’ve read rashōmon + in a grove by the real akutagawa, and i’ve begun reading crime and punishment by the real dostoevsky (absolutely loving it so far!!) but i’m kind of terrified to touch any of the real dazai’s work, especially no longer human, because i don’t want to accidentally trigger myself LMAO (*/ω＼*)

[shidoukanae]

Paris Valerian but i redesign his dragon form for funsies based on how i see him=. Not sure if I like this design bc im not a fan of bulkier looking dragons but for Paris I think this works??

Some headcanons about this design:

has a bit of a bull-like look bc I associate bulls with persistence and madness and idk that fits Paris well so if Fian has a “fox” motif Paris gets a “bull” one for his dragon form 

His design is based a lot on how a stereotypically evil dragon would look???? Because imo OG!Paris reads as a massive antagonist and I think giving him a look that fits that vibe in his dragon form works!! Especially because he still is an antagonist in a way (though god does he not read that way lmao)

he’s stronger in his dragon form than Fian is and he uses this to his advantage to bully Fian around whenever they playfight as dragons. That said, it seems Paris is surprisingly gentle towards Fian in this form and never hurts him.

he uses this form to intimidate people into getting what he wants. He’s not used to getting retaliated against while in this form and quickly respects anyone who does so (read: Fian, Lyla and Helene)

the silver scales on his body can glow in the same way his eyes do. Typically, he keeps them dull-colored (see above) but if he feels a strong emotion of any sorts they’ll glow brightly without him meaning to (noticeably: they glow constantly whenever Helene is around for obvious reasons~).

[kaidatheghostdragon]

Found this while going through my fanfic files, and i absolutely had to share.

Danny: i want in

Red robin: …what?

Danny: your bat family. I want in.

Red robin, blinking in surprise: i dont know what you think you know about my associates, but we're not-

Danny: dont be obtuse. I know youre the smart one. And i also know that your all one big relatively happy family. I want in.

Red robin: …why?

Danny: because you guys are the first people ive found that are wealthy, intelligent and powerful enough to take on my fruitloop godfather and win AND are decent enough human beings that i can be assured that when all is said and done, my well-being will remain a top priority.

Orphan, appearing out of nowhere: new brother!

Danny: *stares in shock*

Danny: *sudden uncanny grin* well that's one convinced. How do i win over the rest?

Orphan: no need. New brother!

Red robin: *pointed glance of betrayal* fine. Who is your godfather?

Danny: vlad masters. He's a fruitloop.

Red robin: for real? B's been investigating him for years! Tell me everything! *genuinely excited for a new lead*

Danny: well, he's tried to murder my dad and marry my mom, gained his wealth illegally, committed voting fraud to become the mayor of my hometown, has a secret underground lab where he does unethical experiments, and he's abducted me more than a dozen times even before my parents disowned me to make me his evil apprentice or whatever. Now that im homeless, he's literally out to get me. Oh! And he's cloned me too! She's cool though, we're buddies now.

Batman, who just arrived but heard everything over comms: hn. (Translation: who are you?)

Danny: my name is Danny. No last name anymore, but im hoping itll soon be Wayne! *winking suggestively*

Batman: hn? (how much do you know?)

Danny: enough to know that youre a much better alternative to vlad.

Batman: …hn (i dont know anything about you. What if youre a spy for vlad?)

Danny, giving his salesman pitch: i was a teen vigilante in amity park before i had to run away from home for my own safety. Vlad is one of my rogues. I know how to fight and defend myself, how to minimize collateral damage in a fight, and ive gotten really good and escaping kidnapping attempts. Ive also managed to reform and/or make allies out of approximately half of my rogues and can talk down about 30% of all rogue confrontations before they turn into a messy fight. The other things i can bring to the table are: one, i can teach all of you guys proper liminality self care; two, i can probably minimize and possibly cure red hood's anger issues; three, i can get along with stabby robin because i consider fighting a friendly social interaction - he can even stab me and i wont be injured by it; four, i can be your go-to guy for supernatural cases so you no longer have to deal with that sad trenchcoat man; five-

Red robin: *blurting* youre hired.

Batman: hn (i am deeply concerned)

Danny: if youre concerned now, wait until i tell you about the anti ecto control act

Nightwing, who showed up in the middle of the sales pitch: ive never seen anyone crack B's grunt language so quickly

Danny: grunt language? He's just using ghost speak - which will be covered by the liminality self care lessons

Robin, who arrived with batman: what is a liminal?

Danny: all of you, of course! Otherwise you wouldnt need to learn about it, obviously

Robin: and why would we trust you?

Danny: did i mention i have a pet ghost dog?

Robin: …you drive a hard bargain

Danny, fist pumping: yes! That's three!

Nightwing: four, you got me when you could understand B's grunting

Red Hood, arrived with nightwing: five, assuming you arent lying about the pit rage

Danny, hand to his chest: i would never!

Orphan: honesty. Earnest. New brother.

Oracle, over comms: six. The anti ecto acts are legit and im terrified for his safety, assuming he's phantom, who is the vigilante of amity park

Spoiler, arrived with orphan: seven, as long as youre down for a few pranks

Batman: hn (ive been outvoted)

Batman: hnn (i dont wanna hear any jokes about adoption habits when you all forced my hand)

Batman: hn (that said)

Batman: welcome to the family

Duke, the next day: man, i miss out on everything exciting.

Duke, blinded by danny: and who the fuck told bruce he could adopt the fucking sun?!

[dvlboy]

anomaly | "francis mosses" / milkman

ERRR i cant help it sry it was the horny. MDNI, top male reader READ DNI

this body felt... weird. it was an unfamiliar skin, but one that he knew might just do the trick this time. the milkman who he learned was francis mosses, was an easy person to impersonate. quiet, stoic, and very attractive in his eyes.

he learned about your mutual affinity over time as he observed the two of you. at first, his intentions were like the rest-- infiltrate and assassinate. you were not like the doormen before, and could actually hold your own against one of them-- you were an intriguing human. he thinks thats when his slow burning obsession started. he saw how the real francis mosses would fix his tie and hat, and try not to shift his eyes elsewhere whenever you

his disguise was perfect, he looked just like that milkman, the only difference was the red that stained his uniform crimson. it couldn't be helped.

he heard your gruff voice call in the next person and a foreign feeling enter his core. he walked up to you, that same practiced stoic face as a mask to hide his nervousness, and hunger. he could smell you through that small opening, but he could feel your stern eyes stare him down.

"francis?" your tone was questioning him. it was trying to coax out an answer, although he knew that you saw through him instantly, "why are you dressed like that?"

"mmm.. it's red milk.. yeah.. red milk.." you sighed, boredom in your eyes as you looked at him once more, before uncovering the blaring red button, and pulling it. suddenly his surroundings were painfully loud, and red.

things weren't suppose to end like this.. in a last ditch effort to convince you, he pressed his forms calloused hands together in a pleading motion, looking at you in a grimace. "please," desperation was starting to seep inside of his tone, "i'm not here for them. i'm here for you. please let me in." your eyes widened in shock at him. the hands that were about to lower the blinds paused.

in all of your years of being a doorman, you've never seen this. sure, you've gotten the ones that play dumb until the end, or the occasional clown or peach man, but you've never seen a doppelganger ever plea for their life. you could hear the familliar footsteps run closer, and the increasingly desperate doppelganger infront of you, before you stood up. your form towered over his, and he shuddered a futile plea coming out of his mouth, before you roughly opened the door, grabbing his thin wrist and tugging him in. he could feel the power you had in your arms and body, and even standing up, he could tell you worked hard to train your body.

your hand tugged him down close to the ground, right before men with yellow hazmat suits came and questioned you. "just a glitch in the system, didn't hit anything." the men shrugged at you, and walked away. once they were gone, your eyes scanned the windows, looking to see if anyone would be coming before dealing with the peculiar doppelgänger infront of you.

from his point of view, you were a god. your strong arms crossed, glaring down at him while he looked up at you in amazement, obsession running deep in his veins. "speak." god, when you were interested, and that gruff tone gets that curious edge, he just goes fuzzy in the head. damn the unfamiliar human body. your legs were spread, and all he could think about was you. "its true, i couldn't care less about the other humans. all i care about is you."

"oh?" you beckoned him closer, his eyes trained on that thick finger of yours. there was no hesitation in his vessel as he shuffled closer. "then why the milkman? there are dozens of other people in this building. for all i know, you could kill me, right here, right now." a dark edge drew in your tone, and he gulped. your warm hand wiped away a smudge of blood from his face, gazing at the crimson fluid before looking at him-- a reminder of his different identity.

"i-i would never..! please, is there anyway i can show you?" his plea made you smirk, an unfamiliar power within your control. he scooted closer to you, a pleasant anxiety building him. once within reach, he was going to put his elbows on your muscular thighs, to plea for your mercy. you saved him, yet that red button could send him back into his narrowly escaped fate. his hands almost reached your clothed thighs, before he felt a sudden force on the back of his neck, shoving him in between your legs. he saw your thick legs wrap around his neck, loosely surrounding him with you.

the doppelganger let out a muffled gasp at the action, feeling his face get shoved into your groin. he was about to question you, until he felt your hand grip his hat and chuck it on your desk, tugging his hair roughly. "if you're so desperate to please me, you know what to do." all he could do was shudder, and inhale. the warm cotton of your pants being inhaled by the desperate doppelganger, helpless under your gaze.

this was everything he could possibly dream of. muffled while he mouthed at your bulge, hands gripping at the side of your thick thighs. he desired you so bad it hurt, and the desire for your approval ran deep in his veins.

you leaned back, hand massaging his short hair on his head. he really did feel like a human, including his touch. "what a good boy.." you mused, watching him look at you with basically sparking eyes before clawing at your waist band, desperate to earn your praise once more. you hated that you saw the doppelganger cute, even though he was an exact copy of the real francis. he mouthed at the cotton of your boxers, the scent of your musk making him dizzy and your warm touch making him pull into your touch.

your other hand went to his face and cupped it, your thumb rubbing his thin bottom lip, before you pushed against the rosy flesh, watching as his mouth went from your hardening cock to your thumb. his eyes were blown wide as he made eye contact with you, his soft tongue licking up your thumb, his bottom lip lightly catching on the rough skin of your thumb pad. he exhaled on your thumb, before he looked at you once more, then slowly pushed your entire thumb in his mouth, swirling his tongue around your finger.

he's so glad he watched those human intercourse videos, he would never be able to impress you like this otherwise! he saw you shudder, a low groan leaving your lips. "fuuuuuuuck, who taught you that?" he just feigned innocence. you could feel blood rush south, and it wasn't long before you pulled his face off of your drool covered fingers, and put it right before your straining bulge. his eyebrows furrowed as you lifted the waistband off, your cock smacking him in the cheek as his eyes widened. "if you're so good at sucking, you should suck this instead.." that smirk that grew on your face made his non existent heart skip a beat. he wasn't entirely sure how to handle it, the videos never had any quite so big. he put his face against it, the instincts in his head taking control. he placed a delicate kiss to the large vein, before he sat there, increasingly confused.

his puzzled look made you chuckle. "what? too big to handle?" he still looked so puzzled, and it made him look so much cuter. "i'll guide you through it, cutie. now use both hands." his hands were by your cock in an instant, and he sat on his knees, awaiting instructions. "now slide them up and down, or you can use one hand to massage my balls." he nodded, lightly intimidated but oh so willing to please. his hands were gently stroking your cock, and his mouth went from the base, licking the stripe all the way up your cock until he reached the tip, a bead of slick precum dribbling as his prize. he happily lapped it up enjoying how you sighed in content. just looking at the doppelganger infront of you made you want to ruin him, needy desperate eyes staring at you while he rubs you off, face pressed against the side or licking the tip of your cock desperate to prove himself.

he never broke eye contact with you, staring into your eyes like you were a god as he took your cock down his throat, humming lightly. "you know.. you don't have to be gentle with me.. us doppelgangers don't have a gag reflex.." a bat of those tired eyes and you were already gritting your teeth, resisting the urge to grab his hair and shove him down until his face was nose deep in your pubes.

he pulled away once more, sensing your hesitation. "please use me, let me show you how much i want you.." he grabbed that hand that lingered on his hair and kissed your fingertips, before placing them back on his sweaty hair and taking more of your cock into his mouth, adjusting and turning ever so slightly, until it popped into his throat. small gurgles and grunts could be heard, before your hand gripped the short hairs tightly, and tugging him back and forth. hallow sounds were heard as he hallowed his mouth, suctioning around your cock. he accepted his fate, hands resigning to your balls to fondle them, ignoring the dull ache in his neck.

you had to look away before you busted in his mouth. everything felt like a fever dream, to how he was so willing to do whatever you wanted, to how he prefered to be used like a doll. he was so naive and so sultry at the same time that it made your head spin. "how are you so good at taking dick.." he just looked at you and feigned a smile, lips still wrapped around your length.

he pulled away, a whisper in the air. "you know.. we don't need what you humans do.. oxygen.." a devious look appeared in his eyes, taking your dick in his mouth before pressing down, wrapping his tongue around the tip while jacking off the remainder. from his point of view, he watched as he slowly applied more pressure downwards, feeling your spongey cockhead press against the back of his mouth, then sliding down his throat. he could see the inches disappear once more, before he felt resistance, pushing harder. the burn was intense, and he could feel how his neck distended to make room for your cock, filling his airway with dick.

once he reached your balls, his bottom lip parted, leaking saliva between the groove of your balls. his hands rubbed the saliva into your balls, all while he sat there, licking and slurping what he could while staring at you, enjoying how you pleasured yourself with his throat.

your hands withdrew themselves from him, then went to his neck, delicately holding it. whenever you moved your hips or he moved his head, you could feel your dick move through his neck, watching as your cockhead pushed your way through. he didn't mind though, not needing air to survive. he just sat there and pleasured you, enjoying how you experimentally tightened your grip on the side of his throat, throwing your head back at the sudden tightness. it wasn't soon after that both your hands were on his throat, lightly constrainted squeezing on his slender neck while you fucked into his warm, tight, slick mouth. this continued until he could feel your balls tighten, and your breathing get rugged. when he heard your breath hitch, he pulled away, mouth open wide with his tongue out, waiting for his reward.

you grunted as you came, shooting a load all over his face, covering face in your seed.you grew the tip over his lips and watched as they were glazed in your cum, before placing the tip on his tongue, weak spurts of cum landing on his mouth. he graciously licked everything up. the cum mixed with the blood on his face, making you reach for a tissue before he stopped you.

"you know, i'm much better at taking you in other places," his cockiness shrunk down for a second, "i-i've been prepping for this day for a while now.. i want this to be perfect.." he sat up, and positioned himself on your lap, turning so that his clothed ass would facing you, the tight uniform pants straining against the curves of his body. "go on, teach me about this too.." a blush was starting to grow on his face as he looked back at you. he could feel your slick dick on his thigh, its heat felt from his pants and underwear. he wanted to see your reaction to everything. to his preprepped hole, to his smooth hairless hole, to his milky skin. he wanted you to see how much better he was at everything compared to real francis mosses.

____________

the real francis was just finishing his walk back to the apartment unit, another long day doing deliveries. all he wanted to do was have a peaceful, quiet night, and maybe get the courage to ask you out. he rubbed his tired eyes, shuffling around while he grabbed his entry request from his briefcase, a peculiar noise ringing in his ears. he just grumbled, before entering the building. it was getting louder, and sounded vaguely familiar. perhaps you knew about it.

he adjusted his tie, and straightened his shirt and hat, as he walked to your desk. the words he was about to ask got caught in his throat as he stared at you, briefcase dropping in shock.

you were having sex, with someone that looked exactly like him. the same uniform, the same face, the same body. the only difference was that there were blood splatters all over the males shirt and face.

a blush burned into his face-- you hadn't noticed him. you were too preoccupied with the doppelganger in your lap. you were in the same chair as you always were, but had the doppelgangers thighs around your arms, exposing his ass. your dick was popping in and out of him, and you manhandle him, moving his entire body. his shirt was barely covering the bruises and the hickies you left on him, and occasionally you would bury yourself in his neck, inhaling his scent.

the doppelganger sat in your lap, the same lewd moans and grunts falling out of his lips like a mantra. your arms held him in place forcefully, your muscles bulging while you grunted into the air animalistically, rutting into him. his milkman hat was falling down his hair, and his dick would bounce at every thrust you gave, as well as his thighs. it was hard for francis to look away-- seeing the artificial light of your office illuminate his doppels sweaty skin, and how your dick made an outline on his toned stomach. cum was leaking from his hole everytime you pulled out, and he saw the white liquid all over the floor in ropes, and the stuff run down your balls and thighs, dripping down the chair. his doppels body was stained in it as well, and it was even on the hat that he sloppily adjusted once and awhile. even his black gloves had streaks of cum, and he wrinkled his nose at the scent of your cum and sweat.

yet something deep down also aroused him. it was like looking into a mirror of possibilities. if a doppel could, surely he could as well. could you fill his stomach the way you did his? could you manhandle him the way you did him? paint his face the same way? he hated to admit that he was jealous of an entity that was pretending to be him, but he had the one thing the real version didn't-- your affection and dick.

drool leaked down his counterparts lips, and thick white globs of cum covered the males face, as well as the blood. it dripped down his face and onto his stomach-- a proud sign of his ability to pleasure you. his hands flailed, his false id in his hands, a chill running down the real francis' spine as he saw the same identical id in his hands.

he leaned up and placed a kiss at your neck, before looking at the real francis. identical eyes stared at eachother, one frightened and aroused, and the other dilated and fucked out. "i win" was mouthed at the real francis. you hadn't noticed him yet. the real francis rushed so fast to get out of your view that he dropped his milkman hat on the floor as he hid on the side.

he couldn't get it out of his head, how you kissed him, how you smelt, how you manhandle him so well. everything about you was ringing in his head, and his hands slowly drifted to his pants, a bulge straining against the tight fabric. he could hear himself moan in real time, how he panted out for more, begging for a kiss, how you grunted, or how you praised him for being a good boy and taking you so well. he could hear his own grunts when you hit that spot, and even himself begging for more. it wasn't long before he was biting his lips, the bottom of his shirt inbetween his teeth while he roughly fisted his cock, the scent of musk, cum and sex infiltrating his normally calm and composed mind. he came ropes on the side of your door entrance, a blush of embarrassment on his face as he was forced to sit there and listen to you dirty talk his doppelganger.

when he peaked to see if you saw him, all he saw was his doppels eyes on his form, a lewd smirk on his face and a blush on his cum stained face, before his doppel threw his false id, watching the piece of plastic hit the unlock gate to the entrance.

the last thing the real francis saw was how you slapped his doppels face making him cry out in pleasure, before dropping his legs, degradions and obscenities leaving your lips. you grabbed his two hands in your own, and stood up, making him lose his balance and fall on the desk. your tongue clicked as one hand moved to hold him down, and the other moved to swipe his hands behind his back.

the real milkman left quickly after that, tears of arousal in his eyes. when you were finally finished and had the doppelganger in your lap, cum leaking out of his puffy hole, you could spot something in the corner of your eye.

another white milkman hat, with a suspicious smelling and looking fluid stained on one side.

[sakuravalelp]

The Dance Academy isn't a gang- DC X DP Prompt

Inspired by this prompt

Clockwork suggests to Danny, who's been the king of the infinite realms for 6 years now, that he should take sometime off in a mortal realm. He doesn't feel like going back to his own dimension (you choose the reason), so Clockwork suggest another dimension where he thinks Danny might have fun.

Danny investigates the dimension, and finds it is a dimension where some humans, who are called meta-humans, develop powers, mostly during their childhood. Danny knows how tiring and alienating it is to grow with powers that one have to hide. He wishes to give this kids a safe space to experiment with their powers, but not as a weapon, just as part of themself.

He chooses to create a dance academy, because dancing is something in which you use your body and express yourself. It would be an excellent way to encourage this kids to use their powers while enjoying themself. He decides to open the dance academy in Gotham, were it seems metas may feel more pressure to keep themself hidden. With his ability to see and feel the differences in soul it's easy to identify metas, so he starts scouting kids for the academy.

Of course convincing the kids that it's just a a dance academy that wants to create a save space for metas, instead is of a trafficking ring, is difficult. But once he gets the first couple kids in, slowly more come too.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Bruce is worried about the new possible meta gang that it's forming on Gotham, and sends Duke undercover.

It's hasn't been long since Duke joined the bats, and this is his first official undercover mission. He's excited at the start, feeling proud that he's been trusted with an independent job, but then he finds out that the "gang" it's just a dance academy. He's a little disappointed, thinking that this job is more of a probation thing than anything, since there isn't anything suspicious.

The bats tell him to stay in the dance academy, because maybe the dance thing is just a cover up and they'll reveal their real motives when he's actually accepted in the group. And Duke takes it as them wanting him to have a meta support system. See? He's learning to understand how the bats show love to each other!

Duke finds himself enjoying being in a dance group. It's a lot of fun. Danny it's fantastic, he has a lot of powers and isn't scare to show them. Which makes everyone in the group feel so much safer to use their own.

Danny encourages them to integrate their powers in their dance. It's freeing. Their powers are treated as a normal part of them, and not as this exotic ability that has to be controlled. It's such a safe space that all of them have gotten used to using their powers for day to day stuff when in the dance studio. It all feels so casual because no one bats an eye to it. There's no talk about how they should try to do things "normally," or limit their use of their power.

Danny: "Why would you? That's your normal, and this place is safe for you to just be you."

Duke realizes a bit late that the bats were actually suspicious of the group, and that his placement there wasn't really a probation. He's glad to know he was actually trusted with a job, but, he had really thought that every time they had asked about his day with the group was because they were interested in how he was doing. That they were showing love and interest in him in that evasive ways the bats did, and it kinda suck to know it wasn't the case. It also meant that he had to confront their family in their clear meta-discrimination.

"Would you have been so suspicious if it wasn't a meta group? No. Other than them all being metas there wasn't anything off. No proof of fights, no proof of robberies, no proof of trafficking, nothing.

There's no proof of anything other than a group of teens dancing, and you know that because you checked it out before sending me.

Like, I don't blame you for checking it, I'm not naive, but you were so sure it was a gang, just because they were metas. That's fucked up guys."

[deadsetobsessions]

Sea Cryptic! Danny- pt. 10

[Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.4] [Pt.5] [Pt.6] [Pt.7] [Pt.8] [Pt.9]

“This you?”

Danny glanced at the stone tablet in Spoiler’s hands and groaned, Phantom form flickering with embarrassment as his face got even more neon green. It was indeed him.

——

The first Atlantean and Ghost King encounter went something like this:

Imagine Danny, sleep deprived. Easy enough. Now, imagine Danny, trying to corral a ghost that had a penchant for sea life.

“Alabastor, I swear to Ancients, if you don’t get back here, I’m gonna make you into ghost sea-food boil!” Danny yelled as he chased Alabastor through the ghost zone. The crustacean shaped ghost cackled, skittering along the Zone.

"Make me, Phantom! You have not seen the might of the sea!"

"That's it, soup-time, crabby!"

Danny dove after Alabastor, chasing him face first into a temporal portal and right into the sea.

"BEHOLD!" Alabastor rumbled, claws raised and sea churning around him. Danny flew at him, noticing the screaming people below. He quickly raised a dome of clear ice to protect their entire city before returning his attention back to the giant crustacean. The distraction cost him, as Alabastor blasted him with a beam of his power. "THE MIGHT OF THE SEA!"

"SOUP!" Danny bellowed back, Alabastor's power forcing him into a giant crab form, aside from, hilariously, his head. Danny, always quick to adapt, slammed a massive claw straight into one of Alabastor's eyes and popped open the Fenton Thermos with a feral grin. In but moments, Danny manages to soup Alabastor but not before slamming him down onto the unbreakable ice Danny had just made.

Carefully turning by skittering sideways, he unmelted his ice.

"Sorry about that," he said sheepishly to the gawking civilians below.

"Suh-ree? What is suh-ree?" A brave woman asked.

"Oh," Danny uttered as he realized that he should probably switch languages. His giant crab body and small itty bitty human head swayed in an unsure motion. "Sorry means "my apologies." I had not meant to involve you. I am Phantom."

"It is alright... thank you for protecting us... God Phantom?"

He grimaced. "Not a god."

"King, then." She stepped forward. "May I ask of the ice?"

——

Spoiler, sensing weakness like the Riddler to a riddle, leaned in. "Did you know they have a traditional dance to honor the god that gave them the unbreakable ice that protects Atlantis to this day? It goes like this," Spoiler stepped back and did the dance, complete with exaggerated arm movements and, embarrassingly, the scuttle walk Crab!Danny was forced to learn with his new crab form.

"We shall never speak of this again," Danny huffed.

"But King Phantom, the God of Eternal Ice and Protection, how could we not celebrate your iciness?" Spoiler simpered, Black Bat not too far away and shaking with laughter. The purple donning vigilante did the scuttle dance once more, picking up bottles as she went a small circle around one of Bludhaven's rock beaches.

Danny scowled and plucked the tablet away from her, hair flowing an a more agitated direction. His jumpsuit burned brighter. "Why are you two menaces in Bludhaven? I thought your territory was in Gotham."

"Nightwing asked for back up and we were in the area." Spoiler, blessedly, stopped the walk to answer him. "By the way, are you and Danny dating?"

"Pardon?" He asked, insulted but highly amused.

"Oh, you know, he has your number, and you only ever talk to him outside of us, and how you guys have a high level of communication." Spoiler said leadingly.

Oh, Danny knew what this was about now. He found out their identities and now these two are interrogating him because he liked them best. They thought they were so clever. Well, they clearly haven't gotten to know Danny at all if they thought he was going to make good decisions.

Danny tilted his head, making sure his face gets as eerie as possible, shadows elongating and eyes burning just that much brighter. The neon green of his face shone even brighter against the suddenly dark landscape of the place. Black Bat stood up, laughter seizing immediately. Spoiler tensed.

"I have a riddle for you. You are good at those, are you not?"

Spoiler blinked but gamely said, "Bring it."

"What do these things have in common? An arguing couple, papers on a stranger's desk, and Star City's robbers."

"..." Spoiler slipped into her solving mode. "Stolen goods. Stolen hearts?" She guessed.

"No. The answer is that they're all none of your business," Danny snarled. His form flickered. "Keep your questing away from Danny- Daniel, vigilante. Your duty is to protect your city and help her," Danny swept an arm out. "Stick to that instead of inserting yourself into places you are not wanted."

Then, with a toss of an ecto-crossed recorder that held the verbal report he'd promised Nightwing towards Black Bat, Danny blinked out of the visible spectrum and flew above the two.

"... Shit, I think I pissed him off."

Black Bat nodded. "He was defensive."

"Yeah... did you hear that slip? Oh, they are so dating."

Danny grinned. He couldn't wait for Tim to interrogate him soon.

——

"You're kidding."

Danny shook his head, maniacal grin still on his face hours later. He'd taken the liberty to call his best friends before classes started for the day.

Tucker groaned. "Danny, I can't believe you're messing with Batman. Why are you like this."

"Look, I need your help."

"Oh no, keep me out of your dumbass plans, Fenton," Sam pointed at him through the screen, immaculately painted black nails threatening.

"Okay, if you go along with my plan, I'll give you Dr. Isley's number."

"Deal," Sam said immediately, changing her tune at a drop of a hat. Or, at a drop of a number.

"What about me?" Tucker asked, offended. "I deserve compensation for my work too, dammit!"

"I'll give you Tim Drake's number and persuade him to let you have a crack at Wayne Industry's tech basement."

"Deal, what are we doing?"

Danny's grin spread even wider. "We're dating. And, you two? You're Phantom's exes. Tucker, you say good stuff about me. Sam? You make up terrible things about me. But we're all dating each other and I'm dating Phantom on the side."

"I hate you," Sam deadpanned. "But fine, it's not that hard. I've got tons of embarrassing stories about Phantom. You better get me that number, Danny, because you know Dr. Isley was my gay awakening."

"For Tim Drake, I'd be willing to puff up your ego." Tucker said solemnly.

"Perfect. I'm cleaning his brother of ectoplasm today. so expect a call later! Love you guys!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, boyfriend." Sam clicked off the call.

"Think Tim Drake would be interested in a date?" Tucker asked Danny.

"Nah, I think he's got his heart on Benard."

"Damn," Tucker sighed. "Guess I'll have to mend my broken heart with the tools of a state-of-the-art lab, right, Danny?"

"Yep, see ya!" Danny hung up. Today was going to be a good day.

[wordsinhaled]

i’m so totally normal about the fact that aziraphale’s last (known) deliberate foray into the queer community was when he learned the gavotte at the fictionalized hundred guineas club (!!!) in the 1800s and now in the 2020s he’s like “grindr? what’s that?”

many are talking about his repression which is very valid… and yet the thing to me that stands out about aziraphale is that he’s actually… incredibly stable in his identity and that identity IS incredibly queer. queer by the standards of heaven AND by human standards as well

metatron describes his “de facto partnership” with crowley as “irregular.” and in fact aziraphale in his entirety is irregular. he likes and makes it his business not only to understand but to be a connoisseur of all manner of things angels aren’t supposed to even remotely care about. food. music. books. theatre. sleight of hand. and more.

it’s the sort of behavior that would’ve gotten him othered, treated as a bit odd, in heaven even if he hadn’t chosen to consort all across the earth with a literal demon. and it IS treated that way - the fact is aziraphale even as an angel has got proclivities that set him apart from the rest of the host (even after offering him the highest position in heaven, metatron still acts deeply dismissive of him… like aziraphale’s bookshop is merely a quaint little hobby of his that can be easily transferred to another custodian, and not a literal extension of who aziraphale has become, full of his tartan and unique bibles and special vintages of wine and the books arranged in a very specific way)

so. aziraphale is a queer angel but of course he’s also queer to other humans. but in such a way that… he had his realization a LONG time ago, and put the matter very much to rest after that. aziraphale is perpetually something like several centuries behind schedule. he owns an ancient computer that probably continues to run windows 98 simply because aziraphale’s decided it should. he wears the same waistcoat and coat for generations because he simply likes them precisely the way they are and sees no reason to change them. but the idea that he doesn’t know how he comes across to others - of course he does. he knows he looks like your prim and proper grandfather and he prefers it that way

aziraphale looked around at humans in the 1880s and said: ah yes. this is where i fit. and promptly ensconced himself in that queer subculture. learned the gavotte. read his austen. loved crowley from afar. aziraphale is fiercely and vibrantly queer. just with the sort of assurance of someone who lives with his lover in a commonlaw marriage for decades and then shows up at city hall for the certificate once society decides it’s ‘allowed.’ like… he hasn’t had any need to know what grindr is because aziraphale’s ‘scene’ was a century and a half ago and it defined romance for him too.

but my favorite thing about aziraphale is how much of him is about appearances versus the truth. he can lie straight to angels’ faces and sleep at night. he knows he comes off soft but he once wielded a flaming sword. he dissembles helplessness but he’s far from it and he knows precisely how it makes others treat him. and at the core of aziraphale is rigidity, inflexibility of ideas… his sense of self is stable where crowley’s is malleable, and so on, and so on

and the fact that he’s continuously fixated on trying to misguidedly do the right thing, the fact that he seeks heavenly approval and wants to fit the world into his schema of good vs evil… in no way do i think that means he isn’t one hundred percent aware of how he feels about crowley or what it means about him by angelic or human standards. i’ve seen some folks saying that aziraphale doesn’t want to like kissing crowley and like… as much as i love me some brideshead revisited/atonement flavored angst; i put forth that it’s not internalized homophobia or queer panic but simply: “i’m trying to do the right thing for both of us and you won’t let me.” and “i wanted our first kiss to be different.” he was envisioning an entirely different flavor of romance than what he got but he emma woodhoused too close to the sun

like, y’all. aziraphale in all likelihood has a glorious collection of historical queer erotica. he just has a feathery diva coat hanging in his closet, and for what. “oh, good lord” he says at crowley’s revolutionary outfit in the bastille, while eyeing him up like an entire meal. he’s so good at affected propriety, at carefully constructed stuffiness, but between the two of them aziraphale’s got to be the one who has experience

aziraphale had been physically throwing himself at crowley the entire season. he orchestrated an entire regency ball so they could touch hand to hand. he spends the entire season (well, and season 1) looking at crowley like he’s particularly coveted. he looked at crowley before the fall like he was glorious and beautiful. aziraphale’s queer and he knows it and i think that isn’t his problem, it’s the fact that he wants to build a different sort of future for the two of them but crowley’s gone and thrown a wrench in it by reminding him of everything he can finally have. like. that’s the heartbreak. it’s how dare you make this ugly? i forgive you for our first kiss being all pain and salt. it’s my dearest, i wanted to make heaven as beautiful as you deserve. as sacred and safe for us as our bookshop. and i can do that for us, because once i held a flaming sword and i still remember how the hilt felt in my hands. and now the taste of you is in my mouth.

[cressidagrey]

Looked to the Sky - Chapter 5

Summary: 

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was, however, Azriel‘s mate with her own mysterious, untrained powers.

Also known as: Azriel tries to court his mate the human way.

Warnings: 

THIS IS THE LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE SEQUEL! SO READ THAT FIRST IF YOU WANNA READ THIS ONE OTHERWISE THIS MAKES NO SENSE!

Elain Bashing, Amren bashing, KITTENS!, Accidental Forest Burning?, Non graphic murder, Azriel is an idiot, Azriel's Mom is not having his idiocy and spends 3/4 of this chapter berating him (while being kinda a little bit unfair) and without @k-godling this would have never happened.

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

Master.

Later! Azriel cut his shadows off sharply. He was somewhat busy right now.

It was harsh enough that the shadows actually shut up for once, which was startling in itself. But for the moment he didn’t think about it. Too busy with killing the leader of that Illyrian warband that had been destroying townships and temples left and right.  

It was a clean kill, fast and accurate, and Azriel didn’t blink as he watched the male’s body drop at his feet.

The adrenaline was coursing through his veins, as he slowly took in a deep shaky breath, his hands clenching around the knife handle.

Then he turned to the cleanup. The other warband members were still in the camp where they had made a temporary base. Quick, clean and efficient. That’s how they were taught to operate. It’s why Azriel was so damn good at these types of missions. 

At least two hours later, it was suddenly Rhys that was yanking at their mental connection, mental claws striking against his shields. 

Azriel swore as he felt Rhys’s talons strike against his mental shields. What’s wrong? he demanded immediately. Something must have been wrong, otherwise Rhys would have been more careful with his abilities. 

Amren cornered Eira, and Rhys spat out in answer. 

WHAT?! he demanded in answer. His shadows immediately started writhing agitatedly behind him, as panic and alarm shot through his veins.

Amren had done that? Even after Rhys had warned her off? 

Azriel should have fucking seen it coming. When Amren didn’t agree with her methods…she had her own. 

How bad? Azriel asked tonelessly. How had Eira reacted? What had Amren said?

The mental silence stretched for a moment before he felt Rhys’s presence return, the High Lord’s voice now filled with fury. As we have no idea where Eira is right now...bad. She must have winnowed in her panic to get away from Amren.

Fuck. 

Azriel was up on his feet in an instant, even as he felt his shadows swirl agitatedly around him. That…he needed to find her. He needed….

He could just imagine what Amren must have told Eira…Amren who had never learned how to soften her word and who he didn’t trust as far as he could throw her. A sinking feeling was already beginning to form in Azriel’s stomach.

Eira could have winnowed anywhere in Prythian. She could be in enemy territory right this second. He didn’t even want to imagine what would happen if Autumn Court got their hands on her, if…

She must be utterly terrified. And the thought of Eira…scared….

Panic and worry flared through his veins, as his shadows writhed even more furiously behind him. He needed to find her, find her and make sure she was safe, safe and sound and away from anything that might make her feel scared. He would not let anything hurt her. Not now, not now when he had just gotten her. 

She's in Illyria, his shadows snapped. Which we would have told you if you didn't tell us to shut up, Master!

Godsdamnit.

Azriel cursed, running a hand through his dark hair. Of course, she was in Illyria. Of all the places…Illyria. 

Azriel? Rhys questioned.

The shadows know where she is, he responded sharply. I get her.

Good. There was now a sharpness to Rhys’s voice, even through the mental link. Azriel could almost hear the order that remained unsaid. Get her and bring her home. 

And Azriel? Whatever you need to do to make sure she’s safe, Rhys said sharply. 

She will be. There was a silent promise in his voice. Azriel would ensure it. He would not let anything or anyone hurt her.

Do not let Amren anywhere near me, Azriel said evenly, his voice promising cold death. If they did, he was going to rip her apart from limb to limb. 

Agreed. We will take care of it. Rhys’s voice was as cold as Azriel’s, and the Illyrian could practically feel the anger radiating through the mental connection.

And then he let the shadows take him, let him take him wherever his mate was…

They threw him right through the wards that protected Rosehall. 

Somehow that was the most shocking thing of it all. 

The wind in lower Illyria was cold, the trees silent and still in the darkness. She hit a few trees with lightning, his shadows supplied quietly. Scorched them. No fire though.

That was not what he had wanted to hear. No fire, that was a small comfort. But the lightning? The fact that she had used her magic? It did not bode well. 

We led her to your mother. She took care of her, his shadows assured him quietly. 

That was a small comfort, but a comfort nevertheless. His mother was good at soothing, and that seemed to be exactly what his mate had needed. Especially after the panic that she must have been in. The fact that it had been triggered by Amren was an entirely different issue. Azriel would deal with that later.

Eira first. Eira was his first priority. 

The entire Hamlet seemed to be sleeping, the only sounds coming from the surrounding forest. Azriel crept in as quietly as he could, trying not to rouse the villagers. He made his way to his mother’s home, his shadows still writhing restlessly around him as they searched for Eira.

He didn’t bother to knock. Azriel just went up to the door and quietly pushed it open.

"Azriel." He froze. His mother was sitting in the living room, knitting. She fixed him with a look out of hazel eyes, and for just a moment he felt about 5 years old again. She looked towards the couch with a pointed look and he followed it.

There she was. Eira. Curled up on the couch underneath a thick woollen blanket, asleep. 

He could nearly taste the relief. 

"Don't wake her," his mother said, her voice quiet and fierce. "We'll talk in the kitchen."

Azriel nodded silently, his eyes still on the female lying on the couch.

She looked tired, exhausted. The paleness of her skin was nearly translucent in the dim lighting, making her look like porcelain. She had curled up on the couch, a woollen blanket thrown over her, hiding most of her body. And she looked so damn small. So breakable. 

It took all of his willpower not to rush to his mate, to pull her into his arms and comfort her.

Azriel had to forcibly pull his gaze away from her. Instead, he turned his eyes to his mother and the pointed, steely look she sent his way. He nodded stiffly, before making his way silently into the kitchen. 

Azriel was met with a sharp frown from her, as he walked into the kitchen.

His shadows were still writhing agitatedly behind him, while Esmeray’s dark eyes studied him in silence.

If only he could figure out what that look meant. Her eyes scanned his form, as if silently checking if he were hurt, before she let out a small sigh and gestured for him to sit.

"Is there a particular reason why you didn't tell me that you found your mate?" his mother asked him, crossing her arms.

Azriel’s eyes instantly flicked back to the open door to the living room, making sure Eira was still asleep, before he returned his eyes to his mother, meeting her intense gaze with his own.

He had to hold back a flinch. She was angry. 

“Because it just happened,” Azriel finally said, his voice as calm and flat as he could manage.

"It happened two weeks ago, according to your mate," his mother said drily. "Your mate, who I didn't know was your actual mate, and who some of my first words to were how sad it was that her twin sister wasn't mated to you!" she hissed.

Azriel winced at her words, silently cursing himself.

He really should have written his mother another letter. Or even gone to visit her. But he had been so busy with trying to wrap his own head around it that he had just…not thought about it. 

And he had also been quite sure that his mother would have thoughts about him being mated to the twin sister of the female he had waxed poetically to her about. 

How was he supposed to respond? Should he apologize for not telling her? For the fact that she had to find out from Eira? But judging by the sharp glare from his mother, any argument he made would be useless. Instead, he slumped into his chair.

“I am sorry,” he said quietly. “I…I didn’t know how to tell you.”

Esmeray’s eyes narrowed, studying her son with a look that told him she was not happy with that answer.

“I would have thought that something as important as you having found your mate would be one of the first things to come out of your mouth,” she said coldly. “Instead, I find out two weeks later, and not from you.”

He grimaced. 

"I find out from your mate after she stumbles into my living room, looking like she just came from Hel and back! After she accidentally winnowed! And killed some trees with lightning of all things! And then, THEN she cries all over my kitchen table because she has been in love with my SON  she even became fae, while she was still human but he preferred her twin sister over her. Her twin sister who is apparently a Seer has been manipulating her visions from becoming true. And then the mating bond snapped for you and instead of begging your mate on your knees for forgiveness, all she brings out is that you want to TRY!" Every word his mother said was like a sharp blow to the stomach. Azriel just stared at her, his eyes wide, as he took in the information.

His mind was spinning, as he silently took in her words and the implications of them. Eira…Eira had been in love with him before she was even Fae?

“She was…she said that she was in love with me?” he brought out in a whisper. 

"That's what you concentrate on?" his mother snapped.

Azriel snapped his mouth shut, flinching at the note of cold anger in her voice.

“No…no it’s not,” he said quickly, his hands clenching around the fabric of his pants. “It’s just-“

He didn’t know what to say. His mind was still spinning, trying to take in the fact Eira had been in love with him before the Cauldron…before…

"It's just?" his mother asked him, her voice icy.

Azriel floundered his thoughts and emotions in a spin.

“I…I just…” he swallowed nervously, his mind grasping desperately for the right words to say. “I didn’t know she…”

How was he supposed to say that he had somehow preferred Elain over Eira? That he hadn’t even seen the fact that his mate was in love with him before she became Fae?

His shadows writhed agitatedly behind him, their agitation only increasing at his distress. Esmeray, who was sitting across from him, was also watching him like a hawk. The intense look in her eyes made it clear how very close he was treading to her wrath.

“You didn’t notice?” she repeated, her eyebrows raising as she spoke. “That your own mate loved you? Are you blind?” she spat out. Azriel flinched, his hands clenching into tight fists.

“I didn’t…I never saw…”

He had really been that blind, hadn’t he? All this time he had never noticed. Not once. He had been so focused on Elain, blind to the fact Eira had been right there all along.

"That girl...that girl adores you," his mother hissed quietly. "Your shadows dote on her and she lets them touch her without even flinching once, Azriel. You can consider yourself lucky that she is even willing to give you the time of the day anymore. She had every right to ignore you for preferring her twin sister of her!"

Azriel winced again, as a silent pang of guilt shot through his heart.

He knew she was right, damn it. He knew he had absolutely no right to ask her to even give him the time of day, not after he so easily had chosen Elain over her.

“I don’t deserve her,” he whispered, his voice quiet.

"No, you don't. Not with how you have been behaving," his mother shot back. "Do you even like her or are you only courting her because she's your mate?"

Azriel flinched hard at her words.

It was like a blow to the stomach, and a dagger to the heart. Gods. Did his own mother think he was so….so callous, so heartless that he was only with Eira because she was his mate?

"I do," he said quickly, the words practically tumbling out. "I do like her."

He was terrified by the fact that his own mother even thought he would be so cruel as to be with someone he didn't care about, just because of the bond.

"Gods, I do like her, mother," Azriel repeated again, his voice firmer this time. "I…..I know I have not been treating her the way I should, and I...I know I don't deserve her. But I like her, mother. I like her and I want to be with her."

Esmeray studied her son, her eyes cold, before she let out a loud sigh and sat back in her seat.

“Good,” she said quietly, her eyes still fixated on him. “Then, what are you going to do about it? Because she deserves better, Azriel. She deserves everything, which is far more than you have given her so far.”

His mother's eyes roamed over his face, studying him like a hawk. Azriel could practically feel the weight of her gaze on his skin.

Finally, after a moment of quiet tension, Esmeray's lips flattened into a thin line, making it clear she was still displeased.  "Have you told the poor girl that you actually want to be with her? That you don't just want to be with her because of the fact that she is your mate or because of whatever vision that sister of her was trying to keep from becoming true?!”

Azriel’s heart sank, the weight of her words pressing down on him.

No, he thought, his heart twisting at the thought. Gods, he had…..he had done nothing, absolutely nothing to convince her of the fact that he actually liked her.

He looked up at his mother, his eyes weary. "No," he said quietly, "I haven’t. When the mating bond snapped...she got hurt a day later...an attempt on the life of Rhys' son...she...she threw herself into a dagger so that Nyx wouldn't be hurt," Azriel recounted, the words sticking in his throat. "Rhys tried to take the pain from her...he accidentally got thrown into her memories. And we all..realised that we had been treating Eira abhorrently," Azriel said quietly. "And then we realised what Elain had been doing, what Elain had been keeping from us."

But the knowledge that Elain had attempted to sabotage her own sister's fate, that she had been manipulating Eira's visions...Azriel went silent, his throat tightening.

"...She...It was a vision she had...of Eira and me and...and of our children," he choked out.

His children with Eira. A future that could have been, if things had been different.

His light-haired, winged little girl, ran about and dug in the dirt. 

How he wanted that. How he wanted to see them, see Eira and their little ones, surrounded by their family and friends… 

Esmeray's eyes were wide, watching her son as realization dawned in her eyes. Azriel could feel her studying him as if trying to gauge his reaction.

He just stared down at the table, his eyes fixed on the smooth surface, the images of Eira and their children of his own flashing before his eyes.

Children. There would be children.

He would have a family with Eira.

And that Elain had tried to take that from them…it made him so utterly furious. 

"When Eira was awake...I went to her and I apologised. I told her that Elain may was the pretty one but she was the kind one and that I knew that she would protect our children fiercely," Azriel said quietly. His hands clenched around the edge of the table, as he forced himself to continue. "And...and then I asked if she would let me court her. The human way, to show her that I meant it."

"You told your mate, hours of off being stabbed, that her twin sister was the pretty one?" his mother hissed.

Azriel winced again, his head hanging down.

He was going to be the biggest fool in Prythian, he was sure.

Gods, even saying it now, it sounded like the stupidest thing he could have said. Of course, it had been the wrong thing to say. Why in the world had he told his mate, who had just risked her life, that her sister was the pretty one?

His mother’s voice was cold. “Why in the name of the Mother did you think that was the right thing to say to your mate? That her twin sister, the one who has been manipulating her own vision, tried to keep your children from you, is the prettyone?"

Azriel flinched at the icy words.

He knew his words had been the wrong ones. He knew that he had said the worst thing he could have said at that moment. But in that moment, all he could think of was that he had always been so blinded by Elain. Blinded by her beauty. Blinded by a pretty face and a veneer and had never seen what lay behind it…

And then there was Eira. Just as beautiful but in a different way. Elain was immediately…blinding. Eira…she snuck up on him. Eira was beautiful but quiet. A quiet sort of realisation, like the moon rising at night, until everything was bathed in her light. 

And still…Still, he had said those words out loud. To his mate. 

"I am shocked that she even agreed to let you court her after that," his mother said with a snort. "She ought to have hit you atop the head and told you to come back to her when you were willing to actually compliment her. Besides, that's the bestyou could come up with, son?! Her twin is pretty but your mate is kind and would protect your children fiercely? Of all the characteristics, all the abilities she has, that's what you land on?!" 

Azriel winced again, clenching his jaw so hard it hurt, as his mother's words rang out in the small room. She was right. Of all the things he could’ve chosen to say, all the things that he could have pointed out, he had gone with that?

Azriel slumped down in his chair. Gods, what had he been thinking?

Esmeray watched her son for another moment, her eyes roaming over his defeated form before she let out a quiet huff. “You really are a fool, aren’t you, my son?" she said, her voice softer than before. "A total and utter fool."

Azriel closed his eyes, hanging his head down.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “I am a total fool who does not deserve my mate and probably won’t until I have grovelled enough and apologized a hundred times.”

His mother let out a low hum, her eyes still fixed on him. “You certainly do not," she said darkly. “But if the girl is willing to give you a chance, even after you have acted like an imbecile of a male…you best make sure you try your hardest. And start grovelling now.”

"I am sorry, " he apologised.

His mother snorted. "You don't owe me an apology. Unless you count it for not writing to me and telling me what exactly is going on in your life," His mother said drily. "I am not angry, just disappointed."

Azriel’s stomach churned at my mother’s words.

That was even worse. Azriel flinched, looking up and meeting her icy gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated again, quieter this time. “I am sorry that I have disappointed you, mother. I am sorry that I have not written.”

His mother’s eyes softened slightly at his words. “You’re my son. And I love you and am proud of you and what you have become. But I won’t have you acting like a total fool, not when that poor girl has had such a terrible life,” she said, her voice gentler than before. “You will not hurt her. You will prove to her that you want her for her, and not only because she is your mate. Is that clear?”

Azriel nodded, his throat tight.

“It’s clear,” he said quietly.

The shame and guilt twisted in his stomach, but he forced it down. He had been an idiot. A fool and an idiot, in denying not only what his heart truly desired, but also in the way he had acted towards Eira.

He wanted- Gods, he wanted her. And he wanted to prove it. Wanted to be a better male and a better mate. Wanted to earn her trust, her affection, her love.

His mother watched him for a moment, seeming to search his face, before she nodded, satisfied.

“Good. You better not keep me in the dark about your life, my son. And you better treat that girl properly from now on,” she said, her voice still stern before the soft, gentle look returned to her eyes. “And I want to see her. You bring her to dinner with you the next time you come, and I will judge for myself that you are treating her properly.”

The corners of Azriel’s mouth twitched, almost in a smile. “I will,” he promised, a little easier now. “I will bring her the next time I come.”

And he would bring her. He would bring her and his mother would see that he was trying to court Eira properly. He would prove to his mother, to his friends and even to Eira herself, that he didn’t want to be with her just because of the bond. That he wanted her. Wanted her for her.

"Now, what exactly does a human courtship even entail?" his mother asked him. “I imagine it’s not like the Illyrian way. 

No, it really wasn’t. The Illyrian way was bloody, and violent and involved more than one display of strength. 

Maybe that would have been easier for him, Azriel thought weakly. He would gladly go hunt a hundred rabbits and have the fur fashioned into a cloak…Somehow that was easier than the Human way. 

“Well…it’s traditionally the male who does the majority of the courting,” he said after a moment of pause. “He…ah…he spends time with the female, takes her out on dates to different places to get to know her, brings her gifts… that sort of thing.”

His mother’s eyes were fixed on him, studying him like a hawk. "How many times have you done that?" she asked, her voice dry. "Spent time with her, taken her out to the human way of dates, brought her gifts?"

"For the very first gift, I gave her a harp," Azriel said softly. "We had lunch together once or twice. Then I brought her flowers when we went to the symphony."

“A harp and some lunch and flowers,” his mother repeated quietly. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve done so far, to woo your mate?”

Azriel felt his face flush again, under her disapproving gaze.

“…yes,” he admitted, his head dropping down slightly.

"It's a start, I suppose," his mother said drily. “A very poor one,” she muttered under her breath.

Azriel’s cheeks flushed once again in shame, at yet another jab from his mother.

"How did you come up with a harp of all things in the first place?" his mother asked him.

"Nesta told me she used to play. Then her family fell on hard times and they had to sell it," Azriel explained.

"And you bought her a replacement harp," his mother said, a slight note of incredulity in her voice. "You didn't think that might, I don't know, bring bad memories to the surface? Remind her of the poverty she had to endure?"

He opened his mouth to respond and then froze. No. No, he hadn't even thought about that. Not once.

"She liked it," he said, slightly defensive. She had liked it...right? She had kissed his cheek, she had thanked him, she had told him that that was the most thoughtful gift anybody had ever given her.

His mother let out a small, disapproving huff.

“Of course she liked it,” she muttered. “Any gift from you she would have liked!”

At his mother’s words, Azriel’s heart sank.

Of course, Eira had liked the harp. He had given it to her, after all. He was her mate. And she was kind, to the point that she probably would have thought whatever he gave her was the greatest gift in the world.

He was being a fool again. He had given her a gift that had brought up terrible memories of her past, without ever thinking of the consequences.

“And how did you even have a lunch with her?” his mother asked, shaking him out of his thoughts. “Did you...did you go into the city to dine with her at some restaurant?”

His cheeks flamed again, his head dropping lower at his mother’s questions.

“No,” he muttered. “We had lunch at the River House with everybody else.”

He could feel his mother’s disapproval without her even saying anything. He didn't even need to look at her face to know the disappointment that would be on it at his answer.

“You ate lunch with her in front of the entire Inner Circle,” his mother stated, her words blunt. “And you thought that counted as a date?”

Her question made Azriel wince, because when she said it out loud like that...it sounded so obvious. "We did go to the symphony with Cassian and Nesta," he defended himself.

His mother let out a sceptical huff.

“Because there is nothing more romantic than sitting around in silence for 3 hours!” his mother snapped. “Have you ever had a proper conversation with her, Azriel?! What are her hobbies?" his mother asked with a sigh. "Can you even tell me that?"

"She's a seamstress, like you," he answered quietly. "She takes commissions from the alterations tailor in Velaris to make some money, and she makes dresses for her sisters. She also likes to bake and cook and she gardens for vegetables.”

"Are that her actual hobbies, or just the chores she prefers to do?" his mother asked him drily. Azriel winced at his mother's words, because...gods, were those Eira's actual hobbies, or just the chores she preferred to do?

His mind reeled at the thought. He knew she took commissions, and he knew she cooked and gardened, but was that what she preferred to do? Or was it simply just chores? Chores that he had never thought to ask to learn if those were what she truly enjoyed?

Was it just what she had done at the cottage? And then continued in the Night Court for lack of other options? 

That—gods, that possibility chilled Azriel to the bone and made him feel so ashamed. Had he never even bothered to ask her what she liked to do, aside from what she had done to help her family?

His mother let out another small huff, reading his expression. "You never asked her, did you? You never even bothered to ask if those were her hobbies, or if those were just things she had done out of necessity?”

"She embroiders the things she makes. That's not out of necessity, right?" he asked weakly.

His mother studied his face for a moment, her expression stern as though she was seeing right through him before she finally sighed.

“No, I suppose not,” she conceded after a little while. “And do you know what her favourite colour is?”

Azriel froze at his mother’s unexpected question.

Her...her favourite colour?  He was stunned into silence, the realization that he didn’t even know as simple a thing as Eira’s favourite colour suddenly hitting him like a punch to the gut. 

“You don’t know her favourite colour, do you?” his mother said, her voice flat. It was more of a statement than a question.

Azriel winced, his silence an answer.

Gods, what kind of mate was he? He hadn’t even bothered to ask any simple questions, like what her hobbies were, or what her favourite colour was. Even something as basic as what her favourite food was, or her favourite time of day, or her favourite place in all of Velaris…he had never bothered to ask her any of those simple, basic questions. He had only assumed. 

"You don’t know your own mate’s favourite colour. You don't know what her actual hobbies are. You just know what she did to help her family when she was human. And you took her to the symphony without asking her if she even liked that sort of thing, without even asking her when you are supposed to talk to her and spend time with her and get to know her,” his mother said, her words biting. “Are you even trying to court her?"

The words struck Azriel like a dagger to the heart.

He had truly botched the entire thing, hadn’t he? He had botched every single part of courting her. He hadn’t asked her any questions at all. Not her favourite colour, or her favourite food, or her favourite time of day, or her favourite damn colour. He had taken her to the symphony, to a place she might not even have even liked, had assumed that she would just be fine and would still like it, and he hadn’t even thought of asking if there was anywhere better to take her.

“That was the most pathetic attempt at trying to woo your mate,” his mother said in a low grumble. “That wasn’t attempting to court her. That was you assuming what she might like, rather than asking her what she would actually be interested in doing. And you never even bothered to ask her if she actually enjoyed the times you spent together!”

Azriel closed his eyes as the words stung.

That...that was all true, wasn’t it? He had never thought to ask her a thing. He had just assumed, assumed, assumed, without ever making the attempt to check with her to see if she enjoyed herself or not.

He was an idiot. A stupid, careless, thoughtless idiot.

"You'll do better," his mother demanded.

Azriel nodded, his head hanging down.

He would. He had to. Or he wouldn’t be worthy of being her mate.

He was going to ask her everything about herself. Everything he didn’t even know. He would ask her what her hobbies were, and what her favourite colour was, and what her favourite food was…

He would ask, and he would get to know Eira. 

Azriel. Feyre's mental touch and he let her in without a second thought. How is my sister?

Azriel's eyes closed as he felt Feyre’s presence in his mind, and he almost winced at her words.

She...is well enough. She is resting right now.

The silence that followed the mental communication stretched for only a moment, but to Azriel, it felt like an eternity of waiting, as Feyre pondered his words.

Amren...Amren said...some things to her... Feyre’s words came again, her voice laced with anxious worry even in his mind.

Azriel’s jaw clenched.

Damn it. Of course, Amren had said something to Eira. And of course whatever Amren had said...whatever things she had said…had hurt Eira.

Where did you find her?

My mother's house. The shadows brought here there

She’s at your mother’s house...? Feyre’s question came after a moment, her tone even more surprised and bewildered than it had been before.

We are coming, Rhys said softly into his mind.

His mother stared at him for a moment. "Rhys and Feyre are on their way," Azriel said quietly.

Azriel intercepted them at the door, keeping his voice quiet. Feyre was looking extremely anxious and Rhys’ face was taut with worry.

“Thank the Mother you’ve found her,” Feyre said first, rushing over to him, her eyes already darting around, looking for any sight of Eira.

They found her, still unmoving on the couch. Deep asleep.

Azriel could see both Rhys’s and Feyre’s shoulders visibly relax when they saw that Eira was asleep. But Azriel could tell from his high lord and lady’s eyes that they were both still worried.

“Is she…?” Feyre asked quietly, looking up at him with a worried frown. “Is she alright?”

Azriel stared down at Eira’s sleeping form, his chest aching at the sight.

"She's magically exhausted," his mother said calmly. "Rhysand."

The sound of his mother’s voice drew Rhys’s attention, and the High Lord raised his eyes to glance at her, a small smile on his face

"Esmeray," he responded, leaning down to hug her.

Azriel watched silently as his mother and the High Lord embraced each other, while Feyre continued to look between the two of them and Eira.

"You came quickly," his mother said to Rhys, pulling away from his embrace to look him in the eye.

"Of course," Rhys said quietly. "You wouldn’t be telling us our sister is here and expect us to take our time getting here, would you?"

“You know very well that I wouldn’t,” his mother said, her tone dry. “Now come. And don’t you two look at her like that. She is not harmed, nor wounded. She’s simply exhausted.”

"She was just hurt weeks ago," Feyre said quietly. "Badly hurt. She's still supposed to take it easy."

Azriel felt his muscles tense at Feyre’s words. The reminder…Azriel’s hands curled into fists as he remembered seeing Eira bleeding, bleeding profusely from the wound in her side. At seeing her grey skin…her laboured breathing…

You look...murderous, Rhys said into his mind

Murderous was too weak of a word, considering that Azriel wanted to personally hunt down and kill the fae that had dared to harm his mate again. He wanted to be murderous.

Ma had words with me. I fucked up, he admitted.

Rhys was studying him, his eyes sharp like he was reading every emotion in his head. But Azriel could see the slight sympathy in his gaze.

I’ll bet, Rhys said with a sigh. Your mother is brutal at times when she needs to be.

Brutal was an accurate word to use. Azriel had certainly felt the full brunt of his mother’s wrath. Still, he deserved it. He deserved every word she had said. And he would do better.

"Eira?" Feyre said suddenly, kneeling at her sister's side and Azriel's head snapped up to find her move slightly, a whimper coming from her lips.

Azriel held his breath as he watched Eira. Even exhausted as she was, she still looked so fragile, so soft. He wanted to go to her. He wanted to hold her, to reassure her that she was safe, to brush her long curls away from her face. But he kept still.

Feyre let out a soft gasp, reaching out to hold her sister’s shoulder, her touch gentle, as Eira’s head turned to the side, her eyes opening slightly.

"Eira," Feyre repeated quietly, gently squeezing her sister’s shoulder. "Can you sit up?"

Azriel watched as Eira slowly opened her eyes the rest of the way, her brows furrowing as she struggled to focus her eyes in the dim light.

"Fey..." she began weakly, her voice cracking as she struggled to sit up."I am sorry, Feyre," she whispered, wetting her bloodless lips.

Azriel’s heart ached as Eira struggled to sit up, and his hands fisted at his sides as he watched Feyre put a hand on Eira’s back to give her some support.

"No, you are not apologizing for anything," Feyre said firmly, shaking her head as Eira continued to struggle to move. "You have nothing to apologize for."

"I didn't help you. I should have helped you. You were the youngest," Eira disagreed, her voice so weak. "I am sorry."

Azriel’s heart broke at Eira’s weak words, and his chest ached as though he wasn’t able to breathe.

Feyre’s hand continued to support her sister as Eira struggled to speak, until finally, Feyre spoke up before her sister could say anything else.

“You did nothing wrong, Eira,” Feyre insisted, her voice firm. “You did help. Yes, I hunted, but you cooked the meat. You did the laundry. You planted potatoes and carrots and sold whatever you canned and had left over. You made sure we had clothing to wear. You helped, Eira," she promised her.

But Eira’s eyes were still wide and miserable, filled with guilt and shame.

“It wasn’t enough,” Eira whispered. “I wasn’t enough.”

“You were enough,” Feyre promised her. “You did enough. You did the best you could. You did nothing wrong.”

"I don't want to be a weapon."

Azriel’s throat closed at Eira’s words, and Feyre’s eyes squeezed shut, her entire body going stiff even as she held back a sob.

“You are not a weapon,” Feyre said fiercely as she held her sister close. “You are not a weapon, do you hear me?”

"You will never need to be," Rhys said softly, placing a hand on Eira's hair. "It's alright. We won't make you be a weapon or a soldier or anything you don't want to be."

"All you ever have to be is our sister," Feyre continued in a slightly choked voice, stroking her sister's hair. "That is all you have to be. You do not have to fight or defend or be a warrior or anything like that. You don't. I promise you that you don't."

“Let's get you home," she said softly. "Let's go home, Eira."

Feyre began to pull Eira up from the couch, and Azriel moved instantly to offer support, going to Eira’s other side to help Feyre pull her older sister to her feet.

Her grey eyes blinked, seemingly suddenly realising that he was there. "Azriel," she whispered.

Azriel’s heart raced as Eira finally turned to look properly at him, and his heart twisted at the sight. She was pale. So pale. And she looked so fragile and exhausted, her eyes hollow. But it was her voice that nearly broke his heart — the way she had said his name. So softly. So quietly.

A demanding meow broke that moment, a white kitten clinging to Eira's legs.

Azriel’s jaw slackened briefly in surprise, as did Feyre, as they both looked down to see the little white kitten clinging to Eira’s legs.

From behind him, Azriel could hear Rhys’s stifled laughter.

His mother laughed out loud, clearly amused as she leant down to scoop up the wayward kitten. "It seems like she got quite attached to you," his mother said quietly. "You should let Azriel bring you back soon to play with her."

Eira’s grey eyes widened as his mother told her that — though whether it was from surprise or exhaustion, Azriel couldn’t tell.

“I…I would like that,” she said softly, her voice rough, and her words lit up something in Azriel’s chest. Something…warm.

Azriel’s mother gave Eira a long look, her head tilting.

“You are welcome. It is my honour and pleasure to get to know the young woman that my son has taken as a mate,” she said softly. 

He was saved from having to respond by a shudder working through Eira's body.

Azriel’s eyes darted back down to Eira as he felt the shudder that went through her and he frowned in worry, his arm around her shoulders instinctively pulling her closer to him.

She was cold, he could feel it even through her clothes, her entire body like ice as she shivered in his arms.

"We should get going," Rhys said apologetically. "Thank you, Esmeray."

"You should come visit more often," Esmeray said drily. "And remind my son of actually keeping up with his correspondence for once."

[ckret2]

One of my favourite things about the book of Bill has to be how hard it has cemented that, for all the airs Bill likes to put on, he's actually awful at manipulating people. Like if you look at the just the show, on the surface his record isn't bad. 2 1/2 successful manipulations out of 3 shown on-screen is solid. ((That is until you examine it further and realize that the 2 successful ones were done to 12 year old children who 1. Weren't exactly in the best states of mind at the time due to severe sleep deprivation/a difficult emotional state and 2. he still had to trick via his power (the fake timer on the laptop/possessing blendin so Mabel didn't know it was him)) But now? Oh man! Ford wasn't just lucky, he joined a tradition dating back all the way to humanities beginnings! Bill has been trying to get people to do his bidding literally since people had gotten good enough at resource-gathering and tool-usage to be able to potentially build his portal! And he failed over and over and over again and he never learned shit! That would be bad enough but not only did he fail at manipulating several civilzations worth of people, they ALSO constantly thwarted him in ways beyond that! He got himself banished, trapped, and annoyed to hell and back and thats just the stuff he told us! Thats not even speaking of his latest and possibly greatest fumble, failing the convince us, the reader of the Book of Bill who is canonically a fan of Bill or at least Gravity Falls into striking a deal with him. In short, if I asked Bill to manipulate a child into eating ice cream with just his words I wouldn't trust him to get it done within my or the kids life time.

Except, Bill IS good at manipulating people. You JUST DESCRIBED several examples of him being good at manipulating people.

Identifying the most vulnerable targets, the "weakest link" most likely to cave and do what you want—like children (or elderly people with dementia, or immigrants who don't understand the language well)—is part of being good at manipulation.

Identifying and taking advantage of people in a compromised mental state when they're not thinking clearly and are more likely to do what you want is part of being good at manipulation. (He didn't try to persuade Mabel to destroy the laptop, BECAUSE HE KNEW DIPPER WAS MORE VULNERABLE. He didn't approach Dipper or Ford dressed as Blendin—BECAUSE HE KNEW MABEL WAS MORE VULNERABLE.)

Just straight up lying to people—about a situation (the timer), about a person (Blendin)—is a manipulation tactic.

Fabricating a totally artificial emergency and pressuring a target to ACT NOW to prevent disaster is a common con artist trick. (See: scammers who cold call strangers, say they're from the IRS and the stranger is behind on taxes, and demand they transfer a large amount of money from their bank RIGHT NOW or go to jail—WHICH ACTUALLY WORKS A LOT, especially because people CAN'T THINK AS CLEARLY when they're panicking.)

Disguising yourself as somebody trustworthy or somebody intimidating to trick a target into obeying you is also a common con artist trick.

Not to mention ALL the work we see into how he manipulates Ford: he makes note of Ford's social isolation and how Bill can use that to his advantage; he identifies the thing Ford wants most (respect & acknowledgment for his intellectual achievements) and weaves that into his manipulation; he uses both Ford's ego AND Ford's insecurity against him; he almost effortlessly turns Ford against the one friend who adores him, making Ford think his friend's kindest attempts to help are evidence of backstabbing; and even though ultimately it didn't work, you can't say that threatening to destroy Ford's life from inside his own body was a BAD manipulation tactic.

Plus the entire muse schtick. Fooling people into thinking you're doing something magical or supernatural is such a common manipulation tactic that there's a whole name for it: "mystical manipulation." Bill does this NON STOP with Ford, and with many of his other victims.

We see him successfully talk an entire tribe into helping him build a working redwood portal—and they only turned against him when the portal started petrifying people, unleashing monsters, and creating bottomless pits. He talked the Aztecs into sacrificing 9,000 people to build a portal that didn't even work. He talked not-Disney into making a cartoon about Bill that included UNLEASHING LIVE BEES IN THE THEATER. Who the hell would think that's a good idea!

And to top it all off, he formed multiple successful cults that were ride or die for him until the bitter end. That's like the crown jewel of being good at manipulating. Bill talked a whole town into joining his cult in under a month in spite of the fact that he kept calling them plasma bags and chugging formaldehyde. Based on the dates in the document about Silas Birchtree, people were marrying into Ciphertology at least five years after Bill's puppet disintegrated and he ditched them.

Bill was good at manipulating people!

Do you know what Bill WASN'T good at? Getting people to finish and open a portal.

Largely because portals are difficult to make, and because he can only get so far into the process before it becomes obvious that this thing will destroy the world and that's usually enough to override any other threats or promises he makes.

Yeah, he says some stupid things that should obviously give him away—like talking about setting off all the nukes. He's kinda pathetic and a bit of a dumbass sometimes. But, here's the thing about successful manipulators, con artists, and cult leaders: MOST of them are kinda pathetic dumbasses. Cult leaders are idiots. There's a cult leader who preached his followers should be on minimal vegetarian diets, had his chauffeur take him out to a big fancy steak dinner, then told his chauffeur he did that to test his faith—and the chauffeur was like well okay. Cult leaders are idiots, AND YET SUCCEED. When Bill says you can get anyone to hum along with your tune if you've got charisma? He's right—that's true in real life.

Manipulators get away with manipulation not because they tell such brilliant impeccable lies that the most clear-headed rational person in the world would believe them... but because they know to tell their lies to people who aren't clear-headed and rational, and because they know using cheap tricks and false identities and lies that the victim WANTS to be true works better than a flawless story, and because they know most people tend to give other people the benefit of the doubt that what they're saying is probably true.

So yeah, he's too cocky, he's a bit pathetic, he lost a lot, he loses at the end of the book... but that doesn't mean he's a bad manipulator. It means that being good at manipulating can only carry you so far, and Bill didn't have what it takes to carry him the rest of the way.

[moonieandi]

snapshots pt. 4 | stanley pines x f!reader 

summary: you and stanley unknowingly go on a date 

warnings (TW): swearing, illusions of past abuse, alcohol consumption

tags: fluff, early relationship described, pining, slight angst, affection

notes: thank you all for the engagement! hope you enjoy <3

edit 8/27/24: hello! below i have linked an up to date masterlist of all the parts of this continuing series- hope you enjoy <3

word count: 3.9k

| masterlist | part v |

He had somehow managed to drag her out of the basement that day. 

Of course, he had been down there assisting her in any way he could. A high school dropout only knows so much about mechanical engineering and quantum physics. Still, she seemed happy enough to dance around the chalkboard she (he) had dragged downstairs, bouncing off ideas with him contently listening, trying to piece back together complex wiring to get the ominous inverted triangle on the basement wall to whirl back to life. 

She was even more spurred on when he actually engaged, not that he raised his hand like he was back in class (not that he ever remembered doing so when he was in class). She simply seemed grateful that he was attempting to learn anything to help her. To learn how to move this whole fucking thing along. 

She dragged him to the basement quite often now that the shack was half shut down for the winter. He had managed to see a few rounds of locals and tourists through the Murder Hut from early October until Thanksgiving when snow began to fall. Then tourists dried up, and only the locals frequented now, so Stan reduced his hours and gave some more of his time to helping her downstairs during the day. 

Every night was spent downstairs in the basement though, there hadn’t come a day since she stepped through that front door that they both didn’t wander down to the portal. Of course, this was usually then followed by convening upstairs in front of the T.V., Stanford’s journal passed between the two of them.

She had grown more frustrated as of late, raving about alien material and compatibility with human electronics. He did his best to understand, and he followed along very aptly. Always wanting to be an attentive sounding board, and even bouncing his own, albeit stupid, ideas. 

Not that she ever made any indication of them being stupid, and not that she would ever stop him from voicing them. 

Educationally, he felt it was the closest he’d ever gotten to an actual education. Said education being advanced quantum mechanics, but everyone had to start somewhere. 

But now they were out for dinner because, after yesterday’s long night of pacing and chalkboard rants, he thought they deserved to go out on the meager earnings of yesterday’s Murder Hut tour.

That and it had been exactly a year since he first laid eyes on her. Not that he was gonna tell her that. 

He could acknowledge that she may have noticed the amount of time that had past, hence her growing irritation with the lack of progress in getting Stanford back, and her growing hours spent in the dark of the basement. But she more than likely didn’t know of the significance of the exact date, or care, which he figured may be more likely. Especially with the anniversary of Ford’s disappearance having come and gone.

December had been hard for the both of them really, and some things had settled somewhat awkwardly between them from the previous week. 

They both handled the anniversary slightly differently, her with general avoidance, head somehow buried deeper in that god-forsaken journal. He found some semblance of self-soothing in diving head first into holding a conversation with any customer that walked through the front door of the Murder Hut that day. 

Sitting across from each other at the dinner table was hard that night, and for the first time ever, she poured copious amounts of wine into their mugs on a weeknight. The kitchen had been eerily quiet that night, the silence only broken by scrapes of plates and mumbled conversation.

He remembers being disgusted with his hands that evening. Remembers thinking about how he had shoved his brother away that day, how Ford had stumbled from one end of the room into the other just to disappear before his eyes. How his hands had reached for Stanford, calling for him. How the journal made its way back to his hands, but his brother hadn’t. His hand had been constantly grazing his shoulder that day, running along the raised scar, a sickening feeling sinking further into him throughout the day.

They had both shuffled around each other that night, and she had not said so much as good morning and goodnight in her mounting grief, it felt like. She had felt bad about how she handled that day but had felt even worse about failing Stan and Ford. She knew of the hope in Stan’s eyes that day when she had trampled in through the door of the shack, knew the relief he felt in her knowledge and presence. But a year had passed, and she could feel nothing but shame when she looked at him. She saw both twins that night while looking over at his hunched figure across the dinner table. She had said goodnight to Stan and Ford that night and had wandered upstairs wondering if she could wash the image from her eyes in the bathroom sink.

They had both returned to normal by Thursday but had grown more determined than ever before. So yeah, Stan figured a night out may be deserved. 

She seemed happier now, sitting crisscross from him in the Greasy’s diner booth, elbows on the table as she reached over to draw along the corners of his paper placemat with the crayons she had swiped from some kid on the way in. 

Something that made him chuckle for a little too long. He must be a bad influence. He had sticky fingers and she knew it. It now seemed to be a competition between the two of them, who could steal the most random of objects. 

Her hand was out, shielding the drawing on his placemat as she switched between the meager 4 colors the shitty diner crayon pack supplied. He nudged her hand aside as she giggled. 

“No! My masterpiece! Give me a second you grump.” 

“It better be good, Picasso, you’re hoggin all the crayons.” 

She handed over the red one, and he elected to reach across to her own paper placemat, beginning to draw his usual comic-book-style figures. One of the figures, oddly enough, began to look like her. 

Her face was so close to her drawing she might as well have been kissing the table, when she shot up, smiling at Stan and looking for approval. 

“Ta-Da!” She moved her hand, showing a mish-mash of red, blue, green, and purple. 

He stared contemplatively, sitting back in his seat humming. In truth, he had no idea what he was looking at, but he would entertain giving an “expert” review. 

“Hmmmmm, now the color selection may be controversial to some but I think the blue and the purple over here are just lovely. Truly an emotional piece mhm.” He nodded his head, pointing at the corner of colors. 

“You have no idea what it is, do ya?”

“Not a clue Doc.” 

She laughed, pointing to the blue and purple figures. “Okay so these are two llamas and they are totally in love. You can tell by the cool rainbow and shooting star I put by them.” She pointed at what he figured was the “rainbow and shooting star” between said “llamas”. 

“And they are here in Gravity Falls because I drew a bunch of pine trees behind them!” She pointed to what he supposed was the foreground and the mess of green sprigs she had tried to draw. 

He hummed again. “Very moving, very touching Doc.” He moved to wipe a fake tear, sniffling along with his act. 

“I ain't much of an artist, am I Stan?” She laughed, finding humor in her lack of skill. 

He gasped, fake clutching his pearls, an even faker mean expression on his face. “Don’t say that Doc! This is a masterpiece!” 

She smirked. “Okay, then that will be 50 bucks for said masterpiece, pay up!” Hand held out to him she made to grab his placemat. 

“Pretty steep price there kid, don’t get ahead of yourself now.” He conceded. 

She smiled again. “I knew you thought it was shit.” Shaking her head at him she moved to look at his own drawing. “Now what's this?” 

He smacked his hand palm side down on the corner image, a blush on his face. “Nothin’!” 

She nudged his hand now, trying to lift his hand finger by finger. “No! I had to show you mine now fess up! What ya drawing?” 

His hand clenched the corner of the paper placemat, ripping the picture of her from the corner of it and crumpling it up into his hand. 

“Nope!” 

“Yup!” She had risen up with her hands on the table, reaching for the corner paper now clutched above him in his fist. “Lemme see! Don’t do this Stan!” She giggled the entire time.

He panicked at her determination, fisting the paper into his mouth. 

“Gross Stan!” She laughed. “What the fuck!” 

He swallowed the paper, not thinking much of it. Saving himself the embarrassment of having to explain himself. He smiled across from her though, as she cracked up at his over exaggeration. 

She looked just right, under the shitty diner lights. Car headlights flashing as they went by from time to time, he began to wonder how long she would stay. If she would linger around, once Ford had returned. Wondered what it was that note said, that she brought in with her that very first day she burst through their front door. She had put it away after that day, and he never really did get to see his brother’s usual cursive gracing the paper. What was it he had said, to get her of all people out here?

She was too good to linger, he figured, and Gravity Falls felt far too small for someone like her anyway. Even if the unknown waited past their doorstep, they both hadn’t made the move to wander into the woods in search of the creatures Ford had spoken about. Something they had both voiced before over dinner, their shared hesitation to walk too far from their doorstep. If it was just himself he reasoned he would have wandered into the woods looking for signs his brother had been there, he wasn’t fearful of the unknown, he had done plenty of other things that were far scarier than what waited in their backyard. But she was here, and he felt some semblance of duty to watch her back in particular. So they had made a pact to not wander off too far from the other, and they had stuck to that deal even when coming into town. 

The townsfolk hadn’t seen Stan without her by his side since he trampled into the gas station in search of food that very first week. Surprisingly, not too many townsfolk approached her at all when they were out. If it was because he tended to glare at unknown men, she didn’t comment.  

“Order up!” 

Susan made her way back over to their booth, her hands full with two separate plates of short-stacks. 

“For you Mr. Pines.” Settling one plate in front of Stan, Susan moved to place the other in front of her. “And the other for you Mrs. Pines!” 

Brain short-circuiting, he freezes in his motion to grab his fork for his meal. His mouth began to move to correct Susan. 

“Thanks!” She said across from him, a panicked look in her eyes. Face creeping up into a flush as she thanked the waitress. 

Susan made her way away from the table after exchanging common pleasantries, all the while he sat in suspense. 

Only after he could swear Susan was out of earshot did he lean into the table, chest close to his plate to whisper across at her. 

“What the fuck was that?” 

She looked beyond guilty, ringing her table napkin in her hands as her eyes flickered to every corner of the diner that didn’t contain him. 

“I-I may have… accidentally… at some point, perhaps…” She sighs, knowing the drive home will be silent, absent of the usual radio. At least it would be if they couldn’t make it through the mistake she had made all those months ago. “Accidentally, sorta, maybe, kinda, let Susan think that we were married?” Her voice rising in octave, her hands running along the rim of the diner table now. 

He sits back, disbelief struck him. How the fuck had she managed that? 

She answers his question unknowingly. “Okay, so for your birthday in June, remember how I begged you to come to town?” A nod. “Well, you know how I snuck off to Greasy's to get you some birthday pie?” Another nod, remembering how she had been so happy to have correctly guessed his favorite kind that night. He hadn’t even chastised her about the money she had spent on him. 

She continues, hands now flying around, trying to flick the memory away. “Okay well, when I got the pie from Susan she had called my order and she called me Mrs. Pines. And I just…. froze up… and I didn’t know how to explain- well everything.” Her voice picks up speed. “I’m not good at lying, like I can do it, but she just caught me off guard. And we hadn’t discussed what we were gonna tell people- like what we were gonna tell people about us living together? And I thought of Ford and all that bullshit-“ she slumps further into the booth seat. 

“And well, ya I just…I just didn’t correct her.” 

Staring at him, expectantly now. Perhaps waiting for him to explode on her. But all he can manage to do is unravel his fork from his napkin and dig into his pancakes to finally take a bite. Chewing around it, he finally can ask something. He’s less likely to yell with his mouth full. 

But the question dies on his lips. He feels more confused by the second, and then more frustrated also. The silence she figured would follow in the car seems to have raced ahead and sits between them at the table now. Her appetite diminishes by the second, and she no longer waits for some sign from Stan, some indication of acceptance. She didn’t figure there would be, she knew she had fucked up. Or at least, fucked up by not telling him about all this sooner, but she had more or less forgotten in between work and well… enjoying living alongside him. But perhaps the arrangement she had unknowingly shoved him into wasn’t something he was comfortable with, which was understandable. She hadn’t ever really believed herself marriage material, and more or less figured she was even less so in Stan’s eyes. 

He knew she wasn’t the best liar, their old conversation concerning his name had rushed back to him. He hadn’t wanted there to be any lies between them, because he knew it would be difficult for her to upkeep them on top of everything else. That and he believed that their arrangement and reliance on one another wouldn’t work in the slightest if they were just spilling bold-faced lies back and forth to each other. But this arrangement she had stumbled headfirst into came as a surprise. Perhaps they should have rehearsed something to say to everyone who asked about them, but then again Susan didn’t really ask, she had just assumed that they were together, were married. He understood her stumbling into something like that, but he was struggling to find a way back out of it. Because he couldn’t allow her to live attached to him like this, didn’t want her to have to lie for their own comfort. 

A lingering worry in the back of his mind, concerning his past. What if it all came rushing back? What if someone was out there looking for him? What if they hurt her?

He was far past frustrated, not at her though. At all the scrapping and clawing he had to do just to get here, to wind back up in the comfort of lies to survive. But he didn’t want her scraping by with him through this, he wanted her to live. At least before today, he believed she could leave him behind if it all fell apart under him. Always an escape plan somewhere in the back of his head, a way out, a door to reach in the dead of night. But she had shut it, and he didn’t know how he was gonna get her out of it now. 

They finished dinner in silence, something that also rubbed him the wrong way. He was frustrated, and taking it out on her. She folded into an odd shape across from him, now looking dim in the diner light. It only served to frustrate him more. 

Susan didn’t comment or come by to further disturb them through dinner, which was odd for the waitress. She liked to talk, and Stan knew that the south half of town would know about their silent dinner by Friday night. 

Bill paid, they made their way back to Stan’s car. His coat caught up in her arms, he opened her door and shut it again after she entered the car without so much as a prompt. 

He didn’t voice a single word until he made it to his seat, he had been too wound up concerning what she had said. That and he hadn’t wanted anyone else to hear their conversation. To know about the lie she had sown, tying them unknowingly together. 

“So you’re tellin’ me that this town has thought that we’ve been a couple, no married, for about six months?” His hands tight against the steering wheel. 

“Well no, because it was just Susan. Like, maybe just a few people know?” She reasoned.

He shakes his head, chuckling. That’s not how small towns like Gravity Falls worked. “Nah, she told everyone. People in this town are nosey Doc. Everyone’s gotta know by now.” 

He adjusts himself in his seat again, reaching his hand out to the back of her seat, like he always does. She’s swallowed by his red coat, her hand meticulously passing the patch he had put across his right shoulder. Humming to fill the silence. He sighs. 

“This is gonna be hard, Doc. I get why ya shrugged off the assumption Susan made, really I do, but that doesn’t change the fact ya didn’t tell me.” His hand rubs his eyes, frustration seeping off of him. How the fuck was he gonna pull this off?

“What do you mean?” She interrupts. “It won’t be that hard Stan, we can manage this, it won’t be too hard.” She shakes her head, trying to smooth over his frustration.

“How am I supposed to convince this whole fucking town you married some sorry-sap like me doll?” He points between them, an intensity to his eyes. “Now this will be the hardest con. Because why the fuck would you have married me, huh?” He shrugs, throwing his hands up. 

Looking over his scarred shoulder, feeling regret seep through his bones when he sees her now. Sitting there, his winter coat hung off her shoulders, a look of disbelief on her face. An apology on her tongue, he could almost hear it now. 

“Don’t.” He shakes his head. “What’d I tell ya Doc, don’t apologize to me.” He turns back to face her now, still shaking his head. 

“No.” Anger blooming on her face. “No, why the fuck would you say that Stan. Why the fuck would you even think that.” 

She was fuming, a look crossing her face he had never seen before. He had never seen her this thrown before, and he hadn’t the smallest inkling as to why her anger grew tenfold in the face of his statement. 

“Because I ain’t no good and you damn well know it!” Voice raising, hackles rising. 

“No!” She shakes her head, fingers fisted into his coat sleeves. “You are good, Stan! I don’t wanna hear that utter bullshit from you, don’t say that to me. I don’t believe it, not for a second.” Shaking her head, refusing to leave his gaze. "You're kind to me, you're considerate to me. You're good to me." She reasoned. But he was only ever really good to her if anything. Only kind in the face of her everything.

He thinks of his parents then, their image mirroring their own, but only for a moment. Arguments in front seats of cars and in front of televisions. How they would bend and snap back to each other, how he figured his father would snap and his mother would lie, to soothe him. She would lie, to see the end of the argument, to soothe frustration and heal hurt. But he figured it had more to do with his father's temper more than anything, more to do with raised voices and raised fists. But she was a terrible liar, his Doc, and he would swear to be less of a terrible grump.

He slumps in his seat, turning glassy eyes ahead of him. 

“I just didn’t want you to have to lie for me, hun.” He hadn’t called her that in weeks, a flickering memory of that dream always made him flush at the enderment. But he enjoyed how she melted when he did call her that, so he’d concede his embarrassment for her. 

“Stan, we can do this.” She slides closer, into the middle spot of the long bench, reaching her hand to his chin and pulling him into an earnest gaze. “Stan we can do anything, we will do anything, to get your brother home. And if it means lying like this then I'm prepared to do it.” She chuckles, humourlessly. “Especially because I’m the one who got us into this mess.” 

She’s beautiful, he thinks, this close. Diner light seeping in through the dashboard window, her eyes looking deeper than he'd ever been allowed to notice. She's even more beautiful, as she giggles across from him, slipping a stolen diner spoon into his hand. Slipping her fingers around the stolen object and his fingers. He chuckles finally, he's a terrible influence. His heart settled into that familiar aching sickness, something he doesn't dismiss as much now. Now that it felt as familiar as her. There was a certain comfort he fell into when it came to the feeling and her now, one that made his heart race.

It wasn’t a mess though, what she had done, but it did solidify what he had to do next. 

He had been thinking about it for a while, thinking about what sitting in one spot would bring to his, their, doorstep. Thought of the crimes he had left behind, skipping from state to state. It's what had kept him up late at night during those early summer months. What had made him linger around the door late some of those nights also, what if it all caught up to him? Would she be safe? 

No, he figured now. Now that she had intrinsically tied herself to him, she was safest next to him. That she hadn't shut any door, that there was a way out, but only for the old him. So she wouldn’t be leaving, but that old part of him would have to. Protect her, them.

He sighs, ready for the conversation they would have to have. He would have to be more honest about himself, he warmed, kinda like her. But really only with her. 

“There's something I gotta do then, hun.” He shuffles, leaning into her warm palm along his cheek. “I gotta die.”

She pales next to him.