#if this show had existed when I was 13 I would NOT have been normal about it

[sensitive-shark]

I watched sandman and it changed me on a molecular level, I think

[fluideli123]

I've watched the DP&W movie twice in theaters and three plus times on a pirated site, and I wanted to grant my analysis on Wade and Logan's relationship that not only respects Vanessa--because Vanessa was literally Wade's Soulmate until shit hit the fan and you can pry that fact from my cold dead hands. But also explains how Logan and Wade actually represent a a-spec experience and relationship that I feel like no one has really gotten into. Am I saying they're a-spec? No. But that doesn't mean queer relationships that are fairly normal in a-spec spaces doesn't mean they don't exist outside of them as well.

First of all, the only two reasons I believe Vanessa and Wade broke up was 1) Wade went back in time to save Vanessa and he told her after his usual routine of jokes and lies and 2) Wade finally believed he could be something more, a hero, only to be turned down by the people who are known for their heroism, leaving him lost.

I genuinely believe Vanessa had a hard time taking in that knowledge, but knowing Wade and everything they've been through she would get through that like the badass she is and work through it using her plans A-Z, as she always does. But I think to really stop that woman from continuing to start a family with Wade like she wanted to in Deadpool 2, is if Wade was no longer within the right mindset to do so.

Deadpool 1 introduced Wade as someone who believed he was a bad guy who got paid to fuck up worse guys, he refused the term hero, and the moment he even tried to reach for something selfless. An act that would hopefully spare Vanessa from the pain of cancer, it all got fucked up and he got turned into a monster. Someone he deemed even lesser than he was before. So far gone and completely removed from what he was loved for (his looks and personality, but how could his personality stand alone when he looked so ugly? As ugly as he always felt on the inside?)

So he turned to what he's always known: Tracking people down and making them pay. In his mind this only confirms that he's a monster, he isn't deserving of Vanessa, of anyone. Which is why he finds comfort in Blind Al, a woman who will only have to deal with his personality and not be able to see how ugly he actually is. Symbolism for showing only half of himself and not him in his entirety (not that he can hide it from her, she's too wise, knowledgeable, caring, and knows Wade better than he knows himself at this point.)

Eventually, he finishes his hunt and is still loved despite what had transpired. Vanessa still chose him, still loved him. So maybe despite how ugly he is, he can still be loved. This grounded him, solidified his self worth, have him such stability that he had a thriving relationship with Vanessa that they were SO ready to start a family, aspired to live that dream. Another act of selfishness. Only to, once again, be met by pain. Get his dream taken away, once again resorting to what he knows: revenge.

Wade wants to be a hero? He gets forcefully mutated. Wade wants a family? Vanessa gets killed. Both are immediately solved by death, but that self-loathing and sickening hatred towards himself do nothing to cure that same confirmation he had once thought he got over: That he wasn't a monster, he could be loved, be something else.

So of course Vanessa is who, even in death, looks him in the eyes and tells him he cares, he has always cared. He cares so deeply about the people in his life he meets who unconditionally love him for him as time passes, despite all his flaws.

Wade wants to be a hero? Colossus believes he can be. Wade wants to save the 13-year-old abused kid? Vanessa knows he can. He saves lives by sacrificing himself. He scarified his comfort to show Vanessa the full truth of his ugliness, he sacrificed his life for Russel to give him a better life. Maybe he isn't a complete monster, maybe he can believe again. He can be selfish, he can be reckless. So he goes back and saves more people. Heroes do that. They save the people they love. You don't hold the whole world on your shoulders, no, like Miles learned in ATSV you think of one person of the few people you want to fight against the world to protect. And he did just that.

With Vanessa back and a big family he can finally chase after what he wasn't meant for. Because it's only happened twice, it wouldn't happen again-

Rejection. He can't be a hero because people don't need him. He is the needy one, the one who wants to be needed, needs to be wanted. So, it's the crash. The final straw. He breaks. He breaks so hard because what the fuck is the point to trying if every time he is met with failure? Rejection? Pain? Loss? He becomes so stuck in figuring this all out he neglects his relationship with Vanessa, causing issues. They go separate ways, but still so close, because you don't just lose your best friend like that, even if you're no longer partners. They're always meant to be together one way or another.

So you have this broken man who is searching for purpose, years later still harboring this tiny flicker of hope that he can be greater. He can be great. He can be a hero.

His world is in trouble, he doesn't think twice saving it. He accepts he isn't perfect for this, not like all the big guys back in Avengers headquarters, but he can't let his loved ones die because of someone he's had a vendetta against the last two movies.

He literally fights and fights and fights to find someone to help him, Wade can't save who he loves he has to find someone else you can, anyone else.

Than a broken, desperate man walks into a bar to see another broken man who has since long given up.

The thing about Logan and Wade is that they don't need words. Wade blew himself up in order to die in the second movie, Logan drinks himself away, both knowing they can't die no matter how much they want to. How much they believe they deserve it.

So Wade sees a Wolverine who has potential, who hasn't hurt him (unlike the others, he gets hurt so much, guys) and places his faith in him without hesitation. From that moment on he has never truly doubted Logan's abilities nor his heroism, because he knew his Logan and if his world was anchored by a Logan than all Logan's are built with something he isn't. They're made to be heroes, made to be important. Yeah, they fight, but I strongly believe that's how two broken men say everything words can't possibly describe.

I mean what words could describe the way they go all out on each other, knowing the other can't die, the way Wade looks up at him, not wanting to regrow his entire body because he needs to save his world and understands Logan and has to decide to say something that'll convince him to help. Wade doesn't know if stopping the machine will completely save his world or if a new Logan will patch it up too, it's his own educated wish he passes onto Logan. Because just like Russel, he cares. He understands. He wants to help.

It's that faith, hope, and resistance and face of humor despite it all that causes Logan to stick by that dumb asses side. He lost everything, he is seeing someone like himself before he stumbled home drunk from the bar to find everyone dead. Someone who is capable of doing something he wasn't able to. He wants to help, more and more for Wade and less himself, a silent journey of healing following Wades steps everywhere they stumble into.

Because Logan was just drunk at a bar before being told he was needed to save a world, told he was the worst before being offered help anyone, getting praised over his capabilities, and than told again and again how he is able to be someone he never thought he could be. Much like Wade was and is.

Logan sees it. Wade most likely ignores it, much like anything else. He isn't very open with anyone other than Vanessa as we've learned.

So just- of course Wolverine is the honest one, of course he hits low, he sees himself and Wade and wants to hurt him. Wade wants to hurt him back, but only when he's directly attacked by his words and threats, a way of not taking shit. Logan took shit from the world and than didn't from Wade and his emotional rollercoster right. And I think without whatever happened in that Honda Odyssey things wouldn't have been the same. They needed that fight, that release, that hatred from themselves to burst into the form of someone else who could take it just as much as the other could.

Logan listens to Wade's home at the borderlands. Logan is given kindness and tough love. Logan joins. Logan begins to understand how most linger by Wade's side despite everything. He sees why. He's a force, he doesn't give up, he doesn't quit, not for others. It grants strength, though imperfect and messy.

Logan believes Wade deserves better. So he plans on sacrificing himself only for Wade to once again show how much of a Hero he wants to be and could be. Only for those two idiots to hold hands to madona and come to a mutual understanding and comfort that has Wade making room for Logan in his and Al's apartment.

And there is something so inherently a-spec about not being explicitly sexual with each other, having an understanding that goes beyond direct words and full truths. They they can hurt one another and it feels so good, so wanted and cherished. How they support one another by being fucked up and sloppy. They're wrecks and they help the other heal, do what they're too afraid to do.

What is more a-spec than two people looking at each other with adoration and trust? To be two people who cannot be placed within a single both because their relationship and meaning to one another isn't so neatly cut and within expectations? To love in a way that blood and standing side by side is a comfort? A steadying point in which everything becomes clearer with time?

They make me so fucking sick, they make me so FUCKING SICK.

[fazedlight]

Supergirl the show poses a question: Who is the real Kara?

Kara Zor-El, Kara Danvers, Supergirl. Who's the mask?

In the beginning, Kara doesn't even know. In the aftermath of Krypton's and Kenny's deaths, she did everything she could to appear as normal as possible - there was little room for her own innate traits to shine through when she was being as nondescript and people-pleasing as possible.

But that's not who Kara is.

We get the first glimpse of who Kara really is during Flight 237.

This is not about her being Supergirl or her powers (though both are relevant). Kara has suppressed herself for over a decade. She's not going to make waves - until she has to. Our first real insight into who Kara is now is as a devoted sister. It wasn't until Alex's life was at risk that Kara started breaking out of her shell (and then there was no holding back).

Our protagonist is a mid-20s adult - this isn't a coming-of-age story in the traditional sense. But it is a story of finding oneself and what it takes to get there.

And it starts with defending found family after a lifetime of loss.

So Kara creates the Supergirl persona. I think the cape is a crutch.

People say "a crutch" like it's a bad thing. But crutches are actually pretty fucking useful. They support you when you need it, whether it be short-term or long-term. They help you get around when you otherwise may not be able to.

Kara was deeply traumatized by losing everyone and everything she ever knew, being thrown into a world that overwhelmed her senses and made even her most casual movements into dangerous ones, and was told she needed to suppress everything - who she used to be, what she was going through now - to survive.

To find herself again, maybe she'd need a tool to get past what she had been through! The cape became that tool. She was able to unbury the heritage she had been hiding, she was able to embrace the powers that had burdened her, she was able to find her own bravery (and reactivity, she's got flaws in there too).

Keep in mind, in the scene above, Kara isn't "human for a day". Kara is powerless... just like she spent the first 13 years of her life. Her bravery isn't about her powers or Supergirl; they just help her get started.

That's not where her growth ends.

Kara's instincts for helping people start getting unburied in season 1, and she is excited to tag along someone else's quest to figure out where future threats may lie, or figure out how she can use her powers in service to the DEO.

But it's not until this moment that she realizes that Kara Danvers can be more, too. Lena unintentionally launches Kara's career - a second pathway for Kara's desire to help people, growing into a passion she is going to pursue (even if she gets fired). Her worth is no longer just about her sun-granted powers or being Superman's "younger" cousin.

In season 4, we even see her realization that Kara Danvers can be more powerful than Supergirl, because some fights can't be won by fists. That's a real discovery for herself.

Which I think, looking back, might becoming especially baffling for her... because Kara Danvers was originally an identity imposed on her when she needed to hide.

It's important to note that, while Kara Danvers was originally a facade that Kara gets at thirteen, she doesn't stay a facade - even in the suppression era.

We don't see enough of who Kara is when she's on Earth, left to her own devices. But we see glimpses - we know she likes baking (and we know we shouldn't try what she makes), we know she paints, we know she listens to NSync and Britney Spears. She's a goofball (even when she puts on the cape). Kara Danvers starts as a facade, but becomes a vehicle for Kara to continue developing her personality, now in her new context.

Would she have the same interests on Krypton? Maybe some and not others, maybe some new ones that don't exist on Earth. We're all products of our environments, after all. Her interests as Kara Danvers aren't necessarily fake just because they're different than what she expected.

Though she'll never know who she would've become on Krypton.

Which brings us to Kara Zor-El - the identity that is frozen.

Most people aren't the same person as an adult that they were as a child. Interests, tastes, personality, world outlook, philosophy - all of these shift over time, sometimes dramatically.

Parts of her are going to be deeply rooted in Krypton, and she's going to have ties to a culture that no one else on Earth has. It's not an aspect of herself that she can erase. But it's also not an aspect of herself that was able to develop for the remainder of her childhood and early adulthood.

She, like all of us, was destined to lose pieces of herself. But some of her loss was very sudden, and the pieces she lost probably weren't going to be the same on Krypton. Of course, she has no way to know.

And I think that frustrates her.

I guess my answer to "Who is Kara?" is that the three personalities clash with and harmonize with each other. None of them are truly her. All of them inform who she is.

There's a young Kara Zor-El as her root that was torn from the ground before she could ever grow.

There's a Kara Danvers who formed the bulk of her life - a mask that was given to her, the only vehicle for her personality, who ultimately became someone she could embrace as worthwhile in her own right.

There's a Supergirl who distinctly separates from those around her, but lets her move past her numbness and reclaim her heritage.

And it's that clash that makes her a particularly compelling character.

Maybe that's a cheating answer to the original question.

But there's still a missing piece to the puzzle - because it's not just about Who is Kara? but also about Who does Kara want to be?

I think Supergirl is something that could fade if needed. If Kara lost her powers, she would find a new normal, so long as she was able to pursue her desire to help the world in some capacity.

But the truth of her is somewhere between Kara Danvers and Kara Zor-El. The truth of her is in what Supergirl allowed her to unbury, even if not directly tied to Supergirl herself. But Danvers and Zor-El are burdens, in a way. Lena is one of the few people who sees the person in between, who understands Kara on her own terms. Which is why Kara is terrified of Lena's rejection.

I think it's one of the most telling lines in the show - to be just Kara is to be free of her own baggage, to be able to embrace herself despite the pain in her history. Something I think we all want, that is never entirely possible.

But the pursuit is still a worthwhile one.

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Reader Series

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

Summary: You and Eddie finally get some much-needed alone time, and a confrontation at the Hawkins Preschool talent show tests your commitment to each other.

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), protected p in v, fingering, oral (m! receiving), lil bit of edging, broken condom, breeding kink, mentions of Eddie's past, bullying, fighting, Jason Carver's mere existence, mostly fluff and smut before the angst of the next two chapters

WC: 9.2k

Chapter 15/20

Divider credit to @saradika Cutie pie Eddie pic credit to @/sunceddie

--

You wake up to an alarm set a full hour later than it typically is on a Friday morning, and the extra rest has you walking on air. Or maybe this newfound floatiness comes from knowing Eddie will be arriving soon, the two of you playing hooky from work to spend the day together. Your insides ignite with a rebellious fire, like you’re skipping class to smoke cigarettes underneath the bleachers, rather than taking a paid sick day that you’ve rightfully accrued.

Sunlight streams through the window, just a bit brighter than the usual smears of pink and orange that you normally see when you awaken. And while you still have to drag your yet-to-be-caffeinated body out of bed, the walk to the bathroom seems slightly less daunting. 

You can’t let Eddie in fast enough when the intercom buzzes thirty minutes later. You were never naïve to the fact that dating a parent would mean having less privacy; what you didn’t know was how strongly you’d crave him. 

Your hands are all over him the moment he steps through the door, simultaneously too much and not enough. Fingers lazily drape across the nape of his neck, and you can feel that his hair is already frizzy from the early April rain. Your breath hitches when you catch a glimpse of the burgeoning outline along the seam of his gray sweatpants. 

His lips find yours easily, aiming to meet in the middle, but you press on your toes and bring your core to his. Your pajama top is thin; not sheer, but flimsy enough that he can feel the way you react to the chill of his leather jacket. 

“Hello to you, too,” he murmurs with a laugh, muffled by a kiss that catches him off-guard. “I was gonna ask if you wanted to grab breakfast first, but—”

You shake your head, grabbing his wrist and pulling him towards the bedroom. “Sex first, food later.”

“Yes ma’am.” He uses his free hand to apply a quick smack to your ass, mesmerized at the way the supple flesh ripples underneath the flannel pants. Jesus, you’ve got him half-hard and you’re still in your pajamas. 

He sits on the side of the bed, and you climb to straddle him, your inner thighs nudging his outer. “Been thinking about you,” you say, tugging his earlobe between your teeth. 

Eddie pulls you even closer, one hand snaking up your shirt to cup your breast. He’s still cold from the rain and early morning frost, and his touch has your nipple pebbling. “What about me?” 

“Well,” you trill, starting to slowly grind against the tented fabric of his pants. He exhales, a shiver of anticipation coursing through his veins. “I believe I promised my rockstar a reward for his amazing gig.” Your thoughts flit back to the night of Will’s party, when you’d snuck backstage and gotten a glimpse of him, his body pulsating with nerves that had almost immediately quelled at your touch. Another sensation had swept over him then, but that was an entirely different type of flutter.

Eddie nudges his nose against yours, a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth. “Your rockstar?” He adores the phrasing. Yours. Belonging to you. And you belong to him; he won’t ever allow you to forget it. “What kind of reward did my favorite groupie have in mind?”

You slide off of him, giggling at the pout he gives you as your body loses contact with his. “Patience, Rockstar,” you warn him, though it’s difficult to contain yourself when you’re salivating just being eye-level with his erection. Your fingers dig into his waistband, and for the second time today, you’re glad for his choice of clothing. You don’t think you could handle buttons and zippers and belt buckles. Not today.

He hisses when your palm brushes along his hardened length, stiffening even while covered by his boxer briefs. A small wet patch marks his tip, leaking precum, and you press a chaste kiss to it. Almost instantly, you feel the tendrils of his thigh hair against your bare arms as his legs reflexively snap shut like a Venus flytrap catching its prey. 

“Too much?” you mumble against his happy trail. While you relish in the thought of overstimulating him, you want to keep him on edge as long as you can. 

Eddie shakes his head, curls scratching against his shoulders. “Jus’ wasn’t expecting it. ‘Cause you were using your hands, but then I felt your…never mind, I’m gonna shut up now.” He settles back into the mattress and eagerly awaits your next move.

You don’t make him wait long, lips drawn to his shaft with a magnetic force. You only stop to shimmy his underwear down his legs, tossing them to the corner of the room. His cock is flush against his tummy; you catch yourself staring at the dusting of wispy curls that trail from his upper groin down to his heavy sack. 

Your dominant hand wraps around the base while the other leans on his thigh for balance. You lean in and spit, letting your saliva dribble down his length before flattening your tongue to lick up the pearly bead forming at the tip. Eddie’s abdominal muscles contract and his fists clench, never taking his eyes off of the beautiful woman on her knees for him. 

He lets out a soft moan as you hollow out your cheeks to take more of him into your mouth. A string of syllables that barely resemble words escapes him. “Mmm, yes, oh, sh–fucking hell–thas’ it…” He twists the bedsheets between his fingers, inhaling sharply as your tongue glides up and down his cock. “S’pretty, fuck, gorgeous girl.” He watches intently, staving off blinks so he doesn’t miss a moment of him disappearing between your lips.

He’d once thought that he could never want more than sloppy post-gig hook-ups in dive bar bathrooms with girls whose names he’d never learned, though he wouldn’t have made an effort to remember them anyway. Girls who had only offered their mouths so they could lay claim to his body; the opportunity to brag that they’d blown Eddie Munson before he got famous.

That was before you, before you’d shown him the intoxicating mixture of longing and belonging, of lust and…

You continue drawing him closer and closer to his orgasm, nose grazing his thatch of pubic hair. His hips buck slightly, but your mouth is so full of him that it threatens to evoke your gag reflex. 

“Shit, ‘m sorry,” Eddie blurts out, unfurling a hand from the sheets to cup your cheek. He pulls out, allowing you to take a deep breath. 

You shake your head. “I liked it,” you tease with a wicked grin, wasting no time assuming your previous position. 

“Oh, fuck,” Eddie throws his head back. “You like gagging on my dick? Fucking hell, babe.”

“Mhm.” The gentle vibration has him twitching, and you know he can’t last much longer. You bring your attention to his tip, sucking and giving soft kitten licks while your hand takes care of the rest of his length. He’s so painfully hard that you wouldn’t be surprised if he stayed that way long after finishing. 

“Jus’…just like that. Oh, fuuuuuck,” he groans, silently calling upon every ounce of willpower in his body to keep his pelvis still so he doesn’t disturb the beautiful rhythm you’ve found. “Gonna cum…shit, baby, if you don’t want it in your mouth, you gotta stop now.”

But you do want it in your mouth, so you don’t stop, feeling warm ropes adorning your tongue just seconds later. He’s panting, chest heaving as though he was the one putting in the effort, but he still notices the way you swallow his thick load without missing a beat. 

“Did you just…oh, my God. You’re perfect.” He throws his hands up in mock defeat. “I can’t…nothing I do will ever compare to you, I swear.” He motions for you to lay down next to him, and immediately climbs on top of you, the sweat from his chest transferring to your shirt. “Off,” he mumbles, pulling it over your head before you get the chance to do it yourself.

His lips swoop down to your left breast, tongue flickering over the nipple, and his dominant hand travels into your panties and expertly finds your clit. You let out a tiny whimper, barely audible over Eddie’s own grunts, finding pleasure in making you feel good. 

“This body,” he mumbles, mouth still attached to your chest, “has me in a goddamn chokehold. It’s all I think about.” That isn’t quite true; he certainly spends plenty of time daydreaming of you, though it isn’t always in such compromising positions. Sometimes, you’re sleeping next to him in bed as he presses gentle kisses to the nape of your neck. Other times, he’ll be cooking dinner and picture you passing him the salt or handing him a serving spoon to dish out whatever noodle-based concoction he’s conjured up. Whatever he’s doing, he imagines you by his side. 

“Can you kiss me?” Your request is timid but dripping with need. 

Eddie nods, bringing himself to eye level with you and closing the gap between your faces. You taste of minty toothpaste and of him, and he curses himself for diving in headfirst without remembering to kiss you. “M sorry,” he apologizes for the second time that morning, and you forgive him with a soft bite to his lower lip. 

Your arms rest on his shoulders and your legs wrap around his calf muscles, desperate to remain as close as possible at all times. No, you can’t stay like this forever, so you’ve got to make it count. “Need you inside me, Eddie.” Your voice nearly cracks, tears pricking at your lash line as the craving for him grows stronger. “Please.”

Eddie musters up a terse laugh. “Sweetheart, I just came, like, five minutes ago. You gotta give me a second to bounce back.” He lowers himself so he can whisper in your ear, “let me take care of you while we wait, hm?”

As soon as you nod, he’s yanking down your pajama pants and panties in one fluid motion. You can’t miss the way his eyes light up once you’re fully on display for him, taking in every centimeter of your body like his existence depends upon it. He starts to shimmy his way down, but your murmured “mm-mm” captures his attention.

“Still want you kissing me,” you say, gazing adoringly into his deep brown eyes. “Maybe you could just use your fingers?” 

His instinct is to protest; he’s been desperate to taste you again ever since his tongue last touched the most intimate part of you, but he can’t deny you what you want. He’ll do just about anything to keep a smile on your face.

Without further hesitation, Eddie’s lips are on yours. He braces himself on his elbows as his hands cradle your cheeks. You can feel the heat of his cock, still spent and flaccid, against the top of your thigh. He shifts slightly so he can press one thick finger into your pussy, dragging in and out so deliciously that you barely notice his tongue slipping into your mouth, deepening the kiss as you moan.

“Y’like that?” It’s a gratuitous question; he can feel how much you like it in the way you’re clenching around him. “Gonna make my girl feel s’good.”

“Call me your girl again,” you whine, punctuating the plea with a gentle buck of your hips. 

Eddie grins, ducking his head where your neck meets your collarbone and sucking lightly. It takes every ounce of strength he possesses not to mark you. He studies the moisture left behind by his lips and wishes it was the exquisite shades of blue and indigo that form when someone’s been claimed. 

He slides a second finger inside you. “My sweet girl,” he coos, just a hint of patronization laced within his deep voice, “you like being mine? Belonging to me?”

Your stomach flips at his words; a gnawing hunger for Eddie Munson. “Love it. I…I love being your girl.” You allow your mind to clear, absorbing his gaze, his touch, his skin. The graceful arch of your back beckons him to move faster, tongue peeking from between his plush lips as he concentrates on your orgasm.

Each stroke within you inches you closer to euphoria. Eddie’s thumb is pressed to your clit, cementing his determination to tip you over the edge. He hits all the right spots, committing them to memory; his own personal pathway to the heavens. 

It’s your turn to grab onto the bed sheets like a lifeline as pleasure surges through you. Your lips coat his in a warm layer of “Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,” the praise a victory chant to him. He waits until your eyelids flutter back open and your breathing steadies before taking his fingers from your center and into his mouth, licking your release off of his skin like a delicacy.

Your body may be splayed out on the bed, but your mind is adrift; its only focus is the float down from the high Eddie’s brought you to. If it weren’t for the throbbing reminder pressed to your leg, you might float right into the atmosphere.

You summon the willpower to prop yourself up on your elbows, watching intently as he fists himself to temporarily ease the ache.

“Why’re you doing that when ‘m right here?” you mumble, wetting your lower lip with a swipe of your tongue. You can only hope that there’s some semblance of a smile in your intoxicated expression. “Unless you…prefer your hand?”

“Fuck, no,” he grumbles, curls dancing along his shoulder blades as he loosens his grasp to dig through your top drawer. He shoves aside stray prescription bottles and various knickknacks that you’ve been meaning to go through until he finds what he’s been looking for.

He snatches up the teal box and practically tears the cardboard in half trying to open it. The snake of foil packets tumbles out and he scrambles for them, but you’re faster.

Wordlessly, you rip off one packet and carefully tear off the top. Eddie hisses as you roll the condom down his hardened length, more than ready to be inside you. 

“Wanna ride you,” you tell him, pressing your palms to his soft pecs. “‘S that okay?” 

“Is that—baby, if I ever say no to that offer, there’s something seriously wrong with me,” he laughs, already laying back on the bed. His hair splays across the pillow, brown curls swirling atop the cotton pillowcase like Van Gogh’s Starry Night. 

Eddie inhales sharply as you sit above him, sheathed cock pressed to your heat in anticipation. He reaches out and grabs your breasts, one in each hand, kneading them in his palms. His thumbs brush over your nipples, gauging your reaction before giving them a small pinch. 

Your moan, coupled with the way you grind against him, confirms your satisfaction, but he still asks, “Y’like when I do that?”

You offer him a little smirk, cocking your brow as you cheekily reply, “You tell me.” 

He doesn’t have time to respond before you lift yourself and gradually sink down onto him, soaking in every moment of the delectable stretch. Bracing yourself on his chest, you feel him bottom out so he’s filling you entirely. 

“Fuck, Sweetheart.” His hands move from your chest to your hips as he helps you adjust to the newfound fullness. “So tight. Feels‘mazing.”

“Just wanna take care of you, Eds. You’re so good to me; I wanna be good to you.” You bounce up and down, moving your hips so no part of your walls remains untouched by him. 

He’s mesmerized at the jiggle of your flesh as it connects with his, momentarily rendering him speechless before he regains some composure. “You are. You’re so, so good for me. Can never get enough of my girl.”

You clench around him at the title ‘my girl’, earning you a smack to your ass. The sting makes you whimper, and he swiftly delivers another. 

“You’re gonna make me cum too soon,” he huffs, blown-out pupils drifting from your eyes to where your bodies are joined. 

You pause your movements to lean down, allowing him impossibly deep within you. “If it’s too much,” you murmur into his ear, hoping your edge-teetering tremble is hidden enough to effectively tease him, “maybe I should just…stop.” You slide your hips forward until only his tip breaches your hole. 

Eddie’s jaw drops in complete disbelief. “You…you can’t fuckin’ do that to me.” You expect him to push the rest of his cock inside you and thrust until he’s completely spent, so you’re caught off-guard when he pulls out entirely. “All fours. Now.” He emphasizes his request with another spank, this one harder than the rest. 

You oblige, palms pressed into the mattress and toes curled as you await him. He taps his shaft against your bottom once, twice, three times, and then plunges into your warmth. 

“Ah—fuck—Eddie!” you cry, feeling the telltale twitch that informs you he’s close. Really fucking close. And then another sensation—a soft pop. 

He realizes what it is before you do. “Fuckin’ condom broke!” he grumbles, pulling out again—even more begrudgingly than before—and tossing the split rubber to the floor. He opens a new one and rolls it on with lightning speed, eager to be enveloped in you once again. 

“Wish we didn’t have to use those,” you mumble, willing yourself to stay steady despite the push from his pistoning hips. “Be so much easier without them.”

Picturing you taking him raw—you wanting to take him raw—is the last straw. “Yeah? You wanna feel all of me, baby?” he growls, nearly inaudible over the sound of his pelvis colliding with your ass. “Want me blowing my load so fuckin’ deep inside you?”

“Y-Yes,” you stammer, feeling that delicate wave approaching the shoreline, desperate to crest. “That’s exactly what I want, Eddie.”

“Keep saying my name,” he orders, wrapping one arm around you so his middle finger lays on your clit. Every part he touches makes you weaker for him, scavenging for the relief of release.

“Eddie, feels s’good,” you moan, legs threatening to crumple beneath you. “No one makes me feel like this ‘cept you, fuck, Eddie!”

You finish around him, squeezing him until he’s spilling into the condom with a primal groan of your name. He stays draped over you for a beat before flopping back onto the bed. 

“You are…” he turns to you and grins as he searches for the right word, “spectacular.” He gingerly removes the barrier from his dick, tying it in a knot and tossing it into the trash can next to your nightstand. “C’mere.” 

You lay on his chest, the sweat cooling as it hits your cheek. “Did you work up an appetite?” you tease, kissing just below his tattoo of a demonic head, “I can grab us some cereal, or we might have some frozen Eggos I could throw in the toaster.”

Eddie smiles so wide it threatens to escape the confines of his cheeks. “Sex and breakfast? You spoil me, Sweetheart.”

“Yeah, well; we need energy to power us through round two.” You scoot upwards to nuzzle into the crook of his neck, the salt of his perspiration tangy on your lips. “Give me a few minutes, okay? Do you like syrup on your waffles?”

“And butter?” he asks with a hopeful smile, peering at you through long eyelashes that would have had you darting to Bradley’s Big Buy if you didn’t already have a stick of Land O’ Lakes in the fridge.

You roll your eyes playfully. “Yes, Your Majesty,” you say, giving his bare thigh a small tap. “Would you also care for some freshly-squeezed orange juice? I can have the chef whip some up right away.”

Eddie throws his head back and laughs, slowly pushing himself up so he can help you in the kitchen. It dawns on him that he hasn’t felt this kind of peace after sex before; his mind has always been clouded with fears of getting too attached, of saying the wrong thing, of deluding someone into thinking he’s enough. 

“God, I love you.” The words tumble out before he can stop them, and he freezes in place, one leg through his underwear. “Fuck, I mean–”

“It’s okay,” you rush to reassure him, noting the red tinge forming on the tips of his ears. “I’d say that to anyone who offered me breakfast foods, too.” You give him room to accept the out, to brush off his confession as a slip of the tongue. There’s no use in awarding merit to an accidental comment, regardless of what your skipped heartbeat tells you.

He considers it, every synapse and neuron firing at warpspeed. Maybe he could convince himself that it was an accident if it was the first time he’d felt this, the way your sunshine radiates through him and warms him from within. But that was far from the truth. 

“No,” he finds himself saying, grasping onto every morsel of confidence he can find, “it’s not because of the food. I love you.” 

Your voice catches in your throat. You want to believe that he’s reciprocating your feelings, but something nags at you. “Are you sure it’s not because we just had sex? Because sometimes that���”

“No,” Eddie repeats himself, unfolding the waistband of his boxer briefs and walking to you. “Because it wasn’t about sex when you calmed me down after the parent-teacher conference. It wasn’t about sex when you taught Harris how to read and bowl and be a better person than I’ll ever be. It wasn’t about sex when you cheered me on during our last gig, and it wasn’t about sex when I saw you holding Ettie.” He takes a deep breath and holds your hands as he gazes into your eyes. “And even after having sex, it isn’t about sex. It’s about you being the one for me. I love you, I love you, I love you.” He kisses your forehead, then your cheek, and finally your lips. 

“I love you, too, Eddie.” 

Just five words, six syllables, and he’s a goner. Seriousness melts into a sappy smile as he cradles your cheeks and presses the tip of his nose to yours. “Holy shit, we’re in love.”

You kiss him, tongue nudging his as your torsos meld together. If your stomach wasn’t gnawing for something to eat, you’d start round two right then and there. 

Throwing on just a shirt and panties, you lead him into the kitchen before either of you can crawl back into bed. His hands never leave your body, snaking around your waist as you rifle through the freezer for the familiar yellow box. His head rests on your shoulder as you drop the waffles into the toaster and press the lever down.

“Eds?”

“Yes, my love?” he murmurs, pecking a soft kiss behind your ear. You both could have sworn that there was nothing better than him calling you ‘my girl,’ but you’re unashamed to stand corrected.

“Could you make yourself useful and grab some plates? Maybe get the syrup or butter?” you tease, noting the dramatic pout developing on his face. “What?”

“I’m keepin’ you warm,” he protests, sliding his hands over the cotton fabric of your faded t-shirt and grabbing your breasts. “And you’re not wearing a bra, so I gotta hold ‘em for you.”

He eventually obliges, setting two Chinette plates on the countertop and padding over to the refrigerator. He plucks the condiments from the side door and places them in the center of the table. 

“Cups, too,” you remind him with a cheeky grin, pointing to a cabinet to your right. “No drinking out of the carton in my house.”

“Bossy this morning, aren’t we?”

The toaster chimes a charismatic ding! as the waffles jump out of their slots, and you carefully drop both onto one plate. “Here ya go,” you chirp, extending your arm so he can take his breakfast. 

“Where’s yours?” His brows pinch together in confusion, a sly smile stretching his lips. “Don’t tell me I didn’t make you work up more of an appetite back there. Shit, shoulda had you ride me longer–”

Your hip collides with his in a purposeful shove. “I’m getting mine ready now. Go sit and eat, you horndog.” 

Eddie drops the plate on the counter so quickly that the Eggos nearly fly off, pulling you from behind for a hug that squeezes all the air from your lungs. You squeal as he bites your neck and barks into it, solidifying that he has indeed earned the new nickname you’ve bestowed upon him.

He takes one of his waffles and places it on your empty plate. “We can eat together.”

You grab the orange juice from the fridge, giving the carton a shake before pouring the contents between the two glasses. It’s not until you sit down that you remember: “Oh, shit—utensils.” You start to get back up, but Eddie puts a hand out in a silent bid for you to stay seated, shuffling back to the kitchen. The drawer rattles as he pulls with just a bit too much strength, and he comes back with two knives and a single fork. 

“You only got one—” you start, but he shakes his head. 

“Don’t need it.” With that, he cuts off a hunk of butter and slathers it on top of his waffle, knife scraping against the little squares. He slathers every square inch in syrup, folds the waffle in half, and takes an exaggeratedly large bite. 

“Eddie Munson!” you lightly chastise, still in shock at what you’ve witnessed. “Did you just eat that like a taco?”

“Sí, señorita.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “Oh, my God, I’m in love with a barbarian.” You reach for the bottle of Aunt Jemima and drizzle the sticky-sweetness onto your waffle. “What else is going on with you?” you ask, cutting the food into strips and spearing it with your fork. “Work’s good?”

“Work’s great, actually.” He starts to bring the waffle to his mouth but pauses just before taking a bite. Syrup drops onto the plate with a plop. “I almost forgot to tell you! The regional manager asked me to go to this thrift market in Indianapolis in a few weeks—all on the company’s dime—and try to snag some vintage records.”

“Eds, that’s amazing!” You leap up from your chair and lean in to kiss his syrupy lips. 

He licks a smudge of butter from the side of his thumb. “Oh, but that’s not even the best part,” Eddie grins triumphantly. “The market just so happens to fall during spring break, and I was hoping you could join us?” His bare foot nudges yours under the table. “That is, if you think you can survive an entire weekend running after Harris?”

Your jaw drops in mock-offense. “One of us chases after children–plural–every day. Besides,” you add, taking a swig of juice, “Harris isn’t the one I’m worried about.” You gesture at his partially-demolished breakfast. “At least when he eats like this, he has the excuse of being a child.”

His reply is a flick of his left middle finger, his right hand busy jamming the remaining waffle-taco into his mouth. “And yet,” he retorts with his mouth full, “you can’t seem to get enough.”

He’s got you there: all you’ve ever wanted is sitting in front of you now, the corners of his chocolate-brown eyes crinkling as he stands. You allow your eyes to roam his body; not with lust, but adoration. Love.

Your cheek yearns to be pressed to his chest, your hand resting where the soft pudge of his tummy barely rolls over the elastic waistband of his boxer briefs. Your legs crave the connection of intertwining with his. You need his arms, biceps strong from lugging around music equipment and holding his son, wrapped around your torso and keeping you impossibly close. Keeping you safe.

You want to spend hours asking about the stories behind the tattoos that adorn his chest, whether meaningful or the result of sheer boredom. You want to curl up on the sofa and put on a movie, absorbing none of it as you spend the entire duration lost in his lips. 

The brush of his thumb against your knuckles stirs you from your roaming thoughts. 

“Can I ask you something?”

Eddie sits up a bit straighter, hand never leaving yours. “Shoot.”

“Is it…” you fumble for the right words, “why are you like this now?”

“I’m sorry?” His brows knit together in obvious confusion. “Why am I like…what?”

“This,” you repeat, gesticulating at the man before you, warm and tender and completely unlike the stranger you’d hooked up with nearly eight months ago. “Why is the guy who once kicked me out of his apartment currently having breakfast with me half-naked and inviting me on a trip with his son?” Your tone is inquisitive, curious, and Eddie heaves a silent sigh of relief when he doesn’t detect a hint of judgment. 

He doesn’t answer your question outright; instead, he poses his own: “Do you not believe that I love you?” He bites his lower lip, mind churning with the early memories you’d made together, the ones he wishes he could lock away and never remember. 

Your heart lurches at your accidental implication. “I do! Shit, Eddie, I know you love me. And I love you, too.” You pause to lift his hand to your mouth, leaving the gentlest of kisses along his fuzzy knuckles. “I guess I just wanna know why you even let yourself love me. Why you didn’t stick to the Cat-and-Mouse. Why…why you chose me.” 

He exhales, an incredulous huff of laughter passing through his lips. “You wanna know why I started only having one-night stands? Or why I stopped?”

“Both?” you try.

“So, um,” his eyes look everywhere but at you, “I never really got attention until I moved to Chicago and started playing with that band. All of a sudden, women wanna sleep with me, and I don’t have to, like, beg them.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “But they didn’t really want to fuck Eddie Munson; they just wanted to fuck the lead singer and guitarist of Hard Knox. Didn’t matter if it was me or some other random guy.

“One night, I’m…y’know…with this one girl, and I asked her to say my name.” His cheeks tinge red and he swallows hard. “And she looks at me with these wide eyes, and I realized she didn’t even fucking know it.”

“Did you know hers?” The question comes out before you can stop it, but you already know the answer.

He rubs his eyes with his whole palm. “After that, I realized that the only difference between the Eddie who got laid and the Eddie who didn’t was that no one I slept with really knew me. And if they ever figured out that I’m just this big ol’ nerd who spent high school playing Dungeons & Dragons, they’d…” He flexes his hands to make a poof! motion. “So I decided not to let them get to know me.”

“But then…”

“But then,” he acquiesces, “you show up at the bar, looking like a goddamn dream, and I put up that cocky lead singer persona on instinct. Because that’s the only version of me that women ever wanted to be with.” He sighs. “And then I let my guard down, ask you to spend the night, and I’m thinking, ‘I gotta get her outta here before she sees who I really am. Before she sees that I’m not a rockstar; I’m just a mediocre dad who sells weed to scrape by.’”

You move so quickly that you practically knock over your chair, standing behind him and wrapping your arms around the top of his chest. Your chin rests on his scalp, and he can feel the vibration in your throat as you murmur, “nothing about you is mediocre, Eddie Munson.”

 He lays his head on your forearm, kissing it softly before lacing his fingers with yours. “Sometimes, I think I’m just buying time until you get sick of me.”

You shift your position so your lips can brush the side of his neck. “I didn’t fall for the guy on stage that night. I mean, yeah, you looked incredibly hot,” you tease and nip at his collarbone, “but I’m in love with Eddie Munson: the man who gets excited when his son reads a new word, who teases me for liking olives on my pizza, who knows the lyrics to every song ever made–including the ones he claims to hate.”

“Well, Eddie Munson–the real Eddie Munson–is so goddamn lucky to be loved by you.” He turns so he’s facing you, strong hands on your hips as he gazes up with starry eyes. 

You cradle his cheeks, stooping down so your noses touch. “You deserve to be loved.”

“Yeah.” The word is more breath than sound. “Yeah, I think I’m finally starting to believe that.” 

The remainder of your day is spent having copious amounts of sex; Eddie had insisted on ‘making up for lost time,’ taking breaks only for a quick lunch and a shower. 

“Come with me to pick up Harris,” Eddie says as he wraps the bath towel around his waist. Water drips from the ends of his curls down to the dimples on his lower back. “We’re going to Jeff and Viv’s after so he can meet Baby Ettie.”

You raise your eyebrows in amusement, bending over to dry your legs. “I took a sick day today,” you remind him. “I can’t just show up there in your car, like, ‘nothing to see here!’”

“I’ll park far away,” he says with a shrug. “No biggie.” There’s a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. “I mean, I could tell Harris that Ms. Sweetheart was supposed to be with us, but she said no—”

You swat at his chest and he pulls back, feigning pain. “You wouldn’t!”

“Try me.”

That’s how you ended up hunched over in the passenger seat of Eddie’s sedan, hiding from any passersby who could potentially recognize you. It only takes a few minutes before you hear the sound of Harris’s little voice, chewing his dad’s ear off about his day at school.

“...and then me an’ Charlie traded me snacks, an’ no one even sawed us!” He’s cackling like it’s the funniest joke. “He had my pretzels and I had his gummies, and it was so silly!”  

“Gummies, huh?” Eddie clicks his tongue, “well, that explains the sugar rush.” Their voices get louder as they approach the car. “By the way, Har Bear, I have a surprise for you.”

As he says it, Harris opens the back door and hops into the car, eyes widening when he sees you sitting up front. “Ms. Sweetheart!” he exclaims, bouncing into his booster seat with pure exhilaration. “What are you doing in Daddy’s car?”

“I figured I could see Baby Ettie with you guys,” you say as nonchalantly as possible, a stark contrast to the little boy practically vibrating from excitement, “if that’s okay with you.”

“Yes, yes, YES!” Harris shouts, his words aimed directly in Eddie’s ear as he tries buckling his son’s seatbelt.

“Jesus H. Christ,” he mutters, wincing as he massages the opening of his ear canal with his forefinger. “Take it down a notch, little man.” He fumbles with the belt until he hears the familiar click. He dons a deep voice to announce, “Keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times,” and Harris draws his limbs inwards with a giggle while Eddie closes his door. 

“Daddy? Can we listen to music?”

“Mhm.” Eddie reaches for the radio dial, then stops. “Should we let Ms. Sweetheart choose the tape? Since she’s our special guest?” He shoots you a grin that sends a flip-flopping sensation behind your ribs. 

Harris taps his finger to his chin in contemplation. “Hmm…okay! Can she pick Metallica?”

“Not quite sure that’s how it works…” Eddie scrunches up his face and scratches at his jawline. 

You turn around to face the boy, whose curly hair is now identically frizzy to his father’s. “Actually, Metallica sounds great to me,” you say, adding a thumbs-up for good measure. 

“Metallica it is!” Eddie pops in the cassette, the mechanical wheels whirring for a moment before Fight Fire with Fire blares through the speakers. He rests his palm on the back of your seat as he backs out of the spot, tongue poking from his lips in concentration. 

Harris alternates between headbanging to the music and babbling about school throughout the drive to Jeff and Viv’s. His energy seems endless as he hops out of the car and races to their front door. 

“Har, remember,” Eddie calls out, “we have to be calm and gentle around the baby. Don’t wanna scare her.”

Harris nods as Jeff opens the door. “Mini Munson!” He gives a tired smile, stifling a yawn. “Ready to meet your new cousin?” He chuckles when Harris jumps up and down and squeals. “I’ll take that as a yes. Go ‘head and sit on the couch, kiddo.”

Harris follows Jeff’s instructions, and you and Eddie trail close behind him. Jess and Robin are also there; the latter woman is currently holding Ettie, lightly rocking the newborn in her arms. 

“Do you wanna hold her?” she asks Harris, who looks to you and his dad in a silent plea for permission. 

“Up to you, Har,” Eddie says with an encouraging smile. “We’ll help you, if you want.”

Harris nods, shuffling so his back is pressed up against the sofa. He squirms anxiously, kicking his feet as he waits for you and his dad to join him. 

Eddie sits on his right side, and you take the empty space to his left. “I’ll help you hold her head,” you promise him. “You can hold your arms out like this,” you demonstrate, resting your forearms on your lap with your palms facing the ceiling, and Harris mimics your actions. “There ya go.”

Robin carefully walks over and places Ettie in Harris’s outstretched arms, ensuring that you’re supporting the baby’s head before she fully lets go. For a few moments, Harris just stares at the little girl, seemingly unsure how to react. Finally, he softly murmurs, “she’s so little!”

“Sure is,” Eddie laughs, poking at one of her tiny toes in amazement. “Would you believe that you were even more little when you were a baby?” His grin deepens when Harris’s jaw drops in disbelief. “It’s true! You were the tiniest little thing I’ve ever seen.” As he says it, a lump forms in his throat, and he swallows it before anyone notices the catch in his voice. You don’t need to hear it, though, and you use your free hand to discreetly rub his back in silent reassurance.

Harris purses his lips as he stares at his new cousin, clearly unaffected by the anecdote. “Does she do any tricks?” 

His question has the entire group stifling laughter, and Eddie turns pink with embarrassment as he quickly explains, “she’s not a dog, buddy. And she was only born a few weeks ago, so she pretty much just eats, sleeps, and poops.”

“Ew,” Harris’s nose wrinkles in disgust at the last activity, though you’re willing to bet a large sum of money that he’s made at least one poop-related joke today. “So when can I teach her how to play Legos?”

“Not for a while,” Viv admits with a kind chuckle, “but when she’s ready, I promise that we’ll let her big cousin Harris show her how it’s done.”

Her answer placates him, at least temporarily, and he cautiously brushes his forefinger against Ettie’s scalp, smoothing down her wisps of hair. You take the moment to glance over at Eddie, only to find him looking right at you.

Hi, he mouths, though there’s so much more he wishes to say. When Harris was Ettie’s age, Eddie was exhausted, overwhelmed, constantly on the brink of breaking down. He’d sworn to himself and anyone else who would listen that he’d never go through the newborn stage again, but he’s mesmerized by the sight of you and Harris cuddling a baby. He wants this, he wants this with you, sleepless nights and spit-up stained clothes no longer strong enough deterrents.

Hi, you mouth back, suppressing words that ache to spill from your lips. Your pulse quickens at the way Eddie watches his son, not with scrutiny, but with admiration and awe, as though he can’t believe he’d created such a wonderful little human. Teaching children never translated over to a desire for motherhood, but you can suddenly picture yourself helping Harris hold your baby, a baby that symbolizes the love between you and Eddie.

“They look like a little family.” Robin’s attempted whisper grabs your attention; a brief scan of the room shows that everyone else is looking at her, too. Her cheeks flush a deep red and she mutters, “sorry,” swooping in to scoop Ettie into her arms. 

An awkward silence hangs in the air until Jess clears her throat. “How was work today?” she asks you, and though you don’t have an actual answer to the question, you’re grateful for the subject change.

“I took the day off,” you reply nonchalantly. “Wanted to catch up on rest, y’know…” You trail off, hoping your non-answer suffices.

“What about you, Ed?” Jeff tries.

“Oh, uh,” Eddie stammers, nervously running a hand through his hair, “I also took the day off.”

Jeff’s gaze flits between the two of you until he finally manages an elongated, “…cool.” 

Luckily, Harris is oblivious to the adults’ conversation. “Uncle Jeff, are you coming to my talent show next week?”

“Talent show?” Jeff glances at Eddie with an amused smirk. 

“Uh, yeah, ‘s this parent-kid thing at his school,” Eddie hurriedly explains, trying not to trip over his words. He’s still stuck on what he’s implied by admitting that he’d also called out of work. “I didn’t know how busy you’d be with Ettie—”

Viv smiles. “I think he can sneak out for an hour to see his favorite nephew.”

“Robs and I can help out here if you need,” Jess offers to her sister, “as long as Jeff brings the camcorder so we have video evidence of this performance.”

“Absolutely not.” Eddie shuts the idea down immediately, but his protest is drowned out by the sound of Harris cheering. 

“Daddy and I are gonna—”

Eddie claps a ringed hand over his son’s mouth. “It’s a surprise.” He looks at you for a moment, bashfulness infiltrating his expression with a timid smile and downcast eyes, and you realize that the surprise is for you. 

Harris wriggles out of Eddie’s grasp with a discontented sigh, sliding off the couch and onto thr floor. “I didn’t tell Ms. Sweetheart,” he protests, and Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose as he gathers any remaining patience. 

Ettie puckers up her face and lets out a wail that seems far too big for her teeny body, but it serves as the perfect reason to leave. You hug everyone goodbye and give the cranky baby’s feet a gentle tickle before you head out the door. Harris gallops ahead, giving Eddie the opportunity to guide you with a soft press of his hand to the small of your back. Before he's fully outside, he leans in to Jeff, whispering “I told her,” ending the statement with a grin. 

“My man!” Jeff grabs Eddie’s shoulder and gives it a small shake. “Let me know when to buy my tux for the wedding.”

“Jesus, you sound like Harris.”

Spending time at Hawkins Preschool outside of contracted work hours would normally be a scenario straight out of a nightmare. This afternoon; however, you’re here to see the most adorable little boy and his handsome dad perform some sort of mystery talent, which makes it all worthwhile.

The cafeteria has been transformed into an auditorium of sorts, with neat lines of metal folding chairs replacing the long tables that typically fill the space. An area at the front of the room has been sectioned off for the performances, and the entire place is abuzz with excitement about the adorableness that is about to ensue.

You spot Jeff and Wayne sitting in the third row from the back and you give them a little wave, bounding over to take the empty seat to Jeff’s left. The smile on your lips quickly transforms into a frown when you see him shake his head, placing his palm on the chair.

“I’m under strict orders to make sure you sit in the front row,” he says with a knowing smirk. He shoos you away, and you begrudgingly turn from their familiar faces, but not before catching a twinkle in Wayne’s eyes. 

Soon after you find a seat close to the makeshift stage, Principal Sinclair steps up to the microphone. 

“Welcome, friends and family, to our annual talent show fundraiser!” There’s a polite smattering of applause before she speaks again. “Our students—and their parents—have quite a show for you all. First up is Miss Abigail Carver and her mom, Chrissy, who will be performing a cheer routine!”

You clap as Abby and Chrissy step out, green and yellow pom-poms in hand. Your student recognizes you immediately, running over to give you a quick hug that elicits a resounding aww from the audience members.  She rushes back to her spot as she and her mother cheer on the Hawkins Tigers in unison. 

Next is another student of yours, Joshua Harrington. His dad hoists a Fisher Price basketball hoop and places it on the ground so the two of them can show off their “slam dunks.”

After a few more students from other classes, it’s finally the moment you’ve been waiting for. 

“Please welcome Harris Munson and his dad, Eddie, who will be singing a song!”

No sooner do you call out, “Yay, Harris!” do you hear it:

“Freak.”

It’s low enough that no one else catches it; you probably wouldn’t have, either, if the culprit wasn’t sitting directly behind you. You turn around to see Jason Carver, camcorder by his side, poorly stifling a snicker. 

Your hands clench, balled into fists, so tight that you feel your fingernails digging into your palms. It’s too tempting to smash his camera—no, smash his stupid face—but you inhale and then exhale for three seconds apiece. Today is about Harris and Eddie, and no overgrown bully is going to ruin that. 

Still, you have to bite back a smile at the thought of Jason sporting a black eye, courtesy of the Freak’s girlfriend herself. 

When Harris and Eddie take to the performance space, your anger evaporates and your heart becomes heavy with emotion. Harris is front and center, body slightly turned as he watches his dad get settled on a wooden stool and gives his acoustic guitar a tune. The boy dons a black suit that’s a size too big for him, his hands barely peeking out of the sleeves. He’s got on a tie that has to have been borrowed from an adult; you can’t imagine Eddie or Wayne wearing one, so maybe Jeff loaned it. The best part is the fedora that rests atop his messy mop of curls. 

“Hi, Ms. Sweetheart!” he says with a grin so wide it likely hurts his cheeks, letting out a shriek of delight when you wave. “This song is for you!”

Eddie murmurs a soft, “two, three, four,” and strums a melody that immediately has your eyes welling with tears. 

“You make me feel so young,” Harris croons, mouth right up to the mic, “you make me feel so spring has sprung!”

To anyone else, it seems like a silly play on the fact that he is, in fact, young. You know it’s so much more. 

“And every time I see you grin, I’m such a happy individual!” 

He’s singing Frank Sinatra. He’s dressed as Frank Sinatra. And you know it had to be Eddie’s idea, considering Harris’s musical repertoire teeters between Raffi and Metallica. 

He skips a few verses, and when he does, Eddie locks eyes with you and offers a tiny close-mouthed smile. 

“And even when I’m old and gray I’m gonna feel the way I do today ‘Cause you make me feel so young!”

You choke down the sob that threatens to escape as they circle back to the chorus. The memory of Grandma’s final Thanksgiving, consisting of singing along to Fly Me to the Moon and sharing store-brand Oreos, soars around your mind. The way she had so easily slipped back into her old self, if only for a moment. The way Eddie had held you and kissed your scalp, protecting you from a force no one could see but everyone could feel. 

“You make me feel so young You make me feel so young Ooh, you make me feel so young!”

The song ends and you leap to your feet, cheering just as loudly as you did the other night at the Hideout for Corroded Coffin. You swipe at a stray tear and force yourself to look at your boyfriend, so effortlessly beautiful in a black t-shirt and jeans. 

Thank you, you mouth. 

I love you, comes his silent reply. 

You gaze into each other’s eyes for another beat before you feel a thud against your legs. Harris stands right before you, ignoring the way all of the other kids proceeded out the door after their performances.

“Are those happy tears?” he asks, brows furrowing in concern as he notices your stained cheeks. When you nod, still too overcome with emotion to speak aloud, his face splits into a grin. “Good.” His arms wrap around your waist in a hug that nearly has you toppling over, and you rest your hand on his upper back to steady yourself.

“Easy, Har Bear,” Eddie’s voice is strong but tender, and your entire body relaxes in his presence. You want to pull him in by his belt loops and kiss him, running your fingers through his curls until you’re both smiling too hard to continue. If only you weren’t at your place of work, if only all eyes weren’t on you, if only–

“Looks like the Freak’s got a crush.”

A smattering of the audience members laugh at this, no one more so than the instigator himself. You whirl around reflexively, eyes narrowing at the smug blonde man behind you. Eddie takes a small step forward, quietly telling Harris to go back with his friends as he zeroes in on his longtime nemesis.

He’s going to hit him, you realize, noting the subtle clench of his jaw and twitch of his flexing bicep. I have to stop him before he does something he regrets.

Eddie’s hand shoots out, grabbing Jason’s collar and pulling him in with a jolt. There’s a soft gasp from the crowd followed by silence as everyone waits for Eddie’s next move. You can hear the scraping of metal chairs on the ground as Wayne and Jeff scramble to mitigate the situation before it can escalate further.

To your surprise–and relief–Eddie doesn’t throw any punches; instead, he grits his teeth and hisses, low enough so only you and Jason can hear:

“Don’t ever talk about her again.”

He lets go with a small shove, and Jason stumbles back just as Principal Sinclair arrives to break it up. While time came to a screeching halt, the whole interaction spanned fewer than ten seconds. 

Wayne and Jeff reach him first, guiding him out of the cafeteria. The older man keeps his eyes on his nephew, but Jeff shoots Jason a steely glare, insinuating that Jason had better heed Eddie’s warning if he wants to live to see his daughter go to kindergarten. You follow behind and attempt to keep your composure.

“I’m so sorry,” Eddie breathes as soon as the four of you are alone. “I shouldn’t have…I just fuckin’ hate that guy.” His eyes dance with anxiety, not sure whether to look at you, his friend, his uncle, or the ground.

You take his hands in yours, imploring him to focus on you as you reach up to brush his curls off of his face. “It’s okay–”

Eddie shakes his head. “I ruined everything. This was supposed to be about Harris, and about making you happy…” He takes a step back, rubbing his eyes with a low, exasperated, “fuck!”

“Baby–”

“I’m gonna get Harris,” Eddie starts to walk away, speaking to himself as though you hadn’t said a word, but he stops in his tracks when Wayne puts his hand on his shoulder.

“Listen to your girl,” he says simply, motioning for Jeff to come fetch Harris with him.

Eddie doesn’t dare protest, trudging back to face you. He’d fucked up royally, and he knew it. What was he thinking, putting his hands on Jason Carver in the middle of a goddamn preschool talent show?

“Eddie,” you take his hand in yours and give it a squeeze, “it’s okay. I’m not mad; I just wish he didn’t get under your skin like that.” You rub your thumb along his forefinger. “He’s not worth it, I promise.”

“I just…” Eddie mumbles, thoughts too scrambled to find the words he needs. He heaves a long sigh. “I shouldn’t have done it here.”

You can’t really argue with that; out of all of the places Eddie could fight Jason, your job wasn’t your favorite option. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” You press onto your toes to whisper in his ear. “I almost did the same thing earlier today.”

“Really?”

“Mhm,” you confirm, nudging the toe of your shoe against his scuffed sneaker. “And I have a feeling most people in this town would agree with me.” The notion makes Eddie smile, and you continue. “Let me take you and Ol’ Brown Eyes out for ice cream to celebrate your amazing performance. Please?” You throw a puppy-dog look his way, though he needs little convincing.

Still, a nagging thought tugs at him that he has to resolve before can allow himself to relax. “There might be people there. People we know.” People like Jason Carver and Carol Perkins, he silently adds. “It’s okay if you don’t want to…we can just grab a half-gallon from Bradley’s and bring it home.”

You shake your head, effectively turning down his offer. “I’m taking my boyfriend and his adorable son to Scoops Ahoy, and the three of us are gonna split a fudge sundae,” you say matter-of-factly. 

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Are you sure you’re okay with people knowing about us? Being branded ‘The Freak’s Girlfriend’? Hearing people gossip about whatever the Hawkins rumor mill has churned out?

The sensation of your lips on his tempers the overworked gear shifts in his brain. When you pull back, you’re smiling at him. 

“Positive.”

--

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[imaginespazzi]

Part 4: Warning Bells

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13

I don't think I can do this again (do you remember it too?)

(In which a self-admittedly all over the place writer takes you on a bit of a rollercoaster)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Fluff, Angst, Pining (the usuals)

Words: 6.1K

TW: Swearing, Mentions of Divorce

A/N: Hi lovelies :) Guess who made a deadline again? I'm as shocked as y'all are but I do wanna just warn y'all that August is gonna be really busy for me so as much as I'm gonna try to stick to schedule, there's a pretty good chance I won't. I really appreciate y'alls feedback with live-reacts/long reviews and it's truly the motivating factor behind my writing so pretty please keep sending them. I did edit (as usual) but please let me know the most likely existent typos anyway. As always, let me know what you liked, disliked and what you wanna see next. Have a lovely rest of your week my loves <3

March 2033 

Here’s what Azzi has learned about motherhood: having kids means that there will come many times in your life, when you will look around you and wonder how the hell did I get here. It’s that thought that’s currently plaguing her as she finishes hanging up the WELCOME HOME banner on the living room wall in her ex-girlfriend’s new apartment. And when she’s talking about kids, she’s not talking about her five year old who’s currently sticking purple hearts on every surface she can find. No, she’s talking about her 6’5 teammate who she’d once “adopted” as a joke in college, but who’s basically become her surrogate child ever since they’d ended up on the same WNBA team. 

It had started as a casual conversation when Jana, as she often did, had shown up for an impromptu lunch. The topic of Paige was hard to avoid considering it was Stephie’s favorite subject, heightened by the fact that Paige was coming back soon and Stephie was far too excited to finally have her Miss Buecks back. Jana was more than happy to indulge the little girl in conversation about what Paige had been like at UConn. And if Azzi had lost herself in those memories for a moment, transported back in time to a world that had once been blooming with promise before wilting in a darkness she’d created herself, well, she’d done an excellent job not letting it show on her face. 

The real issue had started when Jana had casually let slip her idea of surprising Paige with a little welcome party. And as Stephie had started reciting all the different things they could do -because of course me and Mama will help you Aunty J, Azzi had glared at Jana, only to receive an innocent smile in return that told her everything she needed to know. She’d been set up. 

That’s how, instead of spending her Saturday curled up on her comfortable couch with a book in her hands, Azzi is here instead and in true fashion, she’s the only one actually getting anything done. Jana, who had just left about twenty minutes ago to pick Paige up, had invited some of the other girls on the team to come help out yet, something about more hands on deck. Those supposed helpful hands had spent the last hour blowing up and popping balloons and getting nothing else done.

“I can’t believe y’all have me decorating for the woman who cost me my first national championship,” Joyce laments, “I still have nightmares from that game.”

“You gotta let that hurt go Aunty Joy,” Stephie says impishly, mimicking what Jana would normally say whenever the infamous 2025 South Carolina vs UConn national championship got brought up. 

“Don’t sass me Miss Stephanie,” Joyce sticks out her tongue at the little girl, throwing a purple balloon at Stephie’s head, “hasn’t your Mama taught you that we don’t mock people’s pain.”

“Ignore her Steph,” Tessa says, bumping her former Gamecock teammate as she shares a devilish grin with Azzi’s daughter, “she’s just upset she only won one. Some of us have two.”

Joyce guffaws, throwing another balloon, this time aimed at Tessa, “dude we’re supposed to be on the same team. What would Coach Staley say to you teaming with UConn people of all things to bully me?”

“She’d thank me for making sure you didn’t get a big head,” Tessa snipes back. 

Whatever response Joyce has to that quip is cut short by the doorbell ringing and Azzi feels her heartbeat quicken as Stephie lets out a squeal, dropping everything to go answer it. Things had been different since the facetime call almost two weeks ago. They’d accidentally on purpose settled into a routine where Stephie would call Paige at exactly 7 p.m. and Paige would answer on the first ring, promising to stay on the phone till the little girl fell asleep. And it would’ve been fine if that’s all it was. But then Paige started staying on the phone till after Stephie fell asleep and suddenly it was like they were back to their teenage selves, talking about everything and nothing, trying to learn every page of each other’s story all over again. 

Azzi had missed so much about Paige in the last couple of years but there was nothing she’d missed more than just talking to her best friend. She’d missed the way Paige would tell a story, going off on a million tangents in between. She’d missed the way her eyes would light up when she got to a particularly exciting part of the story, specks of gold shimmering in the blue like sunlight hitting the ocean. She’d missed the way Paige’s hands would be flying animatedly all over the place, even when she was whispering. She’d missed the way the blonde would pause halfway through to observe if Azzi was still listening, making sure all of the attention was still on her. And she’d missed the way that when it was Azzi’s turn to speak, Paige would hang onto every word like it was gospel, intently listening like she’d never forgive herself if she couldn’t recite everything Azzi had just said from memory. She’d missed the way Paige would let her emotions freely flicker across her face, because whatever happened to Azzi, Paige felt it too. 

She’d missed and missed, convinced the pain would be the end of her, until she’d tricked her mind into forgetting. And now Azzi’s beginning to realize that remembering it all again, might just be the thing that kills her. 

“Nevermind,” Stephie walks back to the room, sulking slightly, “it’s just Aunty Liyah.”

“Oh thanks Stephie babe. That makes me feel so wonderful,” Aaliyah says, walking in behind Stephie with an offended expression on her face, “and here I thought bringing cupcakes would make me popular.”

“Tell me those are store-bought Chavez. I ain’t trusting them if you made them yourselves,” Joyce says, side-eyeing the cupcakes. 

“Trust me I would never waste my precious time baking for y’all ungrateful ass-”

“Aaliyah,” Azzi shoots her younger teammate a sharp look.

“-ungrateful people,” Aaliyah corrects sheepishly, “cupcakes because y’all clearly don’t appreciate me.”

“I pre-ciate you Aunty Liyah,” Stephie says innocently, trying to get a better look at the aforementioned cupcakes, “you got the pu-ple ones right? They have to be pu-ple for Miss Buecks.”

Aaliyah bends down to Stephie’s level to show her the box of sweet treats “the perfect purple cupcakes for your Miss Buecks. How come you never wanna do nice things like this for us Stephie?”

“Because Miss Buecks is special,” Stephie retorts matter-of-factly.

“Oh so we’re not special?” Tessa asks, raising an eyebrow at Stephie.

“‘Course you are but Miss Buecks is special-er.”

And while her teammates all pretend to dramatically gasp at that, shaking their heads at Stephie, Azzi feels like someone’s squeezing her heart, twisting and twisting but never fully breaking it. She wonders if that might hurt less.

It’s another 10 minutes later when the doorbell rings again and Azzi watches her daughter’s face break into an incandescent grin, filled with hope, as she rushes to open the door because it has to be Paige this time. Azzi follows after her, trying to keep her breathing under control as anticipation clings to her nerves. Azzi’s gotten so spectacularly good at lying to herself that she tells herself this next one with ease: there’s not a single part of her that’s eager to see Paige again. 

“SURPRISE,” Stephie screams, flinging the front door open with as much strength as she can muster. She doesn’t give Paige a chance to react before she’s throwing herself against the blonde’s legs, hugging her thighs. 

It takes a second for Paige to register what’s happening, but when she does, it’s Azzi she’s looking at. Everything seems to move in slow motion as they stare at each other, the reality of the moment suddenly settling in. Paige is here. In Oakland. They’re going to be teammates; they’re going to see each other almost every day. Just like they used to. Except nothing is like it used to be and as that bitter truth comes up like bile in Azzi’s throat, she has to force herself to look away. 

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie calls out, tugging at the hem of Paige’s white shirt to get her attention, “do you like my surprise?”

Paige tears her eyes away from Azzi, leaning down to pick Stephie up before peppering her faces with kisses and making the younger girl squeal in delight, “best surprise ever.”

And Azzi really, really, can’t watch this. Not when it makes her want to walk over and cocoon herself in with the two of them, makes her want to pretend that she’s living in another life, one where she hadn’t thrown away the chance of a happily ever after with the girl she’d fallen in love with at fourteen, 

“Oh yeah Stephie, your surprise. Take all the credit. Not like the rest of us did anything,” Joyce rolls her eyes goodnaturedly, before pulling Paige into a one-armed hug, “welcome to the Bay Area Bueckers.”

Tessa and Aaliyah are next, both sharing warm hugs with their new teammate. Once they’ve had their turn, all eyes seem to turn to Azzi expectantly and the brunette blanches under their gaze. Other than Jana, who suddenly seems pretty heavily interested in the doorframe, the rest of her teammates don’t know about her past with Paige. So it’s only natural they’d expect her to greet Paige with all the cordiality of an old friend. 

“Y’all good?” Joyce asks slowly, looking between the two of them, “do you want me to introduce y’all or?”

“Shut up,” Azzi murmurs before drawing in a deep breath and stepping towards Paige. She tries not to fixate on the way Paige’s jaw flexes when the blonde swallows, tries not to think about all the patterns she’d once carved against that little patch of skin because she knew it drove Paige insane. The thing is Azzi can’t even really remember the last time they hugged beyond a for-the-cameras one at a game. But as she wraps her arms around Paige, the older woman’s breath tickling against her ear as she grips Azzi’s waist, it doesn’t feel that much different from how it used to be. Paige’s arms are still safe and strong and Azzi still wants to melt into them. But what’s different is that Stephie’s in between them now, tiny hands securely fastened around both of their necks. And Azzi almost, almost gives into the feeling of belonging as she whispers two simple words that mean just a little too much.

“Welcome home.”

***

Seven pairs of eyes watch as the movers move box after box after box into Paige’s apartment, until there’s more cardboard than floor visible. The three non-UConn girlies are wide-eyed as they watch the pile grow endlessly. Meanwhile Jana is laughing while Azzi tries to hide a smile behind her hands as the realization that she’d have to unpack all of her stuff hits Paige in waves, and her expression grows more and more somber. Once the movers are finally done, it’s Stephie, whose hand is still firmly clasped in Paige’s, who breaks the silence. 

“You have a lot of things Miss Buecks,” the little girl crinkles her nose, as she points out the obvious, “do you really need all of this stuff.”

“Of course I do Stephie,” Paige says indignantly and Azzi scoffs, earning her a withering glare from the blond. 

“Aight well it was nice to meet you-” Joyce starts, slowly backing away from the mess until Jana blocks her way. 

“Oh no you don’t. I told y’all we were all gonna help her move in. Call it team bonding,” the Egyptian says, her voice vaguely threatening. 

“Most of the team isn’t even here,” Aaliyah points out cautiously. 

“That’s not the point,” Jana rebukes, “alright team listen up. Here’s how this is going to go-”

“Maybe Paige should take charge. It is her apartment,” Tessa says slowly. 

“If we put Paige in charge she’ll tell us all to go home and procrastinate doing anything until after the season,” Azzi says, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. 

Paige pouts, “hey! I’m not that bad.”

“Oh you absolutely are.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“O-kay,” Jana claps, breaking apart the bickering, “it’s good to see the two of you are apparently younger than Stephie,” she holds up a hands a both Paige and Azzi start to splutter in their defense, “now as I was saying before being rudely interrupted. We’re gonna split this up. Joyce and I are gonna do the living room. Aaliyah and Tessa, y’all are gonna fix the guest room. Which leaves,” Jana smiles, and it’s only because Azzi knows her so well that she can read the menacing sparkle behind it, “Paige and Azzi to tackle the master bedroom.”

They both open their mouths to protest but are quick to get cut off by an excited Stephie, “I’mma help Mama and Miss Buecks!”

“Of course you are, why would you ever help anybody else? Clearly you don’t love us anymore. Not since your precious Miss Buecks got here,” Joyce says dramatically and while Paige smirks and the rest of the girls pretend to act mock offended, Azzi uses the distraction to sidle up to Jana. 

“What the fuck are you playing at El-Alfy,” she hisses under hear breath.

Jana shrugs innocently, “the master bedroom is the hardest because Paige has so many fucking clothes so I’m letting y’all old heads do it. Some of us are below 30 ya know.”

“Cut the bullshit,” Azzi snaps. 

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about Fudd,” Jana says airily as she starts to unpack a box, leaving Azzi muttering curses under her breath. 

“Hey-”

Azzi spins around at the soft voice, only to find herself crashing against a solid body. It’s instinct, the way Paige’s hands immediately reach out to steady her and it’s instinct, the way Azzi’s hands grab at the lapels of the blond’s shirt. Goosebumps trails up her skin as Paige's breath, hot and heavy, fans across her face. They’re too close; way too close and yet the idea of stepping away feels like a sin. Azzi gulps as her thumb accidentally brushes Paige’s collarbone and the other woman shivers under her touch. She thinks she could probably get drunk off the feeling of knowing that she can still affect Paige like that. 

“You uh-” Paige swallows, fingers squeezing involuntarily against Azzi’s hip, “you don’t have to listen to Jana. I can- I can figure it out myself.”

“N-no,” Azzi stutters and she wonders if Paige feels a high from the way she still affects Azzi too, “there’s um- you have- uh- you have a lot of stuff. I can-,” she sucks in a deep breath, “I’ll help.”

“You sure?” there’s a vulnerable edge to Paige’s tone and any resolve Azzi could ever have melts immediately. 

“I want to help,” she says softly, letting a small smile slip onto her lips. 

The smile she gets in return is bright and sparkling, just like Paige herself and Azzi’s heart lurches, pleased to be the one receiving it, pleased to be the one who’d elicited it, “Good, cause I really wanted your help.”

Azzi shakes her head, trying to ignore the warning bells blazing in her head at the fact that they’re still holding each other, “why’d you pretend you didn’t?”

“I just wanted to hear you say it first,” Paige says, biting at her bottom lip. It leaves a light mark and Azzi finds herself wanting to soothe it over with her own tongue.

She thinks it might have been easier if it was just a little harder to fall back into Paige. It shouldn’t be so simple to fall back into late night conversations, so simple to fall back into easy teasing, so simple to fall back into feeling at peace in Paige’s arms. But it is. 

“Mama, Miss Buecks,” it’s Stephie who breaks their bubble but instead of jumping away from each other like they should, they step apart only enough to let the little girl into the space between them, so she can lace her hands through both of theirs, “are you ready?”

“Before you go Paige,” Tessa calls out, holding up a clear bag of corner guards and edge protectors, “what are we doing with these?”

Paige shuffles her feet nervously, “you um- you put them on the edge of like tables and stuff.”

“Bro but they’re for people who have children?” Joyce says, giving Paige a weird look, “you have a kid we don’t know about?”

Paige’s eyes flicker to Stephie for a brief second and Azzi freezes, a warm realization tickling up her spine. Butterflies erupt in her stomach, their wings fluttering to the beat of what’s mine could have been ours. 

“Of course not. I’m just super clumsy so precautions and all that,” the blond explains, shooting Jana a glare when the taller woman barely masks a giggle, “quit procrastinating by asking all these questions and get to work.”

“Has anyone ever told you the importance of first impressions? Because I’m telling you Bueckers, using your teammates as unpaid labor the first time you meet them is not it,” Aaliyah gives Paige a pointed look. 

“This wasn’t even my idea in the first place,” Paige defends. 

“True,” Tessa nods with a sickly sweet smile, “but you’re gonna pay for the pizza anyways.”

“I’m not pay-”

“PIZZA,” Stephie squeals, “Miss Buecks you’re gonna get us Pizza?”

“Yeah Miss Buecks,” Azzi smickers, crossing her arms as Paige’s stubborn retort dies on her lips, “you gonna get us pizza?”

Paige glares at her before she’s swinging Stephie up onto her lap again. And she really needs to stop doing things like that because it’s not remotely good for Azzi’s mental health to watch the way Stephie seems to fit perfectly in Paige’s arms, “of course I am Steph, what do you want?”

The two of them are lost in their own world discussing pizza toppings as Paige starts walking over to the master bedroom, until suddenly they're both turning around, looking at Azzi with identical expressions. And the brunette feels her heart tap out this could be my everything against her ribcage. 

“You coming Azzi?”

“Mama, are you coming?”

I’d go anywhere with the two of you, Azzi thinks as she nods her head, a light skip in her step as she moves to catch up with the two of them. 

“Of course I’m coming.”

***

Less than 10 minutes into trying to unpack, Azzi realizes that she’s the only one trying to unpack anything when she looks up from where she’s been folding t-shirts -trying and failing at not breathing in their familiar scent- to find Stephie decked in a colorful cardigan that goes all the way down to her toes, her feet clad in a pair of PB4’s that must be three times the size of her own shoes. A pair of Louis Vuitton sunglasses hide almost her entire face as she strikes pose after pose and Paige diligently takes pictures of her. 

“YES Stephie,” the blond indulges, “work it girl. There you go babe, hold that pose for me. You’re a natural in front of the camera.”

Stephie giggles and Azzi feels her heart constrict. Her favorite sound in the whole world has never sounded more like a signal for danger. 

“Ahem ahem,” she coughs, narrowing her eyes at the two people in front of her, “doesn’t look like y’all are unpacking to me.”

“Mama Miss Buecks has so many pretty clothes,” Stephie gushes, completely ignoring what her mother just said. 

“They’d look even prettier folded in her closet,” Azzi says pointedly. 

Stephie pouts, “you don’t think I look pretty?”

“You look really pretty in my clothes Stephie,” Paige cuts in, tapping the little girl on the nose before she turns her gaze towards Azzi, “just like your Mama used to.”

The silk material shirt slips out of Azzi’s hand as Paige’s words drizzle around her, like the rain after a drought. It takes every little bit of strength she can muster to force herself to ignore Paige’s words and pick up another shirt to fold even if she can’t stop the rouge tint that colors her face. There’s this part of her that’s been dormant for years but every little interaction with Paige threatens to awaken it and Azzi’s scared that if she lets that happen, she’ll never be able to put it to sleep again. 

“Just- just focus on unpacking,” Azzi mutters darkly. 

She spends the next hour or so, keeping her eyes downcast, her complete focus on the task at hand. Because if she looks up, if she lets herself see the way Stephie and Paige are folding clothes together while giggling about something, if she lets herself see the way Stephie climbs onto Paige’s back so the woman can give her a piggyback to the closet to deposit the folded clothes, she thinks she could fall in love with this moment, capture it behind her eyelids and let it live there forever. But this moment doesn’t belong to Azzi. Because Paige doesn’t belong to Azzi. Not anymore. 

Azzi’s taken away from her thoughts when she feels a tiny hand wrapping around her neck from behind, Stephie’s warm body pressing against her back and just like that, all the tension in her muscles seem to dissipate. 

“What’s up sweetheart,” she asks, turning her head to press her lips against her daughter’s temple. 

“Nothing Mama,” Stephie says sweetly, “just wanted to give you a hug.”

“Sure you’re not just trying to get out of helping Miss Buecks unpack?” Azzi asks slyly, pulling Stephie from behind her, so the little girl’s lying on her lap instead. She can feel Paige’s eyes focused on the two of them and even without looking, she thinks she knows what she’d find in them if she did. 

“Of course not Mama,” Stephie grins and then squeals as Azzi begins to tickle her. 

“I think you are,” Azzi sings-songs as she continues to poke at her daughter’s stomach, reveling in the way it makes the child laugh. 

“N-no Mama stop, stop,” Stephie manages to wrench herself out from Azzi’s grip, darting to hide behind Paige’s legs, “Miss Buecks save me.”

“There’s no saving you now Stephie-bear,” Azzi roars dramatically as she picks herself off the floor, smirking at her daughter as she wriggles her fingers menacingly. 

“You know what the best way to stop someone from tickling you is Stephie?” Paige says slowly, sending the little girl a conspiratorial wink.

“Don’t you dare-” 

“You tickle them back,” Paige yells and Stephie eyes widen with excitement, “did you know your Mama’s extremely ticklish?”

“Paige no,” Azzi starts moving back, hands held in surrender. 

“You started it.”

“Yeah Mama, you started it.”

“Paige. Stephie. Ple-” Azzi cuts herself off with squeal as two sets of hands start mercilessly prodding at her ribcage. She can’t get away, not when Paige has her securely wrapped from the back and Stephie’s pressed against her front, both of them laughing maniacally. They’re a mess of limbs that’s becoming harder and harder to tell apart as the three of them topple onto Paige’s bed. And Azzi thinks maybe she doesn’t want to escape it at all. She thinks she’d like to freeze them in this moment instead. Forever. 

“Pizza’s here,” someone yells from the living room and it’s Stephie who stops first, immediately jumping off the bed at the mention of food, leaving Paige and Azzi alone. On Paige’s bed. Barely an inch of distance between them as they try to catch their breath. It’s Azzi who sits up first, smoothening the wrinkles on her shirt. And just as she’s about to stand up fully, she feels a hand circling around her wrist. 

“It’s gonna be weird being alone tonight,” Paige confesses softly and Azzi feels her breath hitch.

“Didn’t you live alone in Dallas? At least after the divorce?” she tries to keep the bitterness out of her voice at the last word, a bitterness she knows she has absolutely no right to feel. 

Paige shrugs, her shoulders brushing against Azzi’s, “I did but I knew Dallas. I don’t know this place.”

“What exactly are you asking me?” Azzi asks even though she knows. 

“I’m not asking you anything. I don’t know if I have that right anymore” Paige says softly, letting go of Azzi’s wrist as she starts to walk towards the living room, turning her head back slightly once she gets to the door, “I’m just telling you I don’t wanna be alone tonight.”

***

Damn Paige Bueckers and her vulnerable eyes and her earnest tone because Azzi would, really, really like to be enjoying her slice of pizza right now. Instead everything tastes like ashes as Paige’s unsaid plea rings in her head. There are so many reasons why Azzi absolutely shouldn’t give in, why she should grab Stephie, get into her car, drive home and never look back. This involuntary dance the two of them are starting is far too familiar to what they’d done when they were teenagers and the vivid memories of the day the music stopped and they’re feet stopped moving still haunt Azzi every time she lets herself think of it for a little too long. And she shouldn’t push herself into this fire again, not when there’s Stephie to think about, but there’s a tiny little problem. She thinks she might be addicted to burning in Paige’s flames. 

So when the pizza’s done and the house is more or less in order, and her teammates are ready to leave, looking expectantly at Azzi, she finds herself leaping into lava, “um- I think Stephie and I are gonna stay for a little bit longer.”

“We are?” Stephie asks, a huge smile stretching the length of her face as she looks up at her mother. 

“Yeah. Um- Paige’s bedroom still um- still needs some work,” Azzi tries to justify her decision, ignoring the heat of the blond’s eyes that seem to be perpetually stuck staring at her. 

Joyce raises a perplexed eyebrow, “it looked done to me.”

Paige clears her throat, “there’s definitely uh- a couple more things that need to be handled.”

“It’s almost Stephie’s bedtime. I could stay and help-” Jana begins, eyeing the two of them suspiciously.

“No,” Paige says, a little louder than necessary, “I mean you’ve already done so much for me today Jana,” she manages a smirk, “let Azzi pull her weight a little bit too ya know.”

Janna narrows her eyes but doesn’t push it. It’s oddly domestic, standing side by side with Paige bidding goodbye to their teammates, Stephie in between them happily waving at the people that are leaving. The warning bells get louder and louder; Azzi continues to do nothing to stop them. 

“Mama, how long are we staying?” Stephie asks innocently. 

“We um-” Azzi chews at her lip, finally giving into the temptation to look at Paige, “we’re gonna stay with Miss Buecks tonight so she doesn’t feel alone.”

The shrill scream that escapes Stephie’s mouth could probably break glass as she turns herself around to grab at Paige’s waist, “Miss Buecks I’m gonna stay with you! We’re gonna have a sleep-over.”

Paige laughs, kneeling down so she’s face to face with the little girl, “yeah we are.”

“Are you scared to sleep alone too Miss Buecks?” Stephie asks cautiously, cupping Paige’s face with tiny hands. 

“Just a little bit,” Paige admits, leaning into Stephie’s touch. 

“Me too,” Stephie whispers shyly, “that’s why I sneak into Mama's bed and she gives me lots and lots and lots of cuddles. Mama’s cuddles are the best,” she turns to Azzi, “Mama will you give Miss Buecks cuddles tonight too?”

“I uh-” Azzi swallows, taken aback by the question, “I thought you didn’t like sharing Mama’s cuddles?”

“I don’t,” Stephie agrees, “but I’d be okay sharing them with Miss Buecks.”

***

Azzi had planned -a loose term because really she hadn’t planned on any of this- for her and Stephie to take the guest room. Paige had been ready to give up her own room on the grounds of politeness. And Stephie was insistent that she needed to sleep in between both Mama and Miss Buecks tonight because it’s a sleepover we all have to stay together. Obviously out of the three of them, only one of them was going their way and it didn’t take a genius to figure out who that would be.  That’s how they’d ended up here, dragging chairs and pillows and blankets into the middle of the living room to create a makeshift fort. 

Azzi’s putting on the finishing touches, stringing purple fairy lights Paige had produced out of nowhere, when Stephie emerges from Paige’s bedroom where she’d gone looking for something to wear in lieu of pajamas. 

“Mama look what I found,” Stephie beams, proudly pointing at the black t-shirt she’s found that covers her whole body, “it’s you and Miss Buecks when you were littler.”

It’s their SLAM cover t-shirt and Azzi feels tears prickling at her waterline as she’s met with the picture of a younger version of the two of them. Back when they’d been so hopeful and carefree, ready to take on the world as long as they could do it together. Back when they’d been 2 in a million.

“I can’t believe you still have this,” Azzi whispers, unable to stop herself from running her fingers across the version of who they used to be. She wonders what those girls would think of them now; those girls who’d laid and bed and pinky promised forever. She thinks they’d probably be appalled at the fact that Paige and Azzi had spent eight years barely speaking. She thinks maybe they’d hate her for what she’d done. She thinks maybe she hates herself a little bit for what she’s done to them. 

Paige is leaning against the wall, her voice quiet when she speaks, “I couldn’t let it go.”

And they both know she’s not talking about the shirt. 

“Can we watch a movie?” Stephie asks, diving into the fort and peering up at the two adults. 

Paige recovers first, “yeah- yeah of course Steph,” she looks at Azzi, “do you- do you want something else to sleep in?”

“I’m good,” Azzi says, trying to inconspicuously brush away a rebellious tear. The shirt she’s wearing feels itchy against her skin but she doesn’t think she could handle wearing something of Paige’s. She scooches into the fort, leaning back against one of the pillows and Stephie’s quick to curl into her and Azzi absentmindedly rubs her hands down her daughter’s back. Paige switches on the TV, letting Stephie dictate a movie choice before letting herself into the fort, laying down on Stephie’s other side. 

“Miss Buecks come cuddle,” Stephie demands from where her head is laying on Azzi’s chest. When Paige hesitates, the younger girl takes it upon herself to pull Paige’s arms over her, making the older woman lie on her side so she can drape her hands over Stephie's stomach, accidentally brushing against Azzi’s ribcage. Stephie lets out a satisfied sigh, lying back down against Azzi, crossing her arms so she can hold Paige’s hand with one and latch onto her mother with the other. 

“Perfect.”

And it is. The sound of Stephie’s chatter slowly fading away mixed with Paige’s quiet breathing is the perfect lullaby and Azzi finds herself drifting off into the best sleep she’s had in years. 

***

Sunlight peeks in through the window and Azzi groans at the interruption. Her whole body feels a little stiff, not used to sleeping on the floor like this. A quick glance at her phone tells her it’s 7 a.m. and Azzi’s just about to let herself fall back asleep when her eyes land on the two sleeping figures next to her. Stephie’s face is buried in Paige’s neck, one arm slung over her waist. Paige, mouth slightly ajar as she sleeps, has both hands fastened on the younger, holding her tightly against her chest like she’d fight the world if someone tried to steal her from her grip. They look happy, content, at peace. And Azzi can’t breathe. 

The warning bells in her head create a cacophonous commotion that she can no longer escape. It hits her like whiplash that she can’t do this. She doesn’t know what had gotten into her last night, why she’d agreed to this, to any of this. But she can’t do this. 

“Stephie,” Azzi whispers urgently, trying to pull her daughter out of Paige’s grasp, “Stephie wake up.”

“Az?” Paige asks groggily, stirring in her sleep, “what’s going on?”

“We need to go home,” Azzi says and she can’t bear to look at Paige. 

“What?” Paige is far more awake now as she glances at her phone, “it’s 7 am Azzi. What’s the rush?"

Azzi ignores her, still trying to wake Stephie up who groans, “Mama too early.”

“Steph-”

“Azzi,” Paige’s voice is firm as she wraps her hand around Azzi’s wrist, slipping Stephie off of her, “what is going on.”

Azzi grits her teeth, “nothing’s going on. We just need to go home.”

“Azzi-”

“We shouldn’t have stayed last night Paige,” Azzi bursts out and Paige freezes. 

“Come out of the fort Azzi,” the blond says, her voice eerily calm as she stands up. Azzi follows after her, heart beating rapidly against her chest as she tries to keep the tears at bay. 

“We need to go home,” the brunette repeats, struggling to breathe, “this was a mistake,” Paige flinches and Azzi feels a knife turn in her own hurt, “we can’t do this.”

“Do what Azzi?” Paige asks exasperatedly, still trying to keep her voice low for Stephie’s sake. 

“This,” Azzi all but shrieks, throwing her hands up, “it’s too much, too quick and Stephie- Stephie’s getting attached and I can’t- I can’t let that happen.”

“Why not?” Paige argues stubbornly. 

“Because these last two weeks she couldn’t fall asleep without you on the phone. Because you’re all she talks about sometimes. Because she’s gonna want you forever,” Azzi’s voice breaks, “and she can’t have you forever.”

“Az-”

“And you’re getting attached too. I see the way you look at her and it’s amazing but it’s not- it’s not sustainable Paige. For either of you. Because you’re gonna find someone soon,” the words taste sour on Azzi’s tongue, “and you’re not gonna have time for her and missing you is going to kill her and the guilt of that is going to hurt you. I’m trying to pro-”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Paige’s voice is hard now, eyes gleaming with fire, “you’re basing all of this on a hypothetical that might not even come true. You’re not protecting anybody. You’re projecting.”

Azzi reels back, “I am not projecting.”

“Yes you are,” Paige hisses, “you’re not scared of Stephie or me getting too attached. You’re scared of yourself getting too attached.”

“Mama? Miss Buecks,” Stephie’s tired eyes look warily between the two of them, “what’s going on?”

Azzi plasters a smile on her face as she picks up her little girl, trying to pretend that the truth in Paige’s words haven’t just made her feel hollow, “we’re going home Stephie.”

“I don’t wanna go home,” Stephie fights against Azzi’s grip, looking helplessly at Paige, “Miss Buecks I wanna stay. Can I please stay?”

“You have to listen to your Mama sweetheart” Paige says softly, heartbreak written over her face as she moves to press a kiss against Stephie’s knuckles, “but I’ll see you soon okay. I promise.”

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie whimpers and Azzi has never hated herself more as she rushes out of Paige’s new house, willing herself to not look back. She buckles Stephie in the back, pretending she doesn’t see the way Paige is watching them leave from the porch, like she’d do anything to stop it. And then she drives away. 

It isn’t until she’s safely in the confines over her own room, that Azzi finally lets the tears fall. And she consoles herself with the fact that it’s okay to crack her daughter's heart, to crack Paige’s heart, to crack her own heart, if that’s the only way she can stop their hearts from breaking altogether.

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (Part 8)

⟢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 11 - Caught Part 12 - Eddie Part 13 - The Release Part 14 - Someone like her smutty💦

Part 8 - Trust

Detective Brady is sharper than you initially thought, though Alastor is (seemingly) unfazed by the threat. While you both explore the idea of ‘home’ a familiar face shows up at your apartment.

「Warnings/Tags: Human Alastor x Fem Burlesquer reader, Detective Brady exists a lot and maybe too much, fingering lol, phone calls, almost our first fight, stress, Disney mom rule, Ruth is pretty alright for now, Brenda」

forgot to tag you in the deleted scene for TRDFAHS

M👻D☠️N👽I😈

Your mother always said ‘Anger is your sword and shield’. So you postured yourself as someone mad. One hip out, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

“Sir I don’t appreciate a man in a lady’s space.”

Brady bit his tongue, wanting to say something sharp.

 I don’t see any ladies here.

 He met the glares of the women behind you. “Ah, well-,”

“Do you really expect her to leave in her robe?”

“Aren’t you the man whose been stalking her?”

“Autumn I’ll go with you.”

“You want her to get into a strange man’s car?”

He felt like a fox about to be pecked to death by the hens.

“Now-! Alright I’m seeing I maybe,” he set your shoes down and slid past you and between the other performers, “got a little eager to speak to you.”

“Does Janet know you like to hang around burlesquers?” Someone said as his back was turned.

Like having ice water poured over his head, his shoulders tensed as did his tone. “I’ll be right out the door.”

You tried to hide the tremble in your hands, but failed. Ruth slid beside you, “What do you need?”

A phone. But the cord wouldn’t reach that far. You wanted to tell Alastor. You needed him to know that detective had you cornered and knew of his existence.

“Could you stay with me? I’m not going anywhere. But I’ll feel safer if I’m not talking to him alone. In case he tries to drag me out. He seems a little off his rocker.” You were genuinely scared he would grab you by the arm and pull you out of the theater if he didn’t think anyone would see. 

She patted your back, the others filing in to continue with their work of getting dressed and undressed. You took your time, trying to plan what you would say.

Brady felt an embarrassed blush take hold as the women moved past him with scowls and tsks. He could feel a little bit of his sanity slip back now that you were in front of him. 

“I have some questions about Tommy. I’ve been trying to talk to you for weeks. We can head down now.”

Oddly, your mother also taught you, ‘You catch more flies with honey than vinegar.’ 

She didn’t always make a lot of sense, contradicting herself daily. 

Time to use the tried and true tactic, “I am sorry, detective. I had some trouble recently and have been keeping to myself… going home as soon as possible. Just trying to keep my nose clean. So to speak.”

Brady watched you look up at him with a face his daughter often gave him when she was in trouble. But you weren’t a child and you surely weren’t his daughter. “That’s no excuse to dodge me.”

Your turn to bite your tongue, “Of course, sir.”

Ruth was… confused. She’d never seen you so obedient. You had more venom in your voice after taking a hit from Tommy knowing a third could be close behind. Why were you being so small?

“Are you ready to go?” He fished in his pocket for his car door keys. 

Ruth felt the need to interject, “She’s not going anywhere.”

Perfect.

You nodded, “I won’t be out at night, sir. You know better than most about the dangers.” Your dangers. Your darling Alastor.

“No, no no,” an unhinged chuckle from the fraying detective, “You’re not slipping away again. I have my car, I’ll take you there and bring you home.”

Ruth looked to you, then back to the detective, “Is she under arrest?”

Brady rolled his eyes, “Of course not.”

“Then? What gives you the right?”

Technically, nothing. He didn’t need to talk to you. His lead still stood. But maybe you’d slip and say something to expedite his search for the radio man. Maybe this would only end with Tommy. But he felt something tickling the back of his skull. An urge to not stop pushing.

“I’ll meet you at the station tomorrow morning. Is it the address on the card you gave me?” Maybe you would, maybe you wouldn’t. You just needed him gone so you could call Alastor. 

He was shaking his notebook, key looped onto his finger. A nervous habit. “You still have my card?”

A smile, “Of course. In case any news came up. I’d have called but I didn’t realize you were so worked up.”

He scoffed. He wasn’t worked up. He was just annoyed. Maybe a little rougher in demeanor than usual but whose fault was that?

“If you don’t turn up tomorrow-,”

Ruth, taller than most women and some men and wide at the shoulders, leaned in.

Brady’s eyeline adjusted from yours to Ruth’s. Skye Scraper wasn’t just a pun, it was a cruel nickname she took ownership of. “Finish that sentence.”

The conversation ended there, Brady leaving with a huff.

You’d memorized the number the night Alastor gave it to you, too scared to write it down. He warned you though he wouldn’t be the one to answer.

“Is Alastor still there?” You tried to smile so you sounded less panicked. Ruth mouthed his name and pretended to swoon as you held the phone close to your ear. 

“Uhh depends, who is this?” Brenda answered, a voice you’d never heard but a woman Alastor had primed you for. 

“….”, but why hadn’t you thought through this part, what name was safe? Which was recognizable? You didn’t like the idea of this woman knowing your name. “Tell him it’s Autumn.”

“….” 

You laughed at Ruth, waiting still for a reply from Brenda, “Hello?”

“Is this a crank? Autumn like the season? I-,” a commotion, “Hey there! No. I don’t know. Well it’s past hours anywa-.”

Alastor was lying across Brenda’s desk to reach the phone, having wrestled it from the woman’s grip, “I’m here. What’s wrong? I was about to leave.”

“I’ll walk home tonight.” It hurt, physically hurt, to say it.

Alastor tried to keep his face neutral, “Oh.” Nervous fingers twirling the cord, “One second.” 

Harsh whispers, some clicks, and he was back, “I’m in my office. What happened?”

“Yeah Ruth is with me. It’s okay. I’ll call you like normal tomorrow?” 

“Should I swing by your apartment?” He considered doing it regardless of your answer.

“Ah, no. I wouldn’t recommend it. I’ll be heading to the police station early tomorrow so I’ll be asleep as soon as I’m flat.” Putting your hand over the receiver, you spoke to Ruth, “Thank you, we got it figured out.”

His heart sank to his stomach, “Did he finally manage to catch you?”

“Yeah. Or—-,” your voice cracked a little, the fear rolling in as soon as Ruth walked away, “Yeah.”

“I’m coming over to the theater.”

Cupping the phone you curved your shoulders in and turned away from the staff milling about, “Don’t, that’s worse.” Tears stung your eyes. You felt like you’d failed him. You had somehow, hadn’t you? The loose thread Brady could grab ahold of was you.

“If you can’t come to the alley I’ll leave after a couple minutes. But I’ll be there in twenty, same time as our normal pick up.”

“Alastor, that’s reckless.”

“Please, dear, I don’t want our first fight to be over my work line.” A calming breath, “You don’t have to meet me, but I’ll be there. Just five minutes, then I’ll be off.”

You decided the safest thing to do was to wait in the alley. If you saw any signs of Brady or anyone coming out, you’d go back inside and just miss the meeting. But the idea of Alastor being just beyond the wall, waiting all alone, was too much.

But how much harder would it be if the wall was of the prison? Or worse, dense earth under your feet? That’s what Brady was wanting. 

You hadn’t realized you’d been chewing your nails until his car turned down the alley from the back and you tore off much of the length of your thumbnail.

Your arms were thrown around him before he was fully out of the car, “Alastor, he knows I have a guy. He wanted me to go down right now but I managed to push it to tomorrow.” Alastor tried to decipher the words as you spoke them into his vest, “What do I do?”

Normally you’d have your own plans in mind but this was too big, this was capable of hurting him more than anyone else. 

He smelled like ink and smoke, a scent you inhaled as you tried to calm your breath.

A large hand patted your head, “Okay. You go tomorrow. It’ll be fine. Don’t stress.” Pulling you off he placed chaste kisses across your face. “Think about what you want to say to him and we can talk it out in the morning. Everything is fine.”

The reality of you standing in a dirty alley crying into the arms of a murderer set in. Then the little detail you were both killers creeped over your chest and took hold of your throat.

He was impressed at the strength of your hands as you gripped at his clothes. Leaning against the car, he offered you his most charming smile.

“Deep breaths, dear. Do I look scared?”

He didn’t. He looked like a magazine ad for French cologne or razor blades that left the softest skin. 

“No.” You shook your head.

“No.” He nodded. “It’ll be okay. If you don’t go, he will hound you worse. If you do go, maybe he’ll realize he’s got a handful of nothing.”

His smile blinded you. Bright grin as he rested against his car, arms open. 

“Do you really think so? A handful of nothing?”

“Did he say my name?”

“No.”

“Did he–” he elongated the word, lips pursed as he searched the sky for his next words, “have Tommy’s body?”

You laughed, morbid but preposterous, “I didn’t pat him down. Coulda.” 

Alastor snapped his fingers, “We’ll have to just assume he didn’t.” A moment of tension. The act of joking barely traversing the space between your bodies let alone reaching the stress under your skin. His hands came to your shoulders; firm, secure. “Did you want to have that fight now? About me coming over here.”

You rolled your eyes, obviously not. “Ala-,” you started and stopped.

“I’ll admit I’m being reckless but I think we can both agree my way is more fun.” Smile sliding into a smirk, he cocked his head and lowered it to get back into your line of sight. When you stuck your tongue out he took a deep breath in, relief. “Are you sure I can’t take you home?”

To which home, you wondered. He used the word so casually and interchangeably…

Face close to yours. Eyes solely on you. Perhaps the stage wasn’t as necessary as you’d once thought. Lips on lips, the feeling of his smile spreading as he returned the kiss. A second of panic as you realized you couldn’t see or hear or sense what else was happening anymore in the alley. Brady could have had you in handcuffs and you wouldn’t be the wiser. Not as long as Alastor’s mouth was moving over yours.

“I’ll call in the morning.” He said into your exhale.

You hadn’t opened your eyes yet. Not ready to return to earth. A pout from you. A chuckle from him. “I’ll be waiting,” You finally said. 

While you did your waiting, shuffling around the theater and later tossing around in bed, Alastor fell into a different kind of purgatory.

One he hadn’t realized he’d made for himself until you weren’t there. 

The house was quiet, almost eerie. Even with music on he found himself nearly uncomfortable. He shifted several times in his chair while reading, not finding any way to settle in. 

His bed was lopsided. Suddenly one side was too light. Multiple times his hand slid under the sheets in search of you out of habit. 

What a terrible feeling; to want someone. To know you could have them but they just… weren’t there.

It didn't make any sense. He knew he’d see you soon, in less than a day's time even. He typically enjoyed his home and its silence. Being alone was predictable and therefore comforting. Well, it had been. Before you. 

The feeling in his chest, akin to a magnet tugging through his sternum toward a distant partner, didn’t abate.

Only when he heard your voice again over the phone did he find a sliver of peace.

“I’ve decided I’ll deny I have a guy. And, I’ll never tell him about you. It’s safer if he never connects us.”

Alastor was listening, honestly, but he wasn’t really processing. His mind was worried about something else. The detective genuinely didn’t bother him but he had to agree, “I suppose that’s best. As long as we can manage it, to not let him know we’re together.”

Together.

You were together with him. An item. How spectacular you must be to be a part of anything with him.

But for how long? With a certain detective breathing down your neck…, “I’m scared. Actually.”

You could hear the smile in Alastor’s breath, it was odd but eased you. 

“He will never have enough to convict us. He’ll drive himself crazy trying. Trust me.” He soothed. 

Did you have any choice? “Okay. You’re right. I trust you.” Unequivocally so. 

He cleared his throat, “Sorry to change the subject…”

“Please.”

“I want you to come over again tonight. What do you think?”

“Oh, yeah. Of course, don’t even need to ask. I’ll always say yes.” All you needed to do was get through Brady and you’d be home.

But for Alastor, well, he wasn’t done asking the question. A moment of panic from a place unrecognized in his brain, fear of losing himself entirely. But what good was a safe harbor if he never ventured out to sea? That’s just a restraint then, isn’t it? 

Maybe you held a place for him even richer in its comforts than his solitude.

So he let himself drift away from familiar shores, no sails and no compass, “I think it’d be smart to bring over a couple sets of clothes. I can keep them washed and always here for you. Would that be alright?” He had wanted to suggest it while together, but Brady was ruining more than his sleep.

Oh.

The same silence from when he first extended the invitation, the deja vu not lost on you. You struggled to decipher the second meaning you were sure was there. Maybe he didn't know what he had asked. 

“I know it’s boring out in the boonies but, you’re welcome to just stay over while I go to work. I can come back and get you for rehearsals… I’ll enjoy the clubs or come back and make something for a late dinner for us, and bring you home when you’re done.”

He said it. He hadn’t really meant to, so he felt the need to clarify, but you also needed him to clarify just as quickly, “I -,”

“Did you me-?”

“Sorry, go ahead.”

“No I interrupted you-,”

“Not at all pl-,”

“Alastor for the love of God please don’t make me keep talking right now.” You lightly knocked your head with the phone a few times. Your heart was gasping for an ounce of understanding.

He chuckled, glad you were still very much yourself, “I meant, take you home as in, away from work. So, here. Or, there, if you’d prefer.” His face scrunched up, this wasn’t a conversation he had any practice in, “Anywhere really. I’ll drive you anywhere.”

“Alabama?”

He looked at the phone as if you were in it. Alabama? 

“Like— the first time you asked me over.” You added quickly. A terrible joke, a bad callback that made it painfully obvious you committed everything he said to memory.

Alastor rested his cheek on the dining table, laughing into the wood before bringing the receiver back. You always offered him an out of uncomfortable situations, “Well the offer still stands. I'd be willing to even venture at least halfway across Texas.” 

“The best half of Texas is on our side so that’s a generous offer. But, given our work schedules, I think your house would be much better. Time wise.” 

He let his eyes close as he felt the coldness of the wood, “Is that a yes then? To bringing over a couple of items… for ease.” Was it a mistake? Would he regret it? 

You were worth regrets. He had decided. He wanted you to say yes.

The weight of what he was asking wasn’t lost on you an ounce. You could see your window from the phone booth. You took great pride in your little apartment. It was your space and no one else’s. As a child you struggled to have your own anything, so you valued your home. 

But could you call any place so far from Alastor a home?

It’s just a few items. You weren’t giving up your lease. It’s a baby step. One you could easily walk back if you needed to later. It’s not like you hadn’t spent every night possible already since that first offer.

“Yes.” 

It was a plan that took your mind off cops. Have your interrogation, go home, then go home for a relaxing evening of jazz and drink.

The levity ended though the second you hung up the receiver. An obstacle between you and him still stood. You pulled out your bag but couldn’t find the will to pack it. Your hands were too busy as you chewed on your thumbnail again.

Brady noticed the uneven length when you sat down and set your hands on the table.

“Surprised you showed.” He opened his notebook and readied his pencil. “First things first, what is your legal name?”

A chill. You’d gotten your warning the night before to prepare something to say but ignored it. Your mind was flipping through words and images. Piercing all of it were the white reflective eyes of the deer along the road. You decided to lean into what you knew. 

“Autumn.”

“Really? Never heard the name Autumn before.”

“Me either. Made for an easy stage name.”

“I’ll need to see your birth records, just to be sure.”

You sucked your teeth. “Ah, unfortunately…all that stuff was left behind with my mom when I moved.”

“And where can I find her?

“Corner of North Villere street and Piety.”

“And your address?”

You paused. His eyes rose and met yours. The radiant aqua from the cafe morning was now an icy color. “I don’t give my address out. You know where I work.”

“But you’re fine giving me your mother’s address? That’s cold.”

“Not as cold as she is, I’m sure of that.”

“Fine, I’ll find it in the census records.” He flipped the page, “Tell me about the dates Tommy arranged.” He tapped his notepad on the table like it was the starting bell of a fight.

You wished Alastor was with you, but also wished he would never enter that station. “Apparently many of the dancers agreed, got a cut. I had no idea about it until he,” you remembered the man and his ugly tie, “introduced me to a man who was very forward. I insulted him and ran off. Lost Tommy good money, apparently.”

“And who was that?”

You searched your memory, “S something. Mister Stein? I honestly wasn’t listening much after I realized what was happening.”

Brady nodded, “And then he knocked you around?”

You winced without meaning too, “Yeah. Got me good.”

Brady waited for you to continue talking, but you had learned this game. People know silence is uncomfortable and will use that against you. So you let the silence stay. Let the awkward tension build. You had limited time, he knew that.

He caved first. “And… the next date. Last time anyone saw Tommy. Tell me about that.”

Lying was second nature to you. You had killed for Alastor. You could do this. Deep breaths, slink into yourself. You imagined Alastor choked on the park grounds, wet and unmoving. Imagined him cold to the touch.

“Tommy said he’d kill me if I didn’t go. So I did. Promised me he’d stay with me for protection.” Tears welled. Bloody hands and a large rock. “But as soon as he got his money he left.” 

Brady was writing, “And the man? What was his name.”

“Something foreign. Kerr-something. Or Car?”

He looked up slightly, “You’re pretty terrible at names.”

You wiped away your tears, “I had more pressing concerns at the time than trying to remember that man’s name. I was hoping I’d never need to know it.”

Brady hummed, “Yeah. And what did your beau think of this?”

Did you hide it? The flash of panic that rolled under the flesh of your face, “If I had a beau Tommy wouldn’t have made me do that. He said that himself.”

“Too bad he’s not here to confirm.”

“If he was we wouldn’t be having this conversation, detective.”

“Touché. Clever little lady aren’t you?”

Fuck.

You shifted slightly in your seat, looking downward in an attempt at being bashful. “That’s kind to say.”

“So why did,” he flipped through his book, “Beth say you stopped singin’ on Sundays cuz of your radio boyfriend?”

“Ah,” a weak laugh to hide the way your breath got sucked in with panic. The words ‘radio boyfriend’ punched the air from your lungs. “You must mean the rake. Took me for a ride at a club corner and sent me off in a cab to never see me again. Didn’t know he was in radio though.” 

“Well now you’re lying and I don’t appreciate it one ounce ma’am.“

“What?”

“Beth says he’s been coming to your shows for nearly half a year.”

No acting necessary for this part. “What are you talking about? I met him at a club. We arranged a date and he picked me up at—“

“Beth’s dive.”

“…. Yeah. Well.” He’d been there before? So often? And you never noticed…, “That’s news to me, that he had been there for so long, it’s got its regulars though so...” You shifted again, this time with a clear uncomfortable edge. 

“He stopped coming when you stopped singing.”

“….guess he got what he wanted then. A fun time in the swing hall bathroom.”  Anger. Unreal and unfounded. Trying your best to hide how confused you were.

“Sounds like a stalker, miss. Maybe one who woulda been quite unhappy to hear you were selli-,”

You cut him off, eyes snapping up to meet his, “I really recommend you reconsider your wording.”

Brady laughed with a huff, “A man dizzy with a dame can do some funny stuff. Especially if he hears she’s in a pickle.”

“Well, no knight coming to rescue me. I’ve sworn off men. It’s why I’ve been leaving work early. Getting home, reading, sleeping. He really did a number on my heart and my pride as a woman.”

Brady’s pencil stopped moving. 

“And his name?”

You’d never fucking say it. He could walk in on you moaning ‘Alastor’ and you’d still act like you’d never heard that string of syllables in your life. 

“John.”

Brady laughed and tossed the pencil to the table, “Let me guess, last name Doe?”

You shrugged, “We weren’t on a full name basis. He was handsome, he took me out, we fucked, I never saw him again” You delighted in the way his face screwed up at your unladylike language. 

“So, someone in radio named John. You know I’m going to be at every broadcaster talking to every John, right?” The nervous shaking of his notebook again. 

“When you find him let me know.”

“Oh I will.” He said it so quickly, so sharply you could feel it cut at your cheek as the words flew past you.

You pulled your hands into your lap, eyes firmly locked on Brady’s. “You look tired, sir. I hope my answers will help you. So you can rest.”

“I am tired. Of people jerking me around. You won’t give me your address, you don’t remember anyone’s name, not even your own, and you deny having a man I know you have.”

If you screamed would he have you committed? “I’m terribly sorry,” you leaned over the table and pulled a piece of fuzz off his shoulder, “my friend gave you inaccurate and dated information. I am genuinely trying to help as much as I can.”

Upon closer inspection, his eyes were more than just blue. They were dark and light, deep and shallow. Blue so far down it was nearly black. A blue so bright it was a cousin of white. Eyes you were sure would haunt you. 

“Help me then, Autumn.” Your brows rose at the request. He leaned back and away from you, “Just tell me what happened to Tommy. What your guy did. If he was trying to protect your name then we could find a sympathetic jury.”

Sympathy? Your smile was too wide, stare gone too soft. What sympathy did he have or would anyone have for you? Did he think you wanted the tender hearts of strangers? “Tommy ran off with a bag of money. He was a good man with a bad habit. That’s all I know. I have no partner, man or otherwise.”

A standstill. 

Brady felt a twitch in his hands he wasn’t used to. An itch to move. Unlike him, and a little frightening. 

Maybe he had been running himself ragged. 

Back sliding down slightly in his chair, he laced his fingers and rested them in his lap, “You know I’m gonna find out what happened, right?” His tone had shifted to something serious and calm. He said it like he was telling you a secret. Low but firm. Steady and sure. 

Those eyes. No, worse. What was behind them. You could see it clearly; unflappable determination. He absolutely would. 

“I trust you will.” A moment of silence again as you both felt the conversation die. As you stood, Brady did too.

“I wasn’t bluffing about him going to Beth’s for more than half a year now. I don’t know how you think this is gonna end but it won’t end pretty. Whether it was just your boss or all the others on my desk, end it with him and help us bring Tommy home to his mother.”

You adjusted your purse on your shoulder, “I don’t know how many time-,”

“Autumn. I’ve seen enough make up covered bruises to clock em from across the room. That’s the act of a possessive, immature man. Just think about what I said,” You opened the door in an effort to keep your hands from shooting to your neck. “There’s no white picket fence or church bells for you two. He’s a bad man. I think he may even be an evil man. You’re gonna end up hurt, or dead.”

A laugh bubbled up in your chest but you managed to stifle it. With an honest smile you replied, “We’re all gonna end up dead someday, Detective. I’ll call if I have any news. Thanks for your concern and … evident hard work.” You offered a little nod of your head before leaving the room and the station as quickly as you could without running. 

When he set down his notebook after returning to his desk, he couldn’t sit. Energy was buzzing in his limbs. He needed to run or swing or pace.

His desk neighbor watched him immediately pick up the notebook again and grab his hat. A few other men shared a glance as Brady rushed out, an unsettling feeling passed among them. 

“He’s still on that case?” One asked quietly, going back to his papers.

“Not officially….” Answered Freeman, standing at the window and watching Brady flag down a taxi.

“North Villere street and Piety, please.” He told the driver, not noticing his friend in the window.

It wasn’t near the station, nor the dance scene. He wondered if your mother would be any more amiable. What kind of woman would raise such a creature as you?

When the car slowed, Brady clicked back into his surroundings. He looked through every window hoping to see something different.

After a long pause the cabbie asked, “Ya gonna get out?”

His knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the seat. “No. Take me back to the station.”

His blood pressure rose so quickly he was sure he would black out as the cab turned around and drove back past the sign; Vincent DePaul cemetery.

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

Alastor kissed away the worries when he took your bag from you. Every detail of the interview was just hummed away. “Even if he finds me, without a body he has no case.” He reminded you like it was nothing short of fact.

“What if he gets one?”

“Not one of mine, I can assure you. He’d sooner need to kill someone himself and call it my fault.” A pause, was that something the detective would do? He shook off the thought. 

He was so confident that even though you knew it was just skin deep it still gave you a sense of calm. The bodies, where they went after he was done with them in the greenhouse, was the last step he hadn’t shared with you.

There was one thing you didn’t mention about the interrogation. 

You waited until you were a few drinks in, Alastor’s bowtie off and shirt unbuttoned several buttons before bringing it up. Uncharacteristically nervous about how he’d react when you broached the topic, you needed several deep breaths to get up your courage. Normally the idea of offending a man with an honest question wouldn’t ruffle you a bit, but once again there was nothing normal about you and Alastor. He made you so unlike yourself but not necessarily worse. Perhaps some consideration of other’s reactions wasn’t a bad thing. 

“This is awkward to ask.” It was dark already, the sun setting earlier and earlier. The buzz of the kitchen light could be heard through the screen door, the light just enough to let you see each other's features clearly. Leaning back on both hands for support, your legs rested in an unladylike spread down the porch stairs. No shoes. No girdle. No pretense.

Would he be mad? Or maybe offended?

“Brady said you had been going to my Sunday shows for awhile. Months before we actually met. Did you really meet me by coincidence?”

“Or was I stalking you as my next victim?” His head fell to the side, eyes closed and smile wide. “I saw you there, yes. And though you weren’t the best singer, I did enjoy your shows.”

You tried to see him without directly turning your head. 

“But yes, it was a coincidence. I had noticed that brute of a man a couple weeks in a row, staring at you so intensely. Word got around he had made a scene some time ago with a dancer.” 

You listened like someone was telling you your own story. It was an odd feeling, hearing someone recount your days from a different perspective. An unknown one. 

“I was surprised to see you at the theater when I followed him there. Even more so to see you in the alleyway.”

If he had said it wasn’t a coincidence, you genuinely didn’t know what you’d have done. You’d be scared and angry. Another predator lurking just past the tree lines.

Your relief must have been visible. “He really got to you, didn’t he?” Alastor asked, leaning over and letting his shoulder bump into yours. He was still riding the high of putting away your belongings in his closet and drawers. 

“Yeah. He gives me a bad feeling. Like…a brick wall barreling toward me.” You kicked a leaf off the steps, “Or like, when you see a big dark cloud on the horizon. Can’t do anything but wait and hunker down.”

How do you wait out a storm so set on burying you?

“Dear,” his hands rose and palms flipped up in a way that said he wasn’t hiding anything, “We get hurricanes annually. We’ve survived every one thus far. He’s just a drip. A sprinkle of a man.”

People have drowned on land before. A sprinkle could lead to pneumonia and that could lead to a wooden box. 

He tried to change the topic, laughing about Brenda’s reaction to the call and making plans for an evening out when things settled down again. You listened, but it was your turn to be half there. 

You could barely muster concern when you realized you’d forgotten your makeup and hair wrap at home when you were preparing for bed. What you would give for going home barefaced with a ruined hairdo to be the biggest stress of your week. 

The distance in your stare was weighing down his joy, how could he relish in the newest addition to his home when you were so burdened? Even in the moonless night he could see the faintest light reflecting off your eyes as you stared at the ceiling. Did you even feel his stare? 

He couldn’t let Brady poison his bed, and the man was clearly there now. Chasing you in your mind still. 

“Could I offer you a distraction?” Alastor slipped up against you, hand finding your hip. He could see your smile forming. 

“I wouldn’t argue against a distraction…,” you’d beg for one if you didn’t want to feel any lower than you already did. 

“Perfect. This bed isn’t made for three, so let’s eject that little nag, dear.” His hands slipped down your legs, “I want to replace your thoughts with better ones.” He pulled you to him, your back pressed into his broad chest. The way his soft hands smoothed over your silk slip felt like foreplay, so smooth and slick. Frictionless and gentle. Those same hands ran down and between your legs, following the line of your thighs until they found your center. “It seems you forgot something else.” Two fingers caressed your lower lips, barely parting them, “Not that I’m complaining…,” his lips found the back of your neck as his fingers rubbed gently at your core. 

It took so very little to get your body on board, wet and relaxed for his practiced hand. Your own fingers coming down to rub at your clit quickly when you felt your pleasure winding up. 

He sighed directly into the shell of your ear, hands working in tandem with yours under the covers. His back pressed against you, hips rolling into your backside in time with his fingers. 

“What are you thinking about?” Barely above a whisper as he said it into your heated skin.

“Fingers.”

“Whose?” His voice was deeper than his usual speaking tone. A tenor that made you clench around him.

“Yours.”

You’d never been so satisfied with hands before. With breath. With the sounds of a man. Never saw stars while clothed and not under the lights of the stage. Warm and wet kisses to your neck as you came down from your high, you’d never considered sex could be more than a man fucking someone. Nor that a man could find pleasure so readily with his cock still in his pants. But the way he hummed and growled softly into your skin was proof of his good time. 

You’d learned a lot from those progressively chillier nights at Alastor’s over the first week of your constant cohabitation. How much you liked waking up with someone just a reach away. How Alastor woke slowly, incapable of coherent speech for at least the first twenty minutes of his day. He’d stare and smile as his eyes blinked out of sync, rolling back occasionally as he fought the urge to fall back into sleep. Hair disheveled and soft.

When the weekend came, Alastor offered again to take you out. A promise to take you somewhere no detectives would be hiding about. A week without a peep, you were sure he had followed up with your mother and was probably steaming to get at you. But, for some reason or another, he hadn’t appeared again in the crowd of your shows. 

A week of going into work unmade and unkempt, you finally gave in and asked to be taken to your apartment early Friday. You’d grab a few items you needed, take them to work, and be back home that night. 

Your eyes were on Alastor when his car pulled up to your building. When he kissed you, your hand scratched at the shorter hairs at the nape of his neck. Eyes closed, you could smell him and feel him so much clearer. Perhaps when you were old together you wouldn’t have to worry about your sight giving out, you thought. Because you’d always know it was him by the way his skin on yours lit you up. 

“Pack something you’d like to wear out tomorrow night.” He reminded you before you pulled yourself from the car and waved him off. You lingered for a moment as he drove away, wondering if maybe the storm had been pushed off course.

“Oooh, who is he?”

Whipping around, you saw a familiar face sitting on the stoop of your building. An unwelcome one, though. 

“What the fuck are you doing here, Mavis?” Your bag fell from your hands as the strength drained from your limbs.

She patted the dust off her dress before bouncing down the steps.  “The names Ephi now.” A half sister, though perhaps a quarter sister would be best to describe the often absentminded, when not literally absent, sibling. 

“That’s not a name that’s a fucking letter of the alphabet. Mama would smack the color of your cheeks if she heard you.” You were sure you’d not see her ever again, not after she ran off to head north before your mother passed. She scowled, arms crossed as you brushed past her. “I don’t have any money so you wasted a trip. See ya in another decade.”

Ephi grinned up at you as you climbed the stairs, “Looked like he had some money. Mr. Big Shot and his shiny bus.”

“Lotsa people have cars.” Your eyes landed on the suitcase poorly hidden behind the steps. Hand halting its search for the building key as you could feel the stare of your mother looking…down? A weight slipping over your shoulders like a man’s heavy winter coat.

“Well I don’t need money or cars. I need a place to crash.”

Your head fell. You could feel it coming. The gust of wind dragging the clouds slowly towards you. No, the storm wasn’t off course. It was just building momentum.

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

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei ,  @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog  , @poinappel l , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima a , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @rubyninja1 , @simphornies

, @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf ,  , @fizzled-phoenix ,  @phobophobular  , @whateverlololo    , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 @watereddownmilk   , @bontensbabygirl 

[prinzrupprecht]

Counter argument to those that are complaining about sexualizing anime high school characters

Why are people now crying about writers sexualizing school kids in anime? It’s fiction, they’re not real. Anime is not real. Finding a minor character in a show attractive, doesn’t make the reader or the writer a pedophile. Actually, the term pedophile has been loosely thrown around way too much. It’s a psychiatric disorder when a person has a strong attraction to pursue or try to engage with pubescent children below the age of 13. This is completely different to liking a character that is not real. Hate, disagree with this all you want. Liking or having a crush on underaged fictional characters isn’t comparable at all to pursuing/sexualizing minors in real life. People need to stop comparing the two. Fiction doesn’t equal reality at all. I couldn't care less what authors/writers do as long as we all can understand the difference between fiction and reality. For the longest time, I had a huge crush on Manjiro and I thought he was 18, but turns out he was 16. A lot of the time they don’t look or even act their age. Hidden inventory 16 y/o Gojo fanfics are insanely popular on wattpad/AO3 and he barely even looks like he aged from 16 to 28. There's also so much r34 art of Zero Two and Marin Kitagawa. It’s pen and ink. So who cares?

“Omg tHaT’s a cHilD yOu sIcK fuCkS.”

Some people here don’t seem to understand Japanese culture and it speaks loud and clear. Do these “anime” high school characters act or look like a child? No. Does Yuji/Megumi/Yuta look like a shota? No. They have bodies of an adult and don’t even look like or act like children. Also, liking underaged fictional characters doesn’t mean we are attracted to children / minors in real life. Stop with that shit. A lot of Mangakas sexualize their minor characters. It’s normal in their culture. So that makes Japanese weird too? Nah stfu, let the Japanese cook. I’m guessing the minority that are crying about it are probably pissy Americans that can’t seem to accept that it’s normal in someone else’s culture and many others to like the looks of fictional 2D drawings of characters that don’t look like real humans. All it is, is just art. None of it is real.

It may seem wrong to you, but it is normal to others. Especially those who’ve been writing fanfiction for years on Wattpad and AO3. There’s millions of fanfics of “underaged characters x OC/Readers” which has been normalized already for decades because people can separate their fictional fantasies from real life. Age doesn’t exist in fiction when you can change it in your fan made content. Authors can change the age of the characters too in their fanfics/one shots. There’s been countless of people making High school AUs of Gojo x reader/OC fan made content surfacing Wattpad and AO3.

Some of y’all be reposting Geto x reader smut, & Sukuna x reader smut and they are mass murderers, child murderers, Geto is a racist, and Sukuna is cannibal and arguably a rapist. Would you fuck a child murderer in real life? Y’all be having fantasies of these characters. Majority of Sukuna smut on here is him using a “minor’s” body to fuck the brains out with the reader and that’s somehow better than people finding Yuji or Megumi attractive? Relax. It’s just fantasies we all have, they’re not real.

Anime characters are 2D drawings, so no, I don't consider finding anime girls/boys attractive equivalent to finding young real-life girls/boys attractive. No more than being attracted to drawings with absurdly disproportionate eyes means you like humans whose eyes take up half their skull. It's just an art style. That’s the whole point of fiction, it’s just fantasies as long as you don’t act on those same thoughts in reality who gives a shit. I would never like minors irl, so ffs call me a pedo for liking anime characters or disagree with me. Idc.

[heian-era-housewife]

Going North

This is not a fic. But it is a story. My story. Or at least, part of it.

When I started this blog I wanted to maintain as much anonymity as possible. Six months in and here I find myself publicly journaling my most guarded secrets. Funny how things change.

Warnings: ⚠️⚠️⚠️ Please proceed with caution. I have done my best to put the appropriate tw/cw tags in place, but be aware this post mentions nonconsensual sex, SA, suicide, mental health, mental illness, grief, and loss.

I'm writing to you from the depths of a very severe depressive episode and hoping that, in doing so, I may start to find my way out.

So...where do I begin?

For those who don't know I am, regrettably, American. This election has affected me more profoundly than I could ever have imagined.

I recently discovered that my entire family, including my parents- who have always been my best friends, voted for the man who represents everything I reject. Everything I despise.

This comes during a time I find myself exploring and redefining my gender identity. During a time where the healthcare system has repeatedly failed me in treatment and diagnosis of a reproductive condition. During a time when I am learning that ectopic pregnancy is a potentially fatal reality for me. While living in a state where abortion and life-saving reproductive care have been made illegal.

I was 13 the first time I was raped. With 8 months of continuous and repeated rape and sexual assault to follow. The only person I told was my family doctor. A Christian. Who told me sexual activity was an act against God. I never spoke of it again.

Not until I was 18 and had my first "real boyfriend". In explaining why I wanted to wait to be intimate, I told him my story, unaware he would weaponize it. Once again I found myself an unwilling participant in an act called "love". Only this time it was years, not months. The day I escaped I was punched in the face and thrown down the stairs. I still have a scar on my leg from fleeing my boyfriend assailant.

I ran to the safest person I knew. A friend from high school. A kind and gentle person. Someone who, in time, would show me that love and intimacy can exist in a non-toxic capacity. And though our eventual relationship would come to end in mutual respect as he came to explore his own sexuality and gender identity, I still credit him with playing a role in saving me.

Unfortunately, I was unable to return the favor when, just two months ago, he took his own life on the eve of his 30th birthday. I can't say for certain why he chose to end his journey, but I can only imagine that his race as a POC and sexuality were attributing factors as we stare down a future of continued systemic hate and bigotry.

In some ways, I still consider myself lucky. I never became pregnant. I never lost hope in finding love. I am married to a wonderful man who supports my every endeavor. His kindness is unrivaled, and his empathy knows no bounds. He meets me in my darkest places. He reminds me why I must continue to fight- to live. Even on the days I no longer want to...

And now, with the recent election, and the terrifying days ahead, I can't help but feel sometimes that it really is me and him against the world.

My family has chosen to stand behind a man who promised to lower the price of eggs, while creating a country wherein my life and those of countless other are at risk. Where it seems our validity as human beings is in question.

I am not even sure how I am supposed to continue a normal job, when every waking moment I am revisited by the traumas of my past with people shouting "Your body, my choice". Or fearing that another friend may take their life in the wake of the hatred that is blooming here.

I miss my parents. I used to call them every day. Now I am unsure how to even speak with them.

I am unsure of a lot of things.

In large part thanks to friends I have made here, I have begun the process of seeking further psychological support and evaluation.

Moving forward, I also plan to put more time and energy into my art. I am currently seeking ways to support myself financially in a work-from-home capacity as my deteriorating mental health is making working a regular job nearly impossible at the moment.

I'd like to remain active on this blog and continue building friendships over the love of JJK- something that, as silly as it is, brings me so much joy.

I hope that, if you've read this far, you'll continue this journey with me. And if you have read this far, thank you so much for being part of my life, sharing in my memories, my grief, my struggles. Thank you for listening to this story. Hopefully the next few I post will be more cheerful, and fictional, of course.

Thank you also to my international friends who have shown so much incredible love and support. You have no idea how much it means to be extended a friendly hand in a time where the world is justifiably furious with and untrusting of Americans.

I want to fight for a brighter future. I want to see what happens if we don't give up. I am determined to find peace and to one day look back on this post and be glad I chose to go North.

With love and gratitude,

Yuri 🩷

[kmgkmg]

STAY WITH ME - JEON WONWOO

word count: 3.3k...

pairing: wonwoo x gn!reader

synopsis: you finally interact with the ever so famous ice prince of your campus and he wants you to be in a fake relationship with him?!

genre/s: fluff, non-idol!au, college!au, fake relationship, strangers-to-lovers

warnings: alcohol mention

rating: pg-13

a/n: a submission for k-vanity's cupid arrow event. golden arrow: fake relationship to falling in love. fic title is based on the song stay with me by sole and wonstein! ty @kimchicollardgreens for helping with the ending!! <3

“You hate me, don’t you?” Chan sulked, wiping an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye.

 Both of you were finally finished with your final class of the week. You were glad that the class was over. Although you both loved dance, Chan even having it as his major, your professor somehow managed to drone on and make it boring enough to make you both sleepy as hell. The course description enticed you and when Chan showed interest as well, you knew it was destiny to register for it. 

You planned for it to be a chill weekend, full of homework, but your best friend had other plans. Normally you would 100% support him, that’s what friends are for after all, but the start of this semester had been harder than expected. Less than three months into your new courses, yet you felt like you were desperately trying to escape from the bottom of the pile of coursework thrown on top of you. 

“Fine, I’ll skip getting the FREE sandwiches that my department offered. It’s not like they were getting them from the newly opened restaurant. That, may I remind you, is close to campus. It’s not like I could’ve reported back to you on the taste to decide if we wanted to go there in the future,” You ramble, making sure to emphasize the free aspect of the deal you were missing out on. You usually did attend Chan’s shows, but you told him before class that you wanted to grab a sandwich and head home to finish your readings for next week’s courses. 

Chan kissed you on the cheek, “You love me after all!” 

Most are thrown-off by his touchiness but you became friends with him before orientation and quickly bonded with each other. He was like a brother to you, and he viewed you as a sibling too. With his kiss of appreciation placed, he headed towards the practice room to finalize his choreography for tonight. You shouted out for him to be careful since he was prone to running into things or people when he was excited. He waved his hand in recognition of your warning and you started heading to the campus library to study while waiting for the showtime to approach. 

You were now walking to the old main building that the show was going to be in. There was one course you took as a first-year student in it, so luckily you knew how to find it since your campus could be confusing at times. Since it was an old building, the main floor was marked as 000 instead of 100. So even though it was on the first floor, Chan’s performance was in Studio 011. From the distance, you could see that the door had been propped open with... a tiger-patterned door stopper?

Why do tiger-patterned door stoppers exist? 

No, more importantly, how did Soonyoung manage to think of buying one? Laughing at the dance team leader’s fondness towards tigers, you entered the building. 

Although Chan’s performance was taking place on the main floor, he had hilariously begged you to bring him an energy drink to hype himself up. It was the first performance of the semester, of course he was excited but the firsts are always mixed with nervousness as well. It didn’t bother you that he asked. Really. But, what did bother you was the location of the vending machine. The fifth floor.

On the elevator, the repetitive melodies of the music persisted, until getting to the third floor. A man with square frame glasses was breathless, carrying a box full of unknown objects, all you could tell is that it looked heavy. Another box was at his feet, barely staying closed with flimsy tape in an attempt to seal it. 

“I lost rock paper scissors, so I’m their errand boy for the day,” he explained as you uncrossed your arms to hold the elevator open with your hand. 

You nod in understanding, still surprised that the elevator wasn’t as full as it usually was. 

“Do you need help with the other box?” You inquired, eyes drifting to the box at his feet. 

“No, no. I couldn’t bother you to do that,” he refused, kicking the box into the nearly vacant elevator. 

You again nod silently, extending your arm out to hit the button to close the doors. 

“This isn’t going to the first floor?” He asks, perplexed since he could’ve sworn he hit the button to go down.

“I mean, it will eventually. I’m going up to grab some drinks for the dance team,” You told him, still unsure of who he was.

His ears perked up, “Oh? Are you friends with any of the members?” 

“Yeah, I know almost all of the team. I’m closest to Chan!” You replied, a smile beaming at the mention of your best friend.

“Oh, I’ve interacted with Chan a couple of times. He’s such a sweet kid,” He smiles back at you, before the elevator doors open once again.

“Yeah he is! But this is my floor so I have to go fetch them drinks. Do you want anything for the performance…actually what’s your name?”

“I’m good, thank you for offering. But my name’s Wonwoo, you?” Wonwoo introduces himself.

“Y/N. See you in a bit, Wonwoo,” you wave at him, removing your foot from the elevator’s threshold.

“You DMed the ice prince, Jeon Wonwoo?” Chan squealed, drawing attention to the two of you near the busy coffee cart. You hurriedly shushed your friend, shoving his croissant sandwich in his mouth as he still looked at you in bewilderment. 

“What is up with that old-fashioned nickname? Are we in a drama or something? And it’s not that big of a deal,” You shrugged, attempting to move on from what you had accidentally let slip. 

“I mean, but why? What does Y/N L/N have to say to Jeon Wonwoo?” 

“Well, after I bumped into him he seemed like an interesting character. What do I have to lose by asking him out to dinner?” 

“Dinner? Y/N, that’s like the mealtime for dates!” Chan exclaimed, not even attempting to hide his excitement at his best friend potentially going out with one of the school’s most popular guys.

“Who says?”

“Literally him. He said that one time when we were giving Soonyoung advice for how to ask out Soohyuk.”

“Shit,” you sighed. 

“That’s what I thought,” Chan triumphantly replies.

You shake your head to his response, “No not that, I just spilled my smoothie on the table,” you explained, reaching for napkins to wipe up the mess. 

“You’re really not affected by this?”

“If he sees it as a date, then it’s a date. I don’t really have any objections to going out with him,” you shrug, relaxing in the seat across from your best friend once again. As if Wonwoo could sense your conversation, your phone vibrated alerting you of a notification. You looked at it, momentarily forgetting you were in the presence of your overbearing best friend.

“It’s him, isn’t it? Let me see!” Chan giggles, nearly snatching your phone from your hand.

“It probably isn’t,” You groan, finally looking at your screen to reveal it was indeed, Jeon Wonwoo.

I would love to catch dinner, but I’m sorry I’m busy after my classes.

Well, he was called the ice prince for a reason. You quickly started messaging him back, fully aware of Chan’s presence in front of you.

Don’t worry about it, I know I asked super late notice!

“Well?” Chan asked, eyes full of curiosity.

“He’s busy,” You shrug.

Chan’s excited self visibly deflates as he goes to throw away the box that his sandwich was in.

Class was going like usual with Chan dozing on your shoulder with his hood on over his head. 

This professor must have a supernatural ability to suck all the fun out of learning. It’s scary that this was the same Chan trying to steal your phone not even an hour ago. 

“We will continue our analysis of this reading on Friday, enjoy the rest of your day,” Your professor concludes class, signaling for students to pack up their things. It was evident every single student wanted to escape the lecture hall as soon as possible. 

“Chan, wake up,” You groan, pushing his head off of your shoulder.

“Mm, five more minutes,” He whined, attempting to lean his head on your shoulder again.

“Go sleep in your bed, dumbass,” You scolded, pushing him away from you as you got up to pack up your things. 

“You hate me, don’t you?” 

You roll your eyes at Chan’s go-to rhetorical question, “Not going to work today, Chan. Make sure you get home safe though, yeah?”

He sleepily nods, waving you goodbye. You hoisted up your backpack, starting to head out of the lecture hall. Chan liked sitting in the back, a prime place for his naps, but you regretted it every time class ended. Not only did it take way longer to leave since the only exits were at the end of the stairs, but you always had to somehow avoid confrontation with your ex, Joshua. He was the TA for this course, an issue that usually didn’t bother you, but since Chan had overslept more students had already cleared out. You were almost at the end of the stairs, dreading your impending interaction with Joshua. To your surprise, as you glanced at Joshua’s usual spot, he wasn’t there. 

Instead, Jeon Wonwoo was? Was he in this class the whole time? Why was he in Joshua’s spot? Before you could ask him, he stood up and started making his way over to you.

“Hey, I know I said I was busy, but could you help me out tonight?” He asks, making you raise your eyebrows at his genuine request.

“Depends, but why are you in Joshua’s spot?” You responded, needing to satiate your curiosity. 

“Oh, he’s sick and I’m the preceptor for the next class so I said I could just come an hour earlier and fill in his spot,” He started to explain, his eyes asking you to make him elaborate on what he needed help with.

You noted the urgency of his body language, making you smile at how his nickname did not suit him at all. “Why do you need my help?” 

He starts twiddling his fingers, looking down at them. He's so cute.

“Well there's this banquet tonight and um, I told my friends I had a date so they couldn't use my plus one, because I couldn't pick just one friend,” He looks back up at you and you nod to confirm you're still following his story.

“And, well, they somehow asked around to all get added as plus ones by other people invited. So, um, I was wondering if you could pretend to be my partner? Just for the night!”

“What’s in it for me?” 

He was clearly flustered at your question, not expecting his proposal to make it this far.

“Um...free catered food?”

“Good enough, I was just going to grab cafeteria food tonight anyways,” You grab one of his hands to stop him from fidgeting and shake his hand, “We have a deal then.”

You walk away from him with a smile on your face. Even if it was fake, the upcoming date excited you.

“You're wearing that?” Minghao, your roommate, judges you as you showed him your outfit for the night.

“What's wrong with it?” You frown, you thought it was a cute business casual outfit.

“Y/N, this banquet is for the students handpicked by our school's president and elite alumni. You need to be more formal with your outfit,” Minghao calmly explains, getting up from your couch to make an outfit from your closet himself.

The bell rang, indicating Wonwoo was at the complex's entrance. You hit the button to talk to him, “Come on up, I'm almost done!”

You desperately look at your roommate, “He said he was going to be here at 6, this is too early!”

“Y/N, the clock...” Minghao trails off, making you look at the time to see it was five minutes after 6.

You sped back into your bedroom, throwing on the outfit that Minghao put together. Having a fashion design major roommate came in handy at times.

Wonwoo was awkwardly waiting on the couch sitting next to Minghao. He knew Minghao and Chan were on the dance team with Soonyoung, but Minghao intimidated him too much to ever approach him. After a few more seconds of unbearable silence, he decided to get up from the couch and head towards the door.

“You know, I can just wait for Y/N outside,” He tries to flee, only for you to open your bedroom door, perfectly ready for the night ahead of you.

“Sorry it took so long, but let's head out! Minghao stop intimidating him,” You scold, grabbing your keys and heading out of the apartment with Wonwoo.

“You look so…” You begin, approaching Wonwoo who was clearly zoning out. You had excused yourself a little while after arriving, noticing a professor that had been avoiding your emails.

“Hot?” He answers almost immediately. 

“...bored.” You raise your eyebrows at his attempt to finish your sentence. “Now, Jeon Wonwoo, I know you’re the ice prince and all but have you really let that get to your head?” 

His face turns pale realizing you were the one talking to him. “Oh, it’s just- I thought- most people comment on my looks so I thought you were going to as well and I just..um yeah,” He mentally beats himself up for the way he was acting, what happened to his cool facade when he was with you? 

“So, it has gotten to your head?” You nod, teasing him more. 

“No! I-” 

He’s interrupted by your laughter, turning his head to see you cracking up at his reaction.

“Loosen up a bit Wonwoo. I won’t bite,” You manage to say in between laughter, handing him a glass of champagne. 

He smiles at you, grabbing the glass of champagne before silently taking a sip. Did you call him the ice prince or did he mishear you? “Wait, how do you know my nickname?” 

“Chan told me, although I have to admit it really doesn't suit you.”

“Why's that?”

“Well, you're nothing like ice. If anything, you melt people's hearts,” You say, mentally beating yourself up at what you randomly just spewed. He melts people's hearts?

Wonwoo could feel his ears turning hot at the unexpected compliment, but couldn't miss out on the opportunity to tease you back.

“I melt people's hearts, huh?” He grins.

“I know, not my best work. I cringed as soon as it came out of my mouth,” You agree, but your conversation is cut short by a trio of guys walking towards you.

“Shit, my friends are coming over,” He tells you through the gritted teeth of his artificial smile.

“So, this is your hidden partner? You weren't making them up after all Wonwoo!” One of them cries, resembling a puppy with his excited demeanor. He resembles Chan.

“Come on, leave the poor guy alone Mingyu,” Another friend chimes in. “I'm Choi Seungcheol, it's nice to meet you...?”

“Y/N L/N. It's nice to meet all of you as well! Wonwoo has talked about you all before, especially Jihoon!” You point at the shortest friend of the group, thankful Wonwoo had texted you with a rundown of his friends with photos that would be at the banquet earlier.

“What did he say about me? Hopefully nothing bad,” Jihoon speaks up.

“No, nothing bad! Just that he likes having a friend around who has similar energy to himself,” You make up, praying that Jihoon really was similar to Wonwoo. You looked at Wonwoo for approval of what you said, to which he softly smiled back at you. Does this mean you were right in your deductions?

“That does make sense! They're both super reserved,” Seungcheol replies, confirming you were spot-on.

“Enough talk about Jihoon, Y/N, what made you melt our ice prince's heart?” Mingyu pries, shifting the attention back to you and Wonwoo.

You look at Wonwoo, his eyes briefly meeting yours as you both recall the cringy line you used earlier. The odds of Mingyu saying the exact same thing made you both giggle, making his friends confused at the cause of shared laughter.

"Sorry, it just made us think about a conversation we had earlier. I'm not sure what made me melt his heart, but I know that I liked him first. We met by riding the same elevator and he seemed so stressed, but didn't want to bother anyone else. His quietness also made me want to know him more, so I asked him out," You summarize, trying your best to play the part of Wonwoo's loving partner.

Seungcheol, Jihoon, and Mingyu especially Mingyu had been doubtful when Wonwoo announced he had a partner, but seeing you with him made their doubts wash away. The way Wonwoo looked at you, it was clear that he cared for you.

The winter air had froze the rain from earlier to ice. The banquet had finished without a hitch, all of his friends buying that you were dating Wonwoo. Walking back to your place was more of a struggle than you imagined it to be, with him having to save you from slipping every couple of steps.

“I could say that I'm usually less clumsy but that would be a complete lie," You laugh, unaware of how he was looking at you.

“By the way, you looked amazing tonight. I mean not that you don't always look amazing, but I missed the timing to tell you earlier,” Wonwoo hesitantly compliments you.

“Thank you, Wonwoo. You look criminally attractive right now as well,” You mumble, becoming shy from the unexpected compliment as well.

You turn towards him after he hadn't said anything in a while, “Wonwoo?”

“Would you maybe stay with me in this relationship?”

“You want me to be your fake date again? I mean as long as free food is included-”

“No, Y/N. I mean I really enjoyed tonight and would you maybe go out on real date with me?”

“Oh,” You pause, “yeah, I would really like that.”

Wonwoo links his arm with yours, making you doubt that he was timid just moments ago. Your quizzical expression must've been noticeable because even in the dark of the night, Wonwoo's face could be seen gradually becoming flustered.

“This way I can keep you from slipping,” He looks away from you, too shy to maintain eye contact any longer.

“Is the ice prince shy?” You grin, teasing him once again. It was impossible to refrain from teasing Wonwoo when he it was so easy to make him blush.

“I can't help it when I'm with you, Y/N-” He turns to you, only to be met with the sensation of your lips on his. He reciprocates the kiss, deepening it by supporting the back of your head with one of his hands and the other hand around your waist. You stay like this for a while, unaware of how much tension there was between the two of you. Soon enough though, you were at the doorstep of your apartment complex.

“You said I melt people's hearts, I didn't know that you were included in the people. And I definitely didn't expect you to melt my heart,”

“You're so corny. Goodnight, Wonwoo,” You wave.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” He waves at you from the bottom of the icy steps. You smile one last time at each other, closing the door as you watched him put his hands in his pockets and walk back towards campus. You hummed out of excitement back to your apartment.

The ice prince wasn't as cold as the rumors made him out to be.

[ryttu3k]

Having some Thoughts about Astarion and his perceived intelligence, or lack thereof (it was largely in the tags of this post, which I absolutely recommend reading, but it was getting overly long).

Astarion is perceived as… not very bright. Like it's kind of a running joke in fandom at this point, and it's been bugging me for a bit, so…

INT 13 isn't actually low

INT 13 is actually a fair bit above average! Of the main six Origin characters, only Gale has a higher INT score at 17, which is what you'd expect from a wizard and Actual Nerd (complimentary). Wyll has INT 13 as well, Lae'zel and Shadowheart have the average score of INT 10, and Karlach has INT 8. Of the secondary companions, Halsin and Minthara also have INT 10, and Minsc and - interestingly - Jaheira both have INT 8.

So, far from being one of the dumbest companions, stats-wise, he's actually one of the most intelligent.

Poor planning skills aren't a reflection of intelligence

Yes, Astarion is notoriously terrible at coming up with long-term plans. You know what he also hasn't been able to do for two hundred years? Come up with long-term plans.

He spent about forty years living a normal life, then five times that duration as a slave, being punished for any show of thinking for himself. He tried to make a plan that went against his master's orders, and he spent a year buried alive for it. His only purpose was "to seduce anything with a pulse"; thinking outside of that wasn't just discouraged, it was punished. He's out of practice!

Also, there are a lot of incredibly intelligent people who can't make plans for Assorted Reasons, even without two hundred years of being a puppet to someone else's will. Dyspraxia, ADHD, all sorts of things.

The whole smooth brain thing

This one does bug me, but I also suspect it was a nod to fandom perception. The epilogue has Bing-Bong in it, there were at least parts written well after the game release, and the subsequent fandom response. It's entirely possible, if not likely, that parts of the writing were influenced by fandom perception.

He had low INT in early access

Yes, and they changed it, and he no longer does. Wyll was essentially rewritten between EA and now. Karlach wasn't even a main character in EA. The Dream Visitor was extremely different in EA! Astarion was below average intelligence in EA, and now he's above average ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Neil Newbon says Astarion is intelligent

"I see him as being very intelligent — very erudite — and highly manipulative when he wants to be."

From this interview. I figure he'd know better than anyone save Stephen Rooney, y'know?

The trauma

I mean we can't understate the trauma. The trauma would do a number on your cognitive abilities (and your everything else lbr). And on top of two centuries of going through The Horrors, Cazador repeatedly belittled and infantilised him, hard not to internalise that when Cazador had complete control over his entire existence.

This isn't really meant to be an essay or aimed at anyone in particular and also quite possibly my 'burnt-out gifted kid who valued their intelligence above everything else' is showing but that may be more a Gale thing! Just that the whole 'lmao Astarion is so dumb' trope was bugging me for this, that, and the other reason, so. A post.

[docholligay]

DOCDOC BIRTHDAY WEEK EXTRAVAGANZA

HELLO AND WELCOME! For my birthday, i am getting to do things that *I* want to do, but I hope that you will love as well! Stuff we don't normally do, stuff I don't always have time for, etc. I hope this looks as fun to you as it does to me: BMuch of this I have handpicked as "Fuck I would love to do that if I had the time"

Saturday, August 10th: That evening, we'll have a lovely fun stream. The movie that won the draw out of the pitches was:

I FUCKING LOVE THE QUICK AND THE DEAD I HAVEN'T WATCHED IT IN YEARS THANK YOU FOR REMINDING ME IT EXISTED. It's so bad, it's so bad. It is so very much a shitty modern girlpower type fucking movie, it has NOT ONE IOTA of subtlety, it was basically a 60s-70s Western made with A Girl but trying to do business with the grittier Westerns of the 90s AMAZING. I CANNOT WAIT to tell you everything that is wrong with this movie, it is so fun and fucking stupid.

Sunday, August 11th: I'm running a race Full Send because this is how I have fun I guess but then, that evening, Jackbox games!

Monday, August 12th: The Patreon release of some more of Justified Episode one, and then that night, the movie club for The Lucky Mill! There's a separate post on that, I'll make sure to reblog it again a few times.

Tuesday, August 13th: First of all, It's Lena's birthday! According to my canon, the only one that matters. Weirdly this is not related to it being close to my birthday--I picked it out of a book about birthdays that I use for that sort of thing. I 'found' her personality and just made that her birthday. It's how I did it for all the Overwatch characters. ANYWAY.

It'll be a 'liveblog' (More like a series of long posts) about Season 2, Episode 9 of Vinland Saga. I streamed this show, and really really liked it, but Oath was, I think, my favorite of a series of very good episodes, and I can't wait to really talk about it.

Wednesday, August 14th: IT IS MY BIRTHDAY SHOWER ME WITH AFFECTION. I am going to the fair all day. It is also, no joke, Doc Holliday's birthday. How's that for fuckin kismet?

Thursday, August 15th: A series of unhinged essays about the television show Interview With The Vampire, deeply informed by the fact that the Vampire Chronicles were akin to my Harry fucking Potter when I was a deeply weird 13-16 year old. HUGE spoilers for the books, but honestly the TV show has been so different that it might NOT be a spoiler for the show ahaha. (I do very much like the show, in case anyone is worried it'll be a hateblog.)

That night: @keyofjetwolf and I will be watching S2E5 of Interview. She will have only seen UP to that point, and it's one of my favorite eps (I am sure all of you who have seen it know why)

Friday, August 16th: We finish off with a drunken stream. I will be asked to identify anime and what they are about in what I can only assume is some kind of Who Wants To Be A Weeaboo Piece of Shit, while I am drunk. May include audience participation. For any more detailed instructions/explanation, @ultrace is the main runner of this, with a heavy assist by @keyofjetwolf I think it will be very funny and I will do badly ahahah.

And that will be it! a full week of fun celebration! PLEASE JOIN ME AND HAVE FUN

[serasfanfiction]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3| Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16

The limo in front of them finished releasing it's cargo: a family of lessor Goetia consisting of a pair of blue and red Macaws and their primarily blue offspring. They posed here and there as they made their way up to the front doors. The limo rolled away, leaving room for Asmodeus' limo to roll up.

The limo rolled to a stop. It was their turn to get out.

Lucifer's entire body froze up. Etiquette dictated that he should get out first with Alastor. Not that he cared about etiquette. Etiquette could go screw itself for all he cared. It still dictated he go first.

He really did not want to go first.

He opened his mouth with every intent of telling Asmodeus and Fizzarolli to go first, only to be cut off by a shrill voice screaming: "WE LOVE YOU FIZZAROLLI!"

All eyes inside the limo went to the source of the scream. It was the fan from before, having managed to break free of the barrier that had been erected to allow. Eyes crazed and pants half undone, he rushed the limo, fully intent on throwing himself at it.

Disgusted, Lucifer snapped his fingers, the fan disappearing in a burst of red and gold dust.

A long silence followed, both inside the limo and outside. Fizzarolli gaped, the corners of his lips twitching upward. "Uh, what did you do to him?"

Lucifer blinked, eyes moving uncoordinated of each other. "I dropped him into a volcano."

Somewhere in the Wrath Ring, the little fan was getting a very hot bath. He may or may not survive the experience.

The retired actor of the group gave into the impulse and grinned. "If it wasn't rude, I'd beg you to play body guard."

Lucifer huffed, the mental image absurd. Just image: the king of Hell acting as body guard to an imp. It would be a silly sight.

No more silly than hiding behind his younger sibling, he supposed.

He drew in a deep breathe, held it, then let it out. He reached for the door handle. "Alright, better get this over with."

"Sire, if I may suggest?" Alastor tapped this side of his king's mouth, his own smile picture perfect. "Perhaps a little of that devilish charm might go a long way, in this case."

Lucifer, feeling stressed and spiteful, threw him a smile that was more aggressive than charming over his shoulder as he opened the door. As expected, the moment he cleared the car door, the stunned crowd, understandably not expecting him to show up - forget stepping out of the Sin of Lust's limo - completely lost their minds. Fixing his grin in place, he reached back into the car. "I believe that's our cue, Mr. Radio Demon."

It was like watching the shift change in his radio station. Alastor rose up out of the limo like he regularly showed up in luxury vehicles at high profile venues. Every move was full of lethal and gentlemanly grace. Without missing a beat, he tucked the hand Lucifer had used to lead him out of the limo onto his arm, as if it were perfectly normal for him to have the King of Hell himself on his arm. As he made his way towards the entrance of the manor, one might have thought he had been the one to receive the invitation.

For all that Alastor claimed that he only had a face for radio, he knew how to put on a show for a crowd. As few photos existed of him, the paparazzi could be forgiven for taking a moment to recognize him. But when they did, they went wild all over again.

"Your Majesty! Are you and the Radio Demon having an affair?" One sinner, a shark based one, tried to shove his microphone as far over the barrier as he could.

Another reporter grabbed the collar of her cameraman, nearly choking him as she aimed him in the direction she wanted. "How long has this been going on?"

"Does this mean that the Queen is gone for good?" A small raccoon sinner ducked under the rope barrier, holding onto it as he leaned out to try at a response as they passed.

At least one of them must have been Vox's people, as she threw her hands in front of the lens, shouting, "Stop recording, you idiot! You'll damage the camera!"

Sure enough, everyone who had attempted to either take a photo of Alastor or to film him over the last several moments began to make horrified, dismayed, or angry cries, or some combination of the three as they discovered their cameras were all beginning to ominously smoke.

Lucifer laughed, despite the tension, as they made their way up to the entrance. "Oh, I don't know why I keep forgetting you can do that." He covered his mouth in an attempt to be serious. "The rumors are still going to be messy."

Alastor was surprisingly silent, giving no comment on his opinion on the matter.

An imp, dressed as a butler, met them at the door. He took one look at Lucifer before dropping into a bow. "Your Majesty. May I take your coat?"

Lucifer shook his head. "No, no that won't be necessary." He turned to Alastor. "You want to hang onto yours or ditch it?"

The muscles of Alastor's arm flexed under Lucifer's hand. He appeared to be considering if he could handle seraphim's ongoing touch without his multiple layers. After a pause, he stated, "I'll keep my coat as well, good sir."

Lucifer was tempted to feel insulted. The feeling was banished when the redhead placed his hand over the captive one on his arm and gave it a light squeeze. It reminded him that if Alastor truly didn't want to be touched, he would be more than willing to shake him off, King of Hell or not.

The imp rose out of the bow. "The name of your plus one, your Majesty?"

"Alastor," the blonde offered. Weighed which of the redhead's titles might be more suited for this audience. "The Overlord."

The butler nodded. He led them into the manor and towards an elaborately decorated ballroom. At this door, he announced to the room at large, "Presenting, his Majesty, King Lucifer Morningstar and his plus one, Overlord Alastor."

The guests already in attendance fell into a hush. Everyone stopped what they were doing to either catch a peak at their king, the sinner he had shown up with, or both.

Father, why had he thought bringing Alastor would be less stressful?

A pat to the hand grounded him, subtle enough not to be noticeable from a distance. Alastor wasn't directly watching Lucifer, but was still keeping an eye out for any escalation in his stress levels. It would have felt nice, having that kind of attentive partner, had Lucifer been certain the redhead was doing it because he actually cared about Lucifer's wellbeing.

A tall figure, taller by several feet than Alastor, dressed in silk and velvet and a cloak that reflected the cosmos, approached them. An owl Goetia, whose black top hat was styled with a crown. "Your Majesty." He bowed the exact amount necessary for both their statuses. "We're honored you could attend my daughter's ceremony."

"Stolas!" He could really be no other Goetia. Stolas ushered them from the door to allow the continued flow of guests. "It's been a while!" Nearly eighteen years, in fact. "You look..." Lucifer trailed off.

Goetia were vain and sticklers about their appearances. Never a feather out of place or an errant thread in sight. Stolas, on the other hand, was too frayed around the edges to hide it. He had been a lanky teenager, not quite twenty when Lucifer had met him at the announcement of Octavia's birth. He had seemed tired, but happy to be a new parent.

He looked beyond tired, now. Bags under his eye, thin in a way that suggested a loss of appetite, and soul heavy with a life full of pushing everything down, down, down until it all threatened to explode or implode.

"Um... good?" Lucifer finished, lamely, kicking himself for making it sound like a question.

Stolas didn't appear offended. His pupilless eyes were just as effective mask as Alastor's smile, making him hard to read without paying attention to the other cues. "And you as well, sire." He blinked, once, a slow thing. His head was turned enough to indicate his attention as on the radio host. "Oh my word." In a move that spoke of a life of extreme isolation from people, Stolas leaned down and forward until he was almost in Alastor's personal space, "This is one of those Overlords I've heard so much about?" It was the sort of tone someone took when spotting a lion out on the plains from the safety of their car, not while encountering one up close and personal were it can quite easily sink its claws into them. "I've never seen one so close."

Alastor's ears twitched like they wanted to flatten and his smile took on a malicious edge. Stolas' height forced him to look up at him, something Alastor likely didn't have to do often. "Come now, good fella," he said, not a hint of whatever he was feeling in his voice. "Surely you're not one to judge someone based off their class." With all the grace of a viper going in for the kill, he added, "Not with the company you keep."

Lucifer's lips parted, someone still caught off guard by how audacious this sinner could be. He tensed, ready to interfere if necessary.

It proved to be unnecessary. Stolas' spine straightened, bringing him up to his towering ten feet tall. Everything retreated behind a wall built from a lifetime of locking everything because it was easier to suppress than feel. "Touché."

"Dad?" A smaller figure, closer to Lucifer's height, appeared at Stolas' side. A teenager, an owl-peacock mix Goetia, was dressed in a gown as black as the night sky. Littered throughout the bodice and skirt were numerous constellations made from crystals that twinkled as she moved.

Stolas followed her voice like the moon follows Earth. Where before he looked weary to the bone, he came alive at the sight of her. A deep warmth that spoke of unconditional love colored his voice as he said, "Via, come." He held out his hand and she came with only the slightest pause. "Meet his Majesty. You were only a hatchling when you saw him last."

The teenager, who could only be the star of the ball herself, blinked at Lucifer, her lips twisted mullishly. She clearly wasn't thrilled with being at this party. "Um." She blinked again, and then fell into a curtsy, the movement familiar but not used often. "It's nice to meet you again, your Majesty."

"Stolas, she's lovely," Lucifer responded, honestly and without hesitation. "And she's gotten so big!" Not as big as some of her relatives, but a healthy child was a healthy child.

The pride on Stolas' face as her gazed down at his daughter was impossible to miss. "She's my pride and joy," he said, sincerely. "What is it, my owlette?"

Octavia rolled her eyes as she didn't quite pout, finding the nickname childish. She pointed off towards a door in the back that likely led to the kitchens. "There's an issue with one of the guests. They're demanding to speak with you."

Stolas' eyes narrowed. "And they asked you to deliver the message? Honestly!" He patted his daughter's cheek. Octavia pulled another face, but it was obvious she secretly enjoyed it. Watching the exchange made Lucifer ache for the time his own daughter was this age. That time where children were learning the extent of their independence as they came into adulthood, but still wanted a degree of parental attention. The pain of the missed opportunity was another reminder of how much time had passed and how fast it had gone.

When he'd left, Octavia turned back to Lucifer and Alastor. "Sorry about my dad," she said, addressing Alastor. "He's still learning." She gave them both another nod, before retreating back into the throng of people.

Lucifer watched her go. She had a good head on her shoulders. After she disappeared from view, he began herding Alastor towards the end of the buffet. The sinner must have been curious about the offerings, because he let himself be pushed along. "Do you just know everyone's dirty laundry?" Lucifer grumbled under his breathe, smiling a little too widely as someone paused to watch them a little too intently.

Alastor stared at him, surprised by the question. "Why, of course, your Majesty!" He dug his heels in at a seemingly random spot at the table, bringing them to a stop. He looked to and fro, assessing his chosen spot. "Information is currency, and nothing is more valuable than things people want kept secret."

Alastor stepped behind Lucifer, his hands settling on the monarch's shoulders. Into his ear, the redhead stage whispered, "Take our host, for instance." He directed Lucifer to where Stolas had reappeared from wherever he had disappeared to. "It caused quite the scandal when it came out that he cheated on his wife, and with an imp no less!"

From the door they'd entered through, the butler announced, "Presenting his Highness, Asmodeus and his plus one, Fizzarolli."

The guests broke out into chatter anew, everyone having an opinion on the pair. "And then there's your little brother." He spun Lucifer until they were could easily see the Sin in question. "Fizzarolli was his business partner, before they fell in love and started their romantic entanglement. They tried to keep in on the down low, but no one was surprised when his Highness spilled the beans last month."

Asmodeus and Fizzarolli moved through the crowd, drawing mixed responses from the crowd as they passed. No one was saying anything to their faces, but they weren't trying to hide what they were saying very well either.

The butler appeared again, a little frazzled. "Presenting her Highness, Beelzebub, her plus one, Vortex, and her other plus one, Loona."

If everyone had an opinion on Asmodeus' choice of date, it was nothing compared to the Sin of Gluttony showing up with a pair of hellhounds she was in a polygamous relationship with. The taller, male hellhound was in a sharp black and white tuxedo, while the slightly shorter female was in a blood red sleeveless gown. Beelzebub herself had her arms around both their shoulders while rocking a cotton candy pink cocktail dress.

"Well, that's an interesting development," Alastor murmured. He sounded like this was genuinely news to him.

Lucifer wasn't sure if he wanted to know. "What?"

Alastor nodded to the female, Loona. "She is the adopted daughter of the imp our host is sleeping with."

Lucifer wasn't certain if he was being serious or not. "Really? What is this, some kind of soap opera?"

Alastor snorted. He withdrew from his perch, turning to inspect the offerings laid out on the table. "It certainly seems so, does it not?"

Off to the side, a live band began to play. Various couples made their way to the dance floor. A brave soul was already making his way over to Stolas and Octavia, likely to attempt to ask for a dance. Lucifer grabbed a drink from a server as they passed, silently wishing the kid good luck.

Judging from the sour mood Stolas was in, he was going to need it.

Over the first couple of songs, Lucifer alternated between watching Alastor and the crowd. The sinner weaved up and down the buffet, never straying too far, seemingly interested in the food. Every now and then, he would pause to taste something, an ear twisting around. Lucifer guessed it was to hear whatever gossip was being said near him. He noted when the redhead would linger he would pretend he was grabbing more than one morsel to snack on, but never actually ate anything.

Several of the Goetia pattered around Lucifer, but none approached. As the third song came to an end, Alastor prodded a passing imp. There was too much chatter around Lucifer to hear what he was saying, but the imp nodded and then ran off in the direction of the band.

Lucifer eyed him suspiciously as he made his way back over to him. "Bored already?"

Alastor hummed at him. He held out a hand, reminiscent of that night in his bedroom a couple weeks ago. "Care to dance, your Majesty?"

Lucifer stared out into the crowd. Across the room, the imp Alastor had flagged down grew closer to the band. Each step felt like another grain of sand falling through an hour glass, ticking away the seconds until this moment disappeared into the ether, lost forever.

If he accepted, this would be his first dance in public in nearly twenty years.

It would be the first time he had ever taken his first dance at a formal event with anyone other than Lilith.

The imp reached the band, chattering with them. They nodded at each other, the band fiddling with their instruments as they prepared the song. Lucifer eyed the held out hand out of his peripheral view.

Lilith had already made her choice. Had made it when she walked out the door to the home they had shared for almost ten thousand years. Had made it again when she disappeared somewhere not even her daughter could reach her.

Perhaps it was time for Lucifer to do the same.

He took Alastor's hand.

Alastor's eyes glinted with dark promises, his smile deceptively welcoming as he led them out onto the dance floor. The other attendees drew away, curiously murmuring to themselves as they gave them space until they were surrounded by a large circle of people.

A violin strummed a single note through the ballroom, testing it for accuracy as Alastor brought them both to a stop in the center of the dance floor. He rested his palm against Lucifer's waist, drawing him in closer, but not close enough to touch. "I'm sure his Majesty is good at improvising, no?"

As he wasn't sure where to put his hands, Lucifer left them out at his side. He grinned widely, delighted by the prospect of a partner giving him a challenge. "Do your worst."

A violin began to strum out the first notes. It wasn't a song that Lucifer recognized. Alastor started out with a simple sway in time with the music. Soon, he began to incorporate movement, such as turns and spins into the dance, following in time with the violin. It wasn't anything that Lucifer had ever danced before, although he noticed immediately that Alastor was using subtle pushes and pulls of his hand to indicate where he wanted Lucifer to go and when he planned send the blonde out for a spin.

The onlookers were forced to make a make more room as the circuit of their dance got wider, slowly picking up pace with the music. He could pick up subtle influences from the waltz in the dance, as he was drawn in, hands instinctively going into their proper places. When Alastor began to spin them around, Lucifer leaned back subtlety into the spin, enjoying the feel of a strong arm keeping him from toppling backward with the momentum of the spin.

Alastor sent him out to the left, connected only by a single pair of hands, until their arms extended out as far as they would go. Without missing a step, the redhead drew him back in, sending him off into the other direction, exchanging hands as they went. When Alastor pulled him back in, he spun Lucifer around until they were back to front, right hand holding right hand and Alastor's left sitting on Lucifer's hip.

For a split second, Lucifer was aware again of the people around them, staring at them with wide, judging eyes.

Everyone was watching them.

The sight was lost as Alastor spun them around again, ending with them facing each other in the default position for a waltz. Alastor, perhaps picking up on his distraction, leaned in closer than the dance usually allowed, voice pitched low as he said, "Eyes on me, your Majesty." His hands tightened, a physical reminder that the sinner had him figuratively and literally. "This dance is only for the two of us."

That wasn't true. Alastor wanted everyone to see this. Lucifer's hands gripped Alastor's tighter than necessary. Forced himself to focus only on his partner. He released the breathe he'd been holding in a shaky laugh.

Alastor lead them through another circuit around their stolen space. It repeated much of the same steps and movements of the first part of their dance, picking up speed as they went. Lucifer allowed himself to fall back into it, let his senses focus on the cues Alastor was giving him until there was nothing but the music and and the movement of the dance.

Lucifer let out a breathless laugh as Alastor used the momentum of their spin to pull him in and lift him from the side. The lift was small, more a tentative testing of weight. Now that he knew what to expect, when, several moments later, Alastor's hands went to Lucifer's waist, the king was ready.

The music hit a crescendo as his feet left the ground. Lucifer unfurled his wings, using them to help with the lift. For a moment, he was weightless, held down to the ground only by the hands on his hips. He laughed, a real laugh, exhilarated.

And then he looked down at Alastor.

Alastor stared up at him, eyes alight with something too dark to be called wonder. Alastor was looking at him like he wanted to join him. Like he wanted to tear him down and ground him forever.

Like he wanted to tuck him away in his bayou and never let him leave again.

Red tipped hands tightened around his hips, a warning, and Lucifer allowed himself to be pulled down, wings gently flapping to slow his fall. As he came down, his and Alastor's faces came within inches of each other, so close they were almost sharing a single breathe.

If he had wanted to, he could have leaned forward that mere inch or two and sent them down an entirely different path.

Lucifer's feet touched the ground, his wings disappearing as quickly as they had appeared. Alastor sent him out for one last spin, as if he were trying to regain his distance before he was drawn in too much. Left hand met left hand, both going up and over Lucifer's head as Alastor dipped him, only Alastor's right hand across his body keeping him from falling. Lucifer's own hand came up to catch his hat before it could tumble off his head.

Alastor pulled him back up. Both of them were flushed and breathing harder than the dance warranted as he stepped back and away from Lucifer. As the violin sang out one last note, signifying the end of the song, Alastor startled him by doing something he hadn't done a single day since they'd met.

Alastor leaned forward, one hand crossed over his chest, in to what could only be called a bow, even as every inch of his posture showed no subservience. Even in this, he was defiant.

In that moment, as he stared at the top of the head of the head of this sinner - this sinner who had half driven him mad with frustration, who dared to challenge him where no one else dared, who had waged a campaign to win him over - Lucifer knew he was caught.

Taking his own step back, he lowered the rim of his hat, hiding behind it like he could hide away from this revelation. "Stand up."

"Sire?" He could almost believe Alastor was actually concerned.

The roil of that uncertainty had Lucifer taking another step back. "I need to step away. Don't... don't get into any trouble while I'm gone." Without giving the sinner the chance to respond, he turned and fled.

The manor had been updated over time, expanding as needed. It was far older than every living Goetia combined. Once upon a time, it had been like a second home, when relations had been better. He remembered the layout enough to find a guest bathroom far enough away from the party not to be immediately found, but not close enough to the private residences to be intruding. They wouldn't have kicked him out, but it would have still been awkward.

Lucifer shut the door behind him, heading straight for the tap. The water was only ever able to get barely below room temperature in Hell. He chilled it as it hit his palms, splashing the icy water across his face. Repeated it once, and then twice. Held his palms over his face to hide from his reflection.

What was he doing? Did he really want to peruse a relationship with Alastor? Alastor, who was likely only playing with him for power? Who was certainly going to be furious when he found out the consequences of drinking angelic blood of Lucifer's caliber?

He didn't require utter devotion from his partners. He didn't require them to lay themselves bare before him. He merely wished that they want him for him, because he didn't think he could lay out what was left of his heart and survive having it destroyed all over again.

And that was the ultimate question: could he trust Alastor with his heart?

The honest answer? He didn't know.

Lucifer turned off the tap, grabbing a towel to wipe off his face. He pointedly didn't look in the mirror, unwilling to see what was staring back at him, unable to face it just yet. This wasn't the time nor the place to have a melt down. He could have it when he returned to his rooms, but for now, he needed to hold it together.

The hall outside the bathroom was empty, the noise coming from the ballroom barely audible down the hall. He had every intention of making his way back to the ballroom - to Alastor - when he caught sight of a figure disappearing around a corner. Lucifer might have brushed it off as staff and carried on, had it not been for the distinctive flash of what could only be angelic steel.

Now why was an imp skulking around a party full of Hell's highest royalty with angelic steel?

Keeping light on his feet, Lucifer trailed the figure. The figure moved from room to room, peering into each before moving on to the next. At random, the figure would look over his shoulder, forcing Lucifer to occasionally get creative with hiding spots. Stopping before a seemingly random room, the figure glanced around one last time, and then ducked inside.

Lucifer crept up on the room. A simple thought and he had transformed into mouse, tiny enough to allow him to keep low to the ground where no one would think to look for him. He sniffed at the entrance of the room, picking up on the scent of someone who had spent some serious time in the Wrath Ring. Could it be the figure he had been trailing?

Entering the room, the first thing he noted was the lights were out. The light of what passed for late afternoon/early evening filtered in through windows, whose curtains had been left wide open. Not much by way of furniture littered the room, leaving it mostly bare. It didn't appear to be in use, more of a spare room. The only thing of note about it was the high ceiling, where bare beams crossed from one side of the room to the next. Glancing around, he couldn't think of a single reason the figure would have come into this room.

Unless he knew he was being followed.

Lucifer transformed back into his normal form, rolling out of the way of a boot intent on coming down on top of him. He came up into a crouched position, noting right off the bat that the figure was standing between him and the exit to the room. The new position also gave him his first look at who he'd been tailing.

The figure was indeed an imp, one on the taller side for his species. He was dressed in what looked so stereotypically like a cowboy outfit, it almost looked like a costume, were it not for the fact that the cloth was clearly lived in and his weapons were very real. Sinister yellow eyes nearly glowed in the dimming light of the room, widening slightly as the figure got his own good look at who had been following him.

"Well, I'll be damned," the figure drawled. He flowed into a standing position like water running up a statue, tail whipping around behind him into into a coil. Utter contempt dripped like poison from his tongue as he said, "If it isn't the King himself come down to grace us peasants with his presence."

Lucifer stood up, swiping at his sleeves to dislodge any dust. He shot the imp a winning smile as he quipped back, "Well, Char-Char has been getting on me to get out more." He placed his hands together, one over the other. "So why don't you tell me what's got you sneaking around and I'll see what I can do for you?"

The little cowboy's grin was as contemptuous as his tone. "Hm, pass." He paced his side of the room, edging closer without ever coming into arm's reach. "You royals like to talk like you care, but none of you actually give a rat's ass about us."

Lucifer said nothing, letting him talk. It was obvious this guy had beef with the ruling classes. Let him talk long enough, and he might let something interesting spill.

The cowboy crossed his arms, body language deceptive languid. "And I don't think you'd like what I had to say, anyway."

Lucifer shrugged. "Don't know unless you try."

The cowboy tapped his fingers to one of the holsters at his hips.

The seraphim eyed the gun. It was a beautiful thing, as much a work of art as it was a weapon. The white parts of the barrel glowed, giving away what it was made from. He raised an eyebrow. "Really?" He placed a hand on his hip, using a single finger of his other hand to do a little circle in the air to encompass the entirety of the imp. "You're really going to attempt to fight me?"

The imp had ego, Lucifer would give him that, and confidence in spades. He wrapped his hand around the grip of his gun. "I always wanted to try and kill the unkillable."

Lucifer tilted his neck from side to side, cracking it as he went. Maybe this was what he needed to burn off a little anxious energy. Even with some holy weapons, an imp wasn't much of a match for him, but he might be entertaining. He made a 'come hither' gesture with his left hand. "Then show your king what you're made of, little imp."

The imp struck with the speed of a rattlesnake. His gun was out in the blink of an eye, two shots fired in quick succession.

Lucifer side stepped both. The bullets hit the wall behind him, sending out a spray of dust. He tilted his head to the side. "That all you got?"

The imp grinned. "I'm just getting started."

Lucifer was surprised the imp would dare attempt to get within arms reach, but that's exactly what the cowboy did. He rushed forward with that same deadly speed, a knife as pretty as the guns appearing in his hand. Lucifer side stepped the attempt, grabbing hold of the imps extended arm and tossing him effortlessly towards the wall behind him with enough force to stun, not kill.

The imp twisted like a cat in free fall, hitting the wall feet first. He used the wall to catapult himself back at the seraphim, landing partially on Lucifer' side, partially on his back. The imp's knife flashed as he brought it down towards the the seraphim's back.

Lucifer laughed at the attempt, transforming into a snake. The imp gave off a rattlesnake's warning rattle, hitting the ground as his support suddenly disappear. He was already wrapping a hand around Lucifer's body, tearing him off just as Licifer was about to sink his teeth into the imp's neck. The imp sent him flying off to the side.

Lucifer transformed in mid air, flipping over backwards and using his wings to slow his fall. No sooner than he touched the ground, did he have to duck as a piece of furniture went flying over his head. He caught a glimpse of an actual rope, which was far better than anything he could have hoped for. This imp was seriously committed to the cowboy shtick!

Lucifer let him throw another large piece of furniture at him before the blonde decided it was time to put a little fear of the Devil in this imp. He leaped over the armchair, coming down on the other side. As the armchair was released, he grabbed hold of the rope. The imp pulled the rope tight, tugging it hard against Lucifer's grip.

Lucifer didn't budge and his grip held fast.

The shadow cast by the brim of his hat cast his face into shadow, leaving only Lucifer's grin visible, the sight of it more reptilian than humanoid. The imp swallowed, a single streak of sweat rolling down the side of his face. He was caught between attempting to reclaim his tool or abandon it. Lucifer made the decision for him when hellfire caught between his fingers, taking to the rope like tumbleweed.

The imp released the rope mere seconds before it could touch him. Lucifer let the rope fall, cutting the power to the hellfire and dousing it as effectively as pouring water over a candle. As the fire winked out of existence, nothing remained of the rope, not even ash. Dusting off his hands, Lucifer taunted, "Ready to give up and start behaving?"

The imp retorted with a derisive sneer. He pulled his gun, firing off a shot that sent Lucifer airborne. Feeling like a nuisance, Lucifer didn't just dodge the next bullet, or the one after that, or the one after that. Oh, no.

He started pulling faces and silly poses, all to show off how utterly and completely he wasn't taking the imp seriously. Eyebrow twitching, the imp took a run up the side of one of the walls, twisting around at the height of the run. Using the momentum of the twist, he sent his pretty blade flying at Lucifer.

Rolling his eyes, Lucifer barely put any effort into his dodge. "This is getting sad, you know." He sighed and clicked his tongue. Shaking his head, arms out in a 'what can you do,' pose, he lamented, "And you were showing such promise!"

It turned out the imp had one last trick up his sleeve. Lucifer felt what could only be rope tightening around his ankles a moment before he was being yanked across the room. He barely felt the impact with the wall - the imp didn't have the brute strength necessary to cause him that kind of damage. He did feel his stomach drop as he fell to the floor, his wings suddenly as useful as a penguin's. He twisted so that he came down on his side, his wings safely between his body and the wall.

His pride smarting, he shoved himself up onto his elbow, seeking out the offending object around his ankles. He knew what he was going to find even without seeing it.

"Blessed rope?" He couldn't keep the incredulous lilt out of his voice. Guns, bullets, and knives made sense. Angelic steel could be reforged. None of that explained how an imp got his hands on blessed rope. "Where did you get blessed rope?"

He didn't wait for an answer, contorting in an effort to reach his ankles and free them. To his frustration, the imp yanked on the rope hard enough to keep them out of reach, pulling him across the floor several inches in the process. Lucifer's wings flared as he hissed, not unlike a snake warning an unwary soul that they were about to get bitten.

"Ah, ah," the imp laughed at him, breathless. His eyes were a touch too wide and his smile too full of teeth to be anything like real humor. "Gotta keep some of my secrets." He wrapped the rope around his hands to secure them, eyes darting around the room as he sought out a place to secure it.

The imp's upper hand was paper thin, the rope currently a double edged sword. They were both very well aware of the fact that if seraphim freed himself, the tables would turn.

"Looks like you caught me." Lucifer levered himself up until he was half sitting on his side, held up by one of his arms. The imp tensed, ready to pull on the rope if he went for his ankles again. Lucifer merely waved his free hand at himself, the restraint, and the imp. "What now, cowboy?"

The imp's golden tooth glinted as he pointed up to the ceiling. "Now I'm going to string you up like a pig for the slaughter." He mimicked Lucifer's earlier 'what can you do' pose. "Can't have you interfering."

Lucifer glanced up at the beam in question. It would be undignified, going up, but he would be able to free himself easily enough. Unbothered, he threw the imp a flirty wink. "Kinky, but not my thing."

The imp gave off that distinct rattle, his tail thrashing. His fingers twitched towards his holstered gun.

Curious. He wasn't smiling anymore. Did he not like innuendo? Oh, Lucifer could work with that. "What's the matter, cowboy?" His eyes fell half lidded into his best set of bedroom eyes, tilting his hips to show off the body that had tempted quite a few human's to their damnation. "Got me all trussed up and now you're getting cold feet?"

The imp's eye twitched, his self control hanging on by a thread. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised," he seethed, "That everyone in this hell hole is a sex crazed maniac when we're being ruled by some two bit whore."

Yup, this was a tetchy one.

The insult rolled harmlessly off Lucifer's shoulders like rain water. He opened his mouth to truly send the imp off the deep end, when the door suddenly burst open.

"Oh my, this is quite the scene."

Lucifer resisted the urge to slap his face. Of course Alastor would show up now.

Whoever the imp was, he was quick witted. Alastor was forced to dodge as the imp decided to shoot first and ask questions later. Lucifer took advantage of the distraction to go for his ankles, only to narrowly miss taking a bullet through the back of his palm as the imp let off a warning shot right at it.

All three parties paused to regroup and reassess. The imp left his gun pointing at Lucifer. "Stay right where you are, Red, or I give our leader a brand new hole to yap out of."

Alastor stood up, tugging his suit back into place. "Hm, please do," he said. Raising his voice to be heard over Lucifer's annoyed protest, he tacked on, "I should point out all it's going to do is annoy him."

Lucifer was hardly mollified by the additional warning. It wouldn't kill him, sure, but it would still hurt!

Realizing that threatening the life of their king was pointless, the imp decided on a different strategy. In an impressive feat of strength Lucifer hadn't thought him capable of, the imp swung around, dragging the seraphim across the floor and sending him flying at the Overlord.

Flightless as he was with the blessed rope locking away his powers, Lucifer's wings were still quite large. They were more than enough to slow down his momentum so that he landed hard on his hands and knees at Alastor's feet rather than colliding with him.

Alastor watched the imp escape through a vent without making a single move to stop him. "Oh dear. It looks like he's escaped."

Unhelpful jerk.

Lucifer grumbled as he was finally able to untangle his ankles. He glared as he found himself in a tug of war for the rope with one of the redhead's shadows. "Nope, you're lucky I let you keep the dagger. You don't get the rope, too." He yanked it out of the shadow's grasp, having to put his back into it.

"Let me, sire?" Alastor leaned over him, the angle having him peering down at him upside down. A shadow wrapped itself around Lucifer's waist, lifting him up and setting him on his feet, back to the sinner. The seraphim's wings puffed up as a claw toyed with one of the feathers. "You don't even have the slightest clue where I hid it."

Lucifer tucked his wings away to keep Alastor from getting any ideas, like ripping a feather out.

The deer demon placed his hand beneath his back, the very picture of a perfect gentleman.

Not for the first time, Lucifer questioned his sanity over his choice of this sinner. He set the thought aside for a more pressing matter: "We should probably tell someone about that imp fella." He walked past Alastor to the door, without looking to see if the redhead would follow. "He's here for someone at this party." Normally, Lucifer could have cared less about assassination plots, but this little brat had irritated him.

He paused several feet down the hall, pivoting suddenly. He nearly ran into Alastor's chest, the sinner not having expected him to stop and not having stopping himself. The blonde poked him, lightly, in the center of his chest. "How did you even find me, anyway?"

Alastor took hold of his elbows, gently but firmly forcing him to take a step back. He pointed a single finger down at their feet, his expression bemused. "Haven't you noticed something odd with your shadow, your Majesty?"

Lucifer had not, in fact, noticed anything odd with his shadow. He followed the direction the finger was pointing, finding himself staring at what looked like nothing more than his shadow at first glance.

His shadow, which proceeded to wave at him completely independent of him doing anything.

"You had your shadow follow me?" He stomped his foot - lightly - over the face of the thing, causing the shadow to detach from him. It returned to it's master's form, shaking a fist at him and frowning dramatically.

Alastor reached out, running a finger under Lucifer's chin, imploring him to look up at him. There was nothing like mocking on his face as he stated, simply, "You looked distressed. I promised to look at for you."

Lucifer felt the soft rush of heat to his cheeks. He ducked his head low, hiding his expression - futile as it was at this point - and about faced. "And who's fault is that? All that bowing nonsense!" He resumed his marching down the hall back to the ballroom. "It doesn't suit you."

Alastor didn't respond. His amusement was nearly audible anyway.

They found their way back to the ballroom without further incident. Stolas wasn't hard to find. He was hovering off to the side, watching as his daughter danced with the female hellhound who had come with Beelzebub. He took one look at the blessed rope hanging from Lucifer's hand and was instantly on alert. "Your Majesty?"

The little king gestured for their host to follow him. He led the owl Goetia out of the room, Alastor keeping a leisurely pace at Lucifer's side. When the blonde was certain it was less likely they would be overheard, he held out the rope. "You have an uninvited guest. Likes weaponry of the angelic kind."

Stolas peered down at the rope. He tilted his head to the side. "Was this assassin by any chance a sexy little imp dressed like a cowboy?"

Lucifer blinked at him, blankly. Sexy? Had the imp been sexy? He squinted as he considered it. "I... guess?"

Stolas sighed, taking the rope. "Striker is a very... persistent foe." He tucked the rope away in the folds of his cloak. "My wife hired him to kill me." He bowed his head. "I apologize his Majesty was caught up in all of this."

Lucifer winced. Stolas' wife hired an assassin to kill him? He looked to Alastor, who didn't appear surprised by this revelation. Was this why he was surprised over Stolas and his wife throwing any public event together? Awkwardly, he turned back to Stolas. Asked, "Uh... Do you need any help...?"

The Goetia prince shook his head, waving away the offer. Before their eyes, he seemed to age another ten years. "Do not worry yourself, sire. I have dealt with him before. I will deal with him again." He waved a hellhound serving as bodyguard for the event, leaning down until he was near the hound's level. "Mount a search for the intruder. Keep it quiet. We mustn't disturb the guests."

The hound saluted. He scurried off, barking out orders as he passed his fellow guards. Soon a small army was amassed, spreading out to search the premises.

"I will join them in the search." Stolas returned his attention to the other two. "Would his Majesty and his guest like to return to the party?"

Lucifer considered. Did he want to return to the ceremony? To the crowd of vultures? To his siblings and their partners? He tilted his head to the side, looking to his own partner for the night. "Alastor?"

The radio host's eyes cleared, as if he were tuning back into the present. His smile turned indulgent. "I would of course be willing to follow whatever his Majesty is willing to do."

Lucifer narrowed his eyes at him, knowing what he was doing.

Alastor merely stared back, willing to wait him out.

Lucifer considered extending the evening with this sinner at his side. This sinner he might have been developing some level of affection for, even as he was tempted to strangle him on a daily basis.

"You know what? The night is still young! It's been a while since I enjoyed it." He reached out, telegraphing his intention. The redhead didn't move away, allowing him to take his hand. The blonde monarch tugged him towards the ballroom, calling over to Stolas as they went. "Offer is still open if you need help."

Stolas made a hum of acknowledgement, letting them go.

Without looking back, Lucifer led Alastor back into the ballroom, head held high. His mind was still on the fence on how he felt about this sinner, but he felt a little more like he might be able to face it whichever way things fell.

tbc

Part 17

[hfjonewiki]

Hi! I hope this isn't a strange thing to ask but could you tell me more about ii-critical? I'm writing a research paper on the ii community and I wanna gain more insight to what that part of the fandom was all about.

My main questions are: Why did it exist? Why were you apart of it? What were the posts like? What was the biggest drama? Hell, what platform was it even on??

I wasn't that deep in the OSC when it was up and running (only really got into the community in ~2018) so a lot of community context from that era is lost on me. If you have any other object show oldhead insight for ii you wanna share, please do! I find fandom fascinating and would love to here more stories.

hoooo boy...... cracks knuckles. i went over it a little bit in a previous post but i'll try and give more info this time

(also this should go without saying but please don't try and seek out anyone mentioned or involved its been like 6-7 years since all this happened. also most of us were mentally unstable teenagers hence the. everything)

ii-critical originated as a tumblr blog created by someone named mira (i have no idea if they still go by mira or what their pronouns are now. i'm just gonna stick to they/them for convenience) as a way for them to discuss their criticisms towards the show's writing. the blog was created in mid-to-late 2017, during a time period where "(media) critical" was becoming a common tag. the trend was started by "su critical", a tag created by steven universe fans to discuss the show's faults in response to the show being in a rut of making some VERY dubious decisions (i believe it was started around bismuth's introduction, which was heavily criticized at the time for MANY reasons). the "critical" tags were often created for fandoms who tended to be hostile towards criticism of the media they were based around. the inanimate insanity fandom didn't really have that issue, thankfully. and so, the blog "ii-critical" was born.

at the beginning, the posts were about mira going through an episode beat by beat, and pointing out things they both liked and disliked about it. occasionally, there were posts analyzing a specific character. i'm kind of speeding through the "what were the posts like" section because that is by far the LEAST interesting part of the ii-critical mythos

i found the blog very shortly after its creation. it caught me at a good time, because i was at a point where i was becoming disillusioned with the show (episode 11 was the most recent episode at this point, and i really disliked it due to it being at the peak of ii's melodrama era. the show just felt miserable to watch. s2e11 sucking butt is still an opinion i stand by today Lolzor). mira and i started talking and i was brought on as the blog's other moderator, and i wrote my own analysis posts.

the blog was decently successful and didn't actually get that much hate. most people agreed with our criticisms and were, like, normal about the concept of a thing they liked being flawed. at some point we had a decent amount of followers and made the ill-fated decision to create a discord server for the blog. for added context: at the time of the server's creation, mira was 13, and i was 14. we were NOT old enough to be running a public discord server that at least 50+ people ended up joining.

the server had a lot of problems, mainly in regards to the channels. since we were both at the age where you are hormonal and stupid, we decided to make the nsfw channel accessible to everyone, and didn't even ask for people to include their ages in their intros. a concerning amount of people assumed that mira and i were both adults, or at least older teens until we said otherwise. we also had a blacklist and vent channel, which, word of advice, you should NOT have in a public server. shit gets out of hand SO fast. i vividly remember there being at least one guy who posted in the vent channel on a near-daily basis about pretty serious stuff. trust me when i say that people shared some HORRIFIC information in there. also, we had an emoji that was just a drawing of donut from bfdi with his whole cock and balls hanging out because we thought it was funny. i'm pretty sure there wasn't a "please don't post the donut balls emoji in non-nsfw channels" rule anywhere either.

i could go into more detail about various happenings, but that delves too deeply into interpersonal drama that frankly has no business being shared publicly. one of the most concerning things that happened, however, was this one guy who would come in vc, barely say anything, and fuck around with his gun the whole time. and yes, you could hear it. eventually we got reports of him being predatory towards a younger member of the server, and he was banned. i think that was the first thing that made mira and i go, "oh, we might've fucked up". there was also another incident where somebody was leaking information from inside the server (yet another reason why the vent channel was a HORRIBLE idea), and we banned a bunch of inactive people until eventually realizing somebody had stolen the username and pfp of a real user and impersonated them to stay in the server. this whole ordeal lasted like, two weeks. and again!! we were just BARELY no longer preteens at this point!! and we still thought, yeah, we can handle this. we're super capable. at one point we hired two other moderators (one of whom was 14-15, and the other was an actual adult for once. having an adult moderator led to us FINALLY locking the nsfw channel off to minors, since we had somebody who could moderate it for us), but this was towards the end so most of the damage had already been done

i was removed as a moderator on the blog after a large amount of interpersonal nonsense that, again, i'm not going to get into. it was mainly just because i was spending too much time in the server instead of posting on the blog like i was supposed to. a couple weeks later, i was suddenly banned from the server and mira had blocked me on everything. again, interpersonal nonsense and both of us being mentally unstable, not anyone's business. we reconciled a few months after and both apologized for being dumbasses, so we at least ended things on better terms.

another notable thing is that sometimes, crew members would pop in and out of the server, and they were surprisingly chill about the blog's existence. it was mainly justin and sam from what i remember, and resulted in this legendary image:

i don't remember this bit, but at some point taylor may have responded to one of our posts and was Not Nice about it? again, i don't remember this, take it with a grain of salt. but knowing his history with getting into shit with fans for no reason and how it got to the point where it was cited as a reason he was removed from the team, yeah that tracks

talking about ii-critical is strange, because i don't know where to draw the line between "infamous blog from the early days of the tumblr osc", "stupid pointless infighting between teenagers", and "genuinely horrible decisions and moderation that caused real damage". i'm trying to stick to just the first one and giving info about the last one when necessary. i'm aware a lot of this is gonna paint my past self in a VERY unflattering light, but that's who i was and what i did when i was 14 and i just have to accept that.

ii-critical was just a facet of the tumblr osc circa 2017. a lot of what happened can be traced back to larger issues with the fandom, especially when it came to restrictions on nsfw content. remember, this is pre-tumblr porn ban. i knew an ALARMING amount of people who had nsfw blogs, and even posted nsfw art while they were minors. i don't wanna seem like i'm making excuses for fucking up when it came to moderation and keeping our members safe, but it's important to know that the blog and server were very much a product of a specific point in tumblr history. we saw minors casually posting nsfw on a regular basis and thought, "yeah, it should be fine to have the nsfw channel open to everyone, right?" and like i said, we didn't originally require ages upon introduction. people didn't realize how badly we'd fucked up until the damage had already been done.

i could go on about the dozens of other ways i fucked up, but that would start to dive into the interpersonal side of things. i think i covered everything that actually mattered. i don't plan on talking about ii-critical to this extent again any time soon. everyone who both ran and was part of the blog and server have moved on, i don't wanna keep dragging people back to what's probably a very unpleasant period of their lives.

that said, if prompted, i will talk about the 2012-2014 deviantart era + "dark ages" of the osc AT LENGTH if prompted. i swear i have wisdom beyond the shitty blog i ran with my friends as a teenager. you dont even know about the Ball OC Discourse

[roeiswriting]

The prospect of a coming out storyline on one of the most popular shows currently airing on television where a firefighter in his 30s discovers his sexuality is so incredibly important.

Now this is all just a theory as of now, from glimpses into episodes from stills and interviews with Oliver, but the prospect of Buck being queer and this being a season of discovery and self reflection for Buck is a beautiful idea.

A story I always remember from when I was around 13 is how some of my family would speak about a family member of mine, about how they came out in their thirties, and that they had “lied and deceived” them all for years. There was so much negative talk about them coming out at what the family had deemed was “too late” which I always thought was bullshit. I could never understand how they somehow were obvious to how difficult it was for a young person with very strict and arguably “traditional” parents growing up in the 80s/90s to accept that part of themself and feel safe to share it.

I grew up in the 2000s, when this family member was already out and had been for some time. I got a lot of shit from a close member of my family for “coming out too young” being “too young to know”. Years of them simply ignoring the fact I knew who I was, telling people around us that I was “confused” and I “didn’t know” who I was. But for me growing up with that queer member of my family I didn’t really ever have a heteronormative idea of life. I always just thought I’d grow up to love whoever, gender was never even a factor. They were really great to have around when I was a kid, them and their partner would look after me from time to time and it was great. I admire their strength and ability to overcome this stigma to live their life with their partner to the absolute fullest.

For Buck to go on this journey, to open up a part of himself which he may simply have never thought of before or knew existed is telling the story of so many people, people who are often not seen on television. Things that should be normal in our society but on reflection when do we see these story’s that reflect these people actually on television. A story that could make it easier on so many people.

If there is anything I could promise to anyone who isn’t in a space where they can come out, or hopes in the future they may be able to, it would be this.

There is not an age limit on coming out to those that you love and trust. There is no requirement to come out at all. All that you should ever do is live your life to the fullest loving who you are and loving who your heart skips a beat for every time you catch their eye.

Television mirrors our lives, it gives people hope and strength and an understanding that you are not alone in this. That is why it is something people hold on to, and whether this happens or not the idea itself is a great one.

[merlinfromberlin]

Question: Where does Bumblebee go in "New Recruit"? (S02 E18)

I've just rewatched this episode for the first time in years and I couldn't help but notice that Bumblebee just vanishes from the episode for a few minutes after they decide to bring Smokescreen to the Autobot base.

So, naturally, I was wondering what happened there? Warning, spoilers ahead!

This is the last time we see Bee in quite a while. It's at around 6 minutes 18 seconds (depending on where you watch) and at the end of the sequence introducing Smokescreen. He is standing with Ratchet and Arcee who are questioning Optimus' decision to trust Smokescreen, but doesn't say anything himself.

He actually hasn't said anything in quite a while at that point, too. I didn't look up the specific time he talks for the last time during this scene, but it's at least been 30 seconds.

The next time we actually see Bumblebee is at 13 minutes and 41 seconds (again, depending on where you're watching). You get two screenshots because the mid-transformation screenshots are just too goofy. At this point it's been almost 7 minutes and 30 seconds since we've seen him for the last time. That's more than 1/3 of the episode.

And usually that wouldn't be too weird. Sometimes bots just aren't in episodes. It happens and normally I would just roll with it. Except...

Except, this time it just doesn't make sense for Bee to not appear. If we look at the stuff that happens in between his two appearances, it's mainly three things: 1. Starscream learning of the existence of the Red Energon 2. Smokescreen and Jack bonding 3. Smokescreen and Team Prime talking in the Autobot base

It makes sense that we cannot see him during the first two scenes. But, he definitely should be there for the third one. I mean, everyone else is there: Smokescreen, Ratchet, Arcee, Optimus, Raf, Jack, Miko. Even Bulkhead shows up after a minute or two to give Smokescreen a much needed reality check.

Just Bee is missing and even though I am willing to admit that, as an ardent Bumblebee fan from day one, I might be biased here. But, at the same time, it would just make more sense for Bee to be there with the others than not.

This is at 6 minutes 25 seconds (again, might vary based on where you're watching) and even though the groundbridge has already been shut of, it is implied that they just came back. Not only does this scene come immediately after the scenes in the forest, but Arcee, Ratchet & Optimus are also just walking off of the bridge together.

So, why isn't Bee with them? From what we saw in the last scene, he was standing behind Ratchet. If anything, he should probably be behind him.

At first I thought that Bumblebee had maybe just gone first and was standing somewhere in the background. So, I kept looking out for him in the background of the scene. But, no. We get several angles of the main room (which I am not going to show with screenshots right now because it would take forever). He just never shows up.

After that, my next idea was that he might be off to pick up Raf or something. Even if it would have been odd for him to vanish just like that, it would have at least been an explanation. But, no, neither:

As we can see in this screenshot from 6 minutes 36 seconds, all of the kids are there.

I mean, he has two short cameos in the scenes he's missing from. When Starscream browses the internet, a picture of his vehicular mode can be seen for a few seconds, and Ratchet mentions him off-handedly when Raf pulls up the picture of the Red Energon. But, I wouldn't count that as really appearing.

And that was the point where I just ran out off plausible explanations for his absence in the context of this episode. So I turned to theorising:

The other bots just left him behind at the crash site to guard it or something.

Alternatively, they just forgot him at the crash site. I don't think that that is very likely, but just imagine the angst you could write about that.

Bee actually entered the groundbridge and went off to sulk. Either because of Ratchet's comment implying that he is anything like Smokescreen, or because Bee, as well as Bulkhead, is afraid of getting replaced.

And that's just what I came up with on the spot. But, like, I was really just sitting there, asking myself why they had left my precious boy behind. xD ^^"

Gosh, I would love to write some fanfiction right now. But sadly, I've been neglecting my university work all day and need to get onto that before I get to bed.

I will again admit to being biased here. Bumblebee has been my favourite character ever since I saw this show for the first time when I was 8 or 9 years old. And I remember quite vividly hating Smokescreen for stealing Bee's thunder and screen time. So, I was going into this episode spending additional attention to Bumblebee to see how much of my perception was actually true. Like, I don't want to hold a grudge against Smokescreen for misperceiving him 10+ years ago. If I end up not liking him, I want it to be because I don't like him now. (/joking)

However, I was not prepared to be proven right this fast. (/joking)

Addendum: I also mentioned at the beginning of this text that Bee stopped talking even before he disappeared visually from this episode. Even though he is present for the harbour fight scene with Starscream and the end at the base, he does not make a single beep. Not, when he is hit, not to communicate with Arcee/Optimus during the fight, not when they are back at base. Instead he just gestures, fights and exists. Tbh. I'm kind of just glad he didn't get lost on the way home again. (/s)

At the same time it makes me think that Bee's silence and disappearance were probably due to some weird time or budget issue. However, where would be the fun in that? I can't write fanfiction about that. Or, at least I don't want to.

Bonus:

I love this screenshot from the end of the fight with Starscream and the way Optimus has caught Bumblebee and proceeds to propel him up onto the platform. It's so freaking cute.

Also, like, I live for everything that can be interpreted as Optimus and Bee being parent and child. And that shot just played into that hard. :3

Confession:

I had to go back and edit this post because I wrote Mike instead of Miko. I don't know why, but I have a habit to just subconsciously exchange random vowels for e when typing and tired.

[slickbackdani]

The 15 Worst Lines in ERB

It's no secret that I'm a huge fan of Epic Rap Battles of History. It always has been and always will be one of my favorite shows on the web. That said, I'm not such a blinded fanatic as to pretend that it's perfect. There are plenty of episodes that I didn't enjoy, and even episodes I absolutely adore aren't immune to the occasional bad line here and there.

So, I thought I'd get it out of my system and count off my 15 least favorite lines in Epic Rap Battles of History's… well, history. For this list, I'll keep things brief by only mentioning one line per battle; this will prevent my least-favorite episodes from hogging too many spaces on the list and allow me to more freely critique the show as a whole.

If you do like any of the lines I mention, that's great. More power to you. They're just not for me. And if there are any bad lines you think I missed, feel free to let me know.

15: "One hand on my mic, one hand on my groin." — Richard Pryor

I strongly enjoyed "George Carlin vs Richard Pryor" on the whole. It didn't have the hardest-hitting disses, but it featured solid performances that highlighted why the featured comedians left the impact they left… but good lord, I can't pretend Richard Pryor didn't get absolutely shafted in terms of lyrics. His verse was disappointingly short, and while he had some clever rhymes, this line in particular sticks out as filler. It's not a boast, it's not a diss, it's not even a clever play on words. It's just him mentioning his junk for no reason. We'll get to worse lyrics later on down the list, but I figured this is a decent place to start. Speaking of filler…

14: "You don't seem like the type who's keen on neck-washes." — Count Dracula

"Vlad the Impaler vs Count Dracula" is one of the most infamously one-sided battles in the show's history, and that's largely because of Peter's abysmal performance as Dracula. Most of his lines are just corny jokes about vampire lore with very few actual attempts to diss his opponent. It wasn't easy singling out his worst lyric, but I decided on the closing line of his first verse because of how anticlimactic it was even by the low standards Drac set with the rest of the preceding verse. Seriously, dude? That's how you end your verse? By saying your opponent's neck is dirty? Come the fuck on! And are neck-washes even a thing, anyway? Like, are they a common enough trend to be worth devoting an entire line to acknowledging their existence? UGH!

13: "For now, just stick to editing that gay-ass Monday Show." — EpicLloyd

"NicePeter vs EpicLloyd" wasn't a bad episode for its time. As far as season finales go, having your first one be between the show's creators is delightfully meta and adds a sense of finality to the proceedings. That said, the battle hasn't aged very well — both because future episodes would just be better as Peter and Lloyd gained more experience, and because of the casual homophobia Lloyd engages in at the start. I get that 2011 was a different time and acceptance of LGBT rights wouldn't become more normalized until a year or two later, but to hear "gay" used as an insult by someone who would later speak out against homophobia is just jarring and a reminder that most aspects of early Internet humor are best left forgotten.

12. "When midgets step up, I stomp midget asses!" — Randy Savage

"Hulk Hogan vs Kim Jong-Il" is the very definition of a battle that's aged poorly. This is for several reasons — the lack of connection between the battlers, Hulk Hogan's real-life controversies making it harder to see him as the hero this episode portrays him as, Kim Jong-Il dying shortly after the episode's premiere and being forgotten by the world as his successor proved to be even crazier than him, and of course, Hulk Hogan tagging in Randy Savage to finish the battle for him. At the time the episode debuted, this was a huge thing; third-party interruptions like this were unprecedented in the show (it WAS only the fifth episode) and were an early signal of the unique twists and turns the show could take. However, the passage of time and the show's gradual increase in quality make it harder to look back fondly on this episode because future battles did this gimmick better. Once you get over the shock of Randy Savage's appearance, it becomes hard to appreciate his verse because he doesn't actually say anything. It should not have been difficult to come up with disses for such an infamous dictator, but Randy's verse is just cluttered with filler lines — and the few times he can actually be bothered to diss his opponent come up short. His human rights atrocities are glossed over with one line about Kim not feeding his people, and the rest are just making fun of his appearance. I went with that line because it not only sums up the disappointing nature of Randy's verse but also contains language that is very much not acceptable in modern society.

11: "I made a map, motherfucker, and I'm reading it, too / Gives me specific directions how to fuck with you!" — Eve

I'm probably not breaking any new ground by saying that "Adam vs Eve" is one of the worst episodes on the show. The entire battle is just a string of hackneyed gender stereotypes and cliched "sitcom married couple" jokes we've all heard a million times before. Adam is a lazy, perverted, unhygienic slob who's obsessed with sports and beer, and Eve is a hard-to-please nag who gets cranky on her period and spends too much money on cosmetics. I chose this line in particular because what the fuck does map-making have to do with the story of Adam and Eve? Is it a joke about the stereotype of men not asking for directions? If so, then it's not only just another lame gag about gender stereotypes, but it's worded too abstractly to have any punch or meaning behind it.

10: "The Great Wall couldn't keep you out of China!" — The Easter Bunny

"Genghis Khan vs The Easter Bunny" is one of the least popular episodes of the show, and understandably so. The two combatants have nothing in common with one another; it's little more than a "lol-so-random" shitpost. General consensus is that the Easter Bunny stood absolutely no chance against his opponent, and this line highlights why. Because it's a complete failure to diss the other side! Seriously, how is "The largest manmade structure in the world was ineffective at stopping you from invading" an insult to someone who clearly prides himself as a warlord? An Eminem quote would be apt: "You just dissed me? I'm perplexed / Insult me on a line, compliment me on the next?"

09: "I left JK straight Rowling in cash!" — Harry Potter

"Harry Potter vs Luke Skywalker" was a great episode on the whole. It may not be finale-worthy, but had some great rhymes, great performances, and great animation. That said, it baffles me why they would have Harry brag about how much money he made JK Rowling when the battle was released the same year Rowling decided to make violent transphobia her entire personality. "I'm the reason this heartless reactionary bigot is as powerful and influential as she is" ain't something to brag about.

08: "I wear a blackbelt on the beard that I grow on my dick!" — Chuck Norris

"Abraham Lincoln vs Chuck Norris" is another shitpost episode from the early days before the show hit its stride, and while Peter turned in an iconic performance as Honest Abe, he was absolutely wasted here. It's bad enough that he was paired up with an opponent who has fuck all in common with him (aside from being a Republican with a beard), but the show makes no mention of Chuck Norris' most infamous real-life flaws, instead just portraying him as a godlike entity of manly coolness to the point where almost all of his lines are those lame "Chuck Norris Facts" memes that were already getting played out by the episode's release in December 2010. I chose this line in particular because it makes no sense as a boast! The rest of Norris' lines were dumb and annoying, but they at least made sense — he was bragging about being such a badass god-among-men that his talents defy the laws of reality, but this? This is just mentioning his pubic hair (thanks for the mental image, BTW 🤮) while vaguely alluding to him being a martial artist. It's not impressive. It's not clever. It's just juvenile.

07: "Oh, hi, I'm the cool but rude guy!" — Raphael

"Artists vs TMNT" was an interesting concept for a battle. Two teams of four going at it? And in the season finale, no less? Sounds great! In practice, however, it came up short; the Renaissance artists had a strong opening verse with clever lines and charming deliveries that played off one another very well. The Ninja Turtles' verse wound up being a letdown since they barely got half as many lines as their opponents and tried to cram in too much in too little time. I had a hard time choosing between this line and Donnie's because of how out-of-character it is for him (whose bright idea was it to have the team genius' only solo dialogue be to say he knows nothing about his opponents?) but I went with Raph's because of how clunky and awkward it is. Just hearing him waste a line telling us his character archetype instead of actually showing it via dialogue and body language is just groan-worthy. Quoth the Robot Devil, "You can't just have your characters announce how they feel! THAT MAKES ME FEEL ANGRY!"

06: "I can #HandleIt!" — Miley Cyrus

"Miley Cyrus vs Joan of Arc" is one of my least-favorite episodes of the series. A figure as iconic as Joan did not deserve to be wasted just so Peter and Lloyd could cash in on the manufactured media outrage around Miley Cyrus' then-new "hypersexual drug-fueled fake gangsta/raver" persona that people were already getting sick of hearing about by the time the episode was made. This is the only line in the battle that I remembered, and that's only because of how much it pissed me off. Just. She turns two random words into a hashtag for no reason. WHY? There's no point to it. There's no clever wordplay or attempt at a diss. It's just a cringey "How do you do, fellow kids" moment.

05: "What's the Fawkes say now? / (Yap-yap-yap-yap-yap) When they cut your junk out!" — Che Guevara (and Guy Fawkes)

"Guy Fawkes vs Che Guevara" was a decent episode on the whole, but ye Gods, we DID NOT NEED THIS LINE. What possessed Peter and Lloyd to think it would be a good idea to grind the battle to a screeching halt just for this out-of-nowhere reference to a six-year-old meme that was never that popular even back when it was relevant?!? What's worse is how Guy Fawkes plays along with it as Che awkwardly segues into alluding to how Fawkes was killed. Why is Guy Fawkes actively contributing to a verse that is explicitly insulting him? NONE OF THIS MAKES SENSE!!!

04: "You are JD Vance's beard-level weird; you are gross!" — Kamala Harris

I usually enjoy election battles, but "Donald Trump vs Kamala Harris" was a major letdown for me. That largely hinged on Harris performance; I don't know why, but the way she's portrayed here is just too juvenile — from her her flighty and wishy-washy delivery to the battle just deteriorating into her and Trump childishly bickering with one another in a tired rehash of the 2012 election battle, and even before that a few of her lines were just witless schoolyard taunts. I had a hard time choosing between this line and "You ketchup-smelling edgelord", but I went with this one because of the wasted opportunity. Of all the NUMEROUS things you could make fun of JD Vance for, why settle for THAT? If anything, his beard is the LEAST weird thing about him!

03: "You got too woke to be fun" — Indiana Jones

"Lara Croft vs Indiana Jones" was a great battle overall, but I can't stand how Indy wasted his first four lines on petulantly whining about Lara not being sexy enough anymore. I get that Indy's treatment of women is a bit questionable to modern viewers, but he was never THIS immature about it! If you want to highlight the generational gap between Indy and Lara's audiences, there are better ways of doing it than portraying the iconic movie hero as a YouTube outrage grifter pandering to an audience of basement-dwelling GamerGate spawn.

02: "Laying you down easy, that's kitchen tile!" — Caitlyn Jenner

"Bruce Banner vs Caitlyn Jenner" is a deeply vexing battle for a number of reasons. I'm glad Peter and Lloyd wanted to show their support for the LGBT community, but they didn't have to do it by — to quote my friend @wonderfulworldofmichaelford — "trying to force a win for the first trans character by handicapping her opponent and ignoring her flaws". Jenner is put on a pedestal with all of her most infamous controversies never mentioned, and her final verse is over five times longer than the Hulk's — and I chose this line in particular to highlight just how wasteful that decision was. It's just a reference to a basic thing that has nothing to do with either combatant, it's not clever, it's not witty, it's not scathing as an insult, it just makes you wonder why they gave Jenner such a long last verse if she was only going to make it out of more fluff and filler than a Twinkie.

HONORABLE MENTIONS:

- Justin Bieber's "You smell like Betty White!" Childish name-calling with no wit or substance, just epitomizing the episode's portrayal of him as a one-note prepubescent brat. Just because you're being deliberately obnoxious doesn't make it any less obnoxious!

- Sarah Palin's "Your voice sounds like a rooster having sex with a frog!" More schoolyard name-calling, except it's especially egregious here because where the fuck does Sarah Palin get off saying someone else has an annoying voice when she's the one whose shrill, nasal screeching made viewers' ears bleed throughout the episode!

- Jack the Ripper trying to rhyme "locked door" with "got caught." Sorry, Dan Bull, I love ya, but some rhymes just can't be made.

- King Kong randomly farting in the middle of a verse. I don't know if it's a reference to anything, but even if it was, was it really worth interrupting an otherwise solid battle for that bit of juvenile grossness?

Now for the worst of the worst.

01: "Nice hat, dork! You look like a duck!" — Batman

"Batman vs Sherlock Holmes" is another infamous battle among fans, and for an understandable reason: its terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad portrayal of Batman. It would be disappointing enough that they would base their Batman exclusively on how he appeared in the Nolan trilogy when he has such a long and vibrant history outside of those films (that had already been parodied to hell and back by the time this episode was made), but the fact that they went out of their way to specifically portray this iconic superhero known for his genius-level intellect as a crass, boorish, mindlessly aggressive manchild defies all logic! You'd think they'd pull out all the stops to give such an iconic character his proper due, but no! All his lines are either basic, generic lines that anybody could have said, or at worst are more schoolyard name-calling! The line I chose is justvthe first example of the latter, and it sets the stage for what we can expect from him. ("You chump, I kick punks like you off the streets!" "Shut up, nerds! I serve justice, so eat it!") EpicLloyd said it best in the season 5 finale: "Dude, that is not a cool way to play Batman!"