#man they're really out here murdering the nice guys

[whatsagirltoblogabout]

I felt the swell of pure joy at watching her wave that wand around and my first thought was "this almost makes up for killing [spoiler]." Before the death scene happened. This show is turning me into a mentalist.

[keefechambers]

I wanna be blunt about this ongoing James somerton suicide threat issue but I don't want to connect it to my IRL Twitter to comment on the dogshit takes I'm seeing there or the good and well meaning but maybe too kind takes I'm seeing here.

Obviously, I hope that this is a false alarm cry for help fake threat. Yes, it would reinforce that Somerton is a self-centered egomaniac who can't handle consequences but that's preferable to dead.

But I work in local news and let me tell you something. I've covered half a dozen family annihilating murder suicides and heard hundreds of men making suicide threats over police scanners and a huge swath of these don't happen because they're depressed or because people are mean to them on the Internet. They're punishment. A person with an enormous amount of entitlement towards people around them gets backed into a corner and they punish the people closest to them by killing themselves or threatening to kill themselves.

No one wants to talk about this feature of suicide because...you want to help people who are struggling and guide them away from this path and being blunt about the fact that sometimes people die of suicide as a consequence of their own shittiness towards the world does not really help actively suicidal people. But suicide rates are higher in men not just because they have higher rates of untreated mental illness (a societal issue we must address for the sake of all) but because some people, often men, use suicide (but more often the threat of suicide) as a tool of abuse and control.

I'm not saying somerton is like, an icky abuser bad guy, he's just a run of the mill grifter scumbag, but his actions in the past show a clear pattern of escalating behavior that aligns with this.

Somerton gets called out -> somerton alleges physical threats of violence against himself and his fans rally around him supportively -> Harry calls somerton out in a bigger way -> Somerton says he's hospitalized but there are inconsistencies with the story but no one wants to talk about that because you wanna be nice-ish about a guy who just tried to kill himself and now he's trying to be framed as tragic but it doesn't really stick -> somerton apologizes again but his apology is rightly called out for lies and manipulative framing as well as his continuing attempts to profit off the community he betrayed -> James posts a suicide note publicly putting the onus of his own suicide on the loss of his friend Nick who he repeatedly threw under the bus and now everyone is rallying to say nice-ish shit and wring their hands in concern over poor james -> indefinitely repeat this vicious cycle forever until he actually does die or finally gives up and gets real, intensive therapy and a day job.

Thats not to say anyone's concern is misplaced, it's 100% better for him to be a living scumbag than a dead one. He deserves the chance to grow and learn and have a life outside of youtube.

But you don't have to portray this as the action of a sad depressed man who got bullied off the Internet. It's manipulation, whether he intended to go through with it or not and whether someone intervened or not. Not denying that internet bullying is a thing, I'm sure there were some people who were shitty directly to James but he made the choice to not unplug from this and to try and keep being a public figure rather than taking care of himself. He could have deleted Twitter, blocked anyone who was an asshole, gone to therapy and tried to move on with his life but if he'd deleted his channel he'd have lost monetization... Can't have that, right? So he posts some apology videos so his channel stays active and then complains about how ruinous this is while never trying to take real accountability.

But the reality is that people would have forgotten about him so quickly and maybe his job prospects would've been impacted but...that's on him, and that's for him to figure out but it's not actually life ruining. He chose to continue to engage knowing he'd get backlash and hate and he'd feel worse and worse and things would never get better without the time and space for people to forget.

He made the choice to make a public spectacle of his own alleged suicide. That is the action of someone who wants to put the weight of their suicide on someone else's shoulders and is morally wrong. He can be held to account for that, alive or dead.

[cryptidghostgirl]

omg omg omg totally new silly idea- human! alastor x human! reader where they meet at a party and go outside for a walk near the pier and the moon is beautiful and… they pull out weapons on each other (specifically Alastor a knife and reader a gun) and thats when they decide to form a partner in crime partnership

And in other to keep appearances they are forced to “fake date”

Mimzy: youve been spending some time with that new girl havent you, is she your gf or smth?” chuckle

Naize 20 yr old smth Alastor trying to think of a response thats not that:...

Mimzy: OMG IS SHE?

Alastor: sureeeeee

And they aren't actually into each other until a lot later into their partnership when they’re chasing some guy and reader gets to them first and just starts going at it “hey man i think hes had enough” “YOU WANT WHAT HES HAVING???” thpe shit

and Alastor has to catch his breath and he lowkey thinks hes dying because his heart starts beating a lot, And he goes again to mimzy for advice cuz i dont think he has anu friends and shes like “oh sweetie…”

And because its quite impossible to not get attached at one point theyre in another chase and reader starts laughing hysterically like “did you see him trying to run away??? lmao” and he goes “I couldnt take my eyes off you” and then just grabs her face and SMOOCH >:)

I think its a good trope- fake dating to actual dating even if its. about. murderers- :3

A/N YOU GUYS COME UP WITH THE BEST REQUESTS JESUS CHRIST!!! Also I promise I will get to the rest of the requests this weekend, I had two exams today so this is the only thing I am gonna post. Sorry.

Cover Up (Human!Alastor x Human!Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: uh, murder. Mild gore. Violence. Weapons.

Word Count: 4,460 (I went a little overboard with this one)

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

"I'll walk her home, don't worry Mimzy." Alastor was saying as Y/n pulled her coat over her shoulders.

The noises of the party still raging on filtered into the grand entryway of the house, muffled through the walls. Mimzy shot her two friends a suspicious look.

"It's nothing like that, Mimz." Y/n sighed, straightening the collar of her fur coat, "I just asked cause of all those murders in the news. Kinda freaky, don't you think? I don't really wanna be out alone at night and Al here was kind enough to offer."

Mimzy crossed her arms, eyebrows raised.

"Sure." she teased.

"Mimzy." Alastor sighed in response and she put her hands up in false surrender.

"Sorry! Sorry." she hummed playfully, "I know you two free birds would never."

Alastor rolled his eyes and, turning to Y/n, held out his arm. She took it daintily, a grateful smile on her face. The pair had just met a few hours earlier but had quickly fallen into a casual camaraderie. He lead her from the house, Mimzy calling her goodnights and wishes for their safety after their retreating forms.

It was a mostly quiet walk through the desolate midnight streets of New Orleans. Y/n hummed softly, kicking a can along with the toes of her healed shoes.

"You'll ruin them that way, wont you?" Alastor asked, feigning concern.

Y/n just shrugged.

"They're shoes. Yeah, they're nice but I wont let that stop me from living. Let's stop by the water, it's so pretty tonight."

Alastor turned slightly, looking out at the Mississippi with it's slightly turbid waters reflecting the light of the stars. He tried not to smile, it was like she wanted him to carry out his intended work. She was making it so easy for him.

"Sure."

They turned towards the rail and Y/n let go of his arm, leaning her elbows against it. She let out a sigh of longing as her eyes tracked the ripples in the surface.

Alastor watched her for a moment, the moon illuminating her features. She was a handsome woman, there was no doubt about it. It had been proved to him tenfold by the amount of prospective partners she had turned down dances with at the party in favor of drinking with him at the bar. That was not what Alastor was interested in, however. Once he was sure she was distracted, once he was sure she had no intent to take her eyes from the glowing river, he looked down. Moving his coat slightly to the side, his hand quickly found its way to the hilt of the knife he had stashed in his waistband for just such an occasion.

He pulled it out, the weight familiar, almost comforting in a sense, in his hand. There was a click. He looked up, the blade pointed to its intended target.

Y/n was facing him now, a wry smile on her face. One foot in front of the other, she took a step forward. The muzzle of the gun, the cocking of which had been the source of the noise which had drawn his attention, just a few centimeters from his chest. The tip of his knife hovered indefinitely by the open center of her coat. He chuckled in amusement, eyebrows raised.

"I thought there were a few more bodies in the news than there should have been. A gun? Really?"

Y/n shrugged.

"I'm little. I don't have the privilege of being able to overpower my victims like you."

Alastor hummed softly. A slight breeze picked up, playing with the edges of their hair.

"What a shame."

Y/n laughed lightly.

"I don't think so. It works well enough."

"Those machines are inelegant, they are detached."

"And you prefer a sense of intimacy to be involved in all your escapades?"

Alastor removed the knife, holding it up to his eyes. He turned the blade over in his hand, examining it closely. Following suit, Y/n let her hand fall to her side, the gun still cocked should an occasion arise to use it.

"I have an idea." he suddenly announced.

"Oh?" Y/n asked.

She took a step back, returning to the water's edge. Alastor followed, leaning over the railing beside her. They watched one another closely, weapons still clutched loosely in their hands.

"Yep."

"You gonna tell me what it is or am I gonna have to guess?" Y/n teased after a moment, breaking the oddly comfortable silence that had fallen after Alastor's last words.

"There have been a few times, of late, where I've come a bit... uncomfortably close to being seen."

"Getting lazy." Y/n hummed, "Or maybe just cocky."

"It seems like you could use a hand, someone with brute strength in case anything goes wrong."

She scoffed, smiling just the slightest bit.

"Are you proposing we work together?"

"You're the one who said it, not me."

Y/n shook her head slightly, amused.

"How would I know you wouldn't just turn on me? End up killing me or decide not to step in if I needed help?"

"And how would I know that you wouldn't rat me out? Alert someone to where I was and what I was doing rather than telling me someone was coming? It's called trust, Y/n."

Y/n thought it over, fiddling with the gun in her grip as she did so. Alastor watched, seeing the gears turning in her mind through the light of her eyes.

"Fine." she said at last, un-cocking the gun and holding a hand out to him, "You've got yourself a deal."

Alastor smiled, slipping the knife back into his belt before grasping her hand in his. It was chilled by the air of the January night enveloping them.

"Deal."

Y/n quickly learned Alastor's preferred demographic. He had a penchant for angry men, drunks. Y/n had been a one off, a spur of the moment opportunity he had thought to take hold of. Alastor had not been like that for her. Y/n's preferred victims were also men. Anyone that showed any pressing interest in her, anyone who tried to take her home for the night, always ended up six feet under. For both, murder was a way of processing their personal experiences and traumas.

As a result of their deal, Y/n and Alastor began to spend more time together. They had to learn one another's intricacies, their ways of thinking, their nature of being. It was a necessity if anything was actually going to work. They both had rather busy work schedules, Alastor as a radio broadcaster with his very own show and Y/n as a seamstress at a local dress shop. Because of this, more often than not, the only time they had to get to know one another was through shared meals. Both of them had to eat, needed a lunch break or dinner. It was just what worked. Because of their slightly shared demographic of victim, they ended up in bars together quite frequently as well.

It was in one of these meet ups that they ran into their first difficulty. Y/n was sitting across a table from him outside a cafe, lazily sipping on a coffee as she perused the missing persons list in a newspaper. The newspaper was old, they were exchanging information about who was responsible for what. Working together didn't just mean knowing one another as they were now, but their histories as well.

They should have known not to sit in such a public place. Both had many connections in the city due to their jobs, though few friends. It just so happened on that day that the one true friend they did have in common was walking down the very street they sat on.

"Alastor?" Mimzy exclaimed, catching sight of his familiar face and moving towards their table.

Y/n folded the newspaper, placing it on the table as she turned towards the sound. Mimzy came to a stop, her brow furrowing in mild confusion as she saw her friend was not in fact alone.

"And Y/n, fancy meeting you two here."

"Pull up a chair, Mimz." Y/n smiled and Mimzy obeyed.

Swinging a spare chair from a nearby table, she quickly joined them.

"I haven't seen you two since the party! How have you been."

"Fine, fine." Alastor hummed and Y/n nodded her assent.

"And whats this with you two getting coffee?" Mimzy asked, a teasing smile slipping onto her face as Alastor took a sip of his own drink, "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"No, not at all Mimz." Y/n shook her head, a slight smile on her face, "It's always a pleasure to see you."

"You sure this isn't a date or something? I mean, with the way you two left and everything... having coffee alone..."

Alastor nearly choked on his drink. Y/n and Mimzy turned to him as he put a hand to his chest, clearing his throat.

"Excuse me." he said and Mimzy's grin widened.

"Oh this is totally a date."

"No!" Alastor exclaimed, exchanging a fervent glance with Y/n across the table.

She raised her eyebrows, pursing her lips. Without words, she told him to handle it. Alastor sighed.

"Are you sure?" Mimzy asked, a suggestive tone to her voice.

"I... uh..." Alastor stuttered, his brain working in overdrive to think of anything else. It came up empty, "Fine. Yes. We're... we're on a date."

"You caught us." Y/n chimed in and Mimzy turned to her.

"Oh my stars! You two.... I shoulda guessed you'd get on like a house on fire. Shame I can't invite you to any more of my singles parties though Y/n, you are a riot."

Singles parties. A hunting ground. Y/n smiled.

"No, no, Mimz. We're not exclusive or anything."

Mimzy's eyes widened slightly at the revelation as Alastor shot Y/n a look across the table. Dating was going to be hard for them to sell but swingers too? What was she thinking.

"Really? How exotic." Mimzy hummed in thought.

"We're all going to hell anyways so, why not." Y/n shrugged.

"Oh you." Mimzy laughed, placing a hand on Y/n's shoulder as she got to her feet, "Well, I won't keep you love birds any longer. I'll see you next week for the next party then?"

"We'll see." Alastor hummed placidly.

Once Mimzy had gone, he rounded on Y/n.

"Swingers?" he asked, eyebrows raised, "Really?"

"Hey, you're the one who started the whole 'we're dating' thing." Y/n sighed, picking the newspaper back up and resuming the task at hand, "I just made it easier for us."

"It will utterly destroy my reputation if this gets out you know."

Y/n shot him a look over the top of the paper.

"Al, you got a lot more to worry about than pretending to be a swinger in terms of your reputation. Now, Marcus Alcost? Six four, buff, scar on his left forearm? Brown hair?"

"Blue eyes?"

"Umm... yeah."

"Yep, that was me."

"Nice. Musta been a tough one to take down."

Alastor would track men, following them out as they left the establishments in the small hours of the morning with the intent of returning to their families. He would stalk them, corner them, lead them in. Y/n would stand watch, alerting him at the first sign of trouble.

The moment she heard footsteps, chatter, Y/n would duck in. Grabbing Alastor by the arm, she would whisk him off in some random direction, having consistently used the time she was on lookout to scout for escape routes.

They had had a few close calls, one or two times he had had to press her up against a wall and pretend to kiss her to avoid prying eyes. They always had a good laugh after something like that. Mostly, things worked out well. They each had survived on their own for years at this point. They knew what they were doing, adding another person into the mix just made it a tad easier.

Y/n, on the other hand, didn't need to track her victims down, they did that work for her. She would dress up all pretty and the moment someone asked to take her home or something of the like, would agree. Then she'd pull them into some ally or another under the guise of not wanting to wait a second longer and attack. Alastor would stand behind her, arms crossed menacingly as she carried out her work. He threatened so she could perform and she never had any trouble thanks to him.

That was, until one night about a year into their little partnership. As the time had passed, their relationship had grown. They still held the ruse of dating up before anyone who asked why it was they each spent so much time with the other but, a real friendship had begun to blossom between them as well. As it turns out, they had a lot more in common than just a tendency to commit brutal murders. Y/n knew Alastor well by now, better than anyone else most likely, and he knew her as well. That was how he could tell something was wrong.

Y/n had given Alastor the usual signal from across the bar and he had settled his tab. As he followed the pair, Y/n and the tall man whose hand she held, Alastor had noticed something was off. Normally by this point Y/n was stumbling around, pretending to be drunk and ditzy. She was doing this very thing now but in a more halted and jagged way. The man she was with seemed more believably drunk than she was, swaying this way and that. Her movements were uncharacteristically harsh as she pulled the man into the ally about a block ahead of him.

Alastor picked up the pace, breaking into a light jog. He reached the ally and turned down it, expecting to see Y/n flirting with the man or with her gun out already. Instead, he was met with something entirely different.

At the back of the ally lay the huddled mass of the man. On top of him was Y/n. The thuds of her knuckles against his face was the only sound breaking the silence of the night. She hit him, again and again. Alastor stood there, stunned.

"Dear, whatever is the matter?" he asked at last, trying to wrap his head around the situation.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

"Y/n."

Thud. Thud. Thud.

He could see the splatters of blood now, on the ground around them and the wall behind. The thuds included the occasional squelch, the crack of a bone.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

"You'll ruin your hands for work tomorrow if you keep at this."

Still, she ignored him. There was a sickening crunch. Sighing, he approached.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

He could see it now, the man's mutilated face. Part of his skull looked like it had caved in. He had stopped moving long ago.

"Y/n, dear," Alastor tentatively reached out a hand towards her shoulder as he spoke, "don't you think he has had enough?"

Y/n whipped around to him, her eyes wild and her bloody raw knuckles raised. He froze, his hand hovering above her shoulder. There was blood everywhere. It soaked the sleeves of her collard shirt, it dripped from her fingers, it decorated her face and her bared teeth.

"What, you fucking want some too?"

Alastor's breath caught in his throat. His heart pounded against his ribcage, begging for escape. It wasn't fear, it couldn't be. He could take this girl down in ten seconds flat, blood hungry as she was.

Y/n's eyes, sharp with violence, softened slightly as she saw his reaction. She let her hands fall, resting them on the man's chest.

"He tried to drug me." she revealed, turning her eyes back to her mess, her masterpiece.

"He what?"

"Yeah." she sighed, using the back of her hand to push her hair from her eyes, leaving a residue of blood in the wake of the movement, "I caught him, switched the drinks."

Alastor shifted his gaze to the man before falling on Y/n once again. Her face was blank now, all the rage gone.

"He tried to drug me." she said again, her voice hollow.

At last, his hand found its home on her shoulder and she turned to face him once again. Alastor extended his free hand to Y/n. She examined it for a moment before daintily placing one of her own in his and allowing him to help her to her feet. Both her hands now rested in his as they looked back at the remains of the man.

"Well, he's definitely dead."

Alastor let go of Y/n's hands. Now free, he used one of them to turn her face to his. Blood spattered, wide eyed, lips slightly parted -- his heart fought for freedom from his chest once again.

"He deserved it."

Alastor let go of Y/n's chin and used the cuff of his jacket to wipe some of the blood from her face.

"Can you walk me home?"

Normally if she had asked something like that, Alastor would have teased her to no end. Why be scared of the monsters in the dark when she herself was one of them? But her voice had been small, timid. She had avoided his eyes and his fingers tingled at the prospect of her viewing him as protector.

"Of course, my dear."

They did not have another planned meeting until two weeks from that day. Y/n had a big project at work and wouldn't have any spare time because of it. Alastor, normally restless at the idea of having to wait so long to satisfy his bloodlust either by killing or seeing the show of death, was grateful for the respite. He was confused, overwhelmed even, because his strange reactions, the change in his patterns of thought towards the girl, hadn't ended at Y/n's front door.

No, she was haunting him. Like a vengeful ghost, he saw her in his mind. She took up every waking moment, he didn't know what to do. Alastor waited a day and still, it persisted. The skip of his heart, the odd slightly sick feeling in his stomach at the thought of their reunion. He waited three days and it didn't stop. By the time the end of the week rolled around and Alastor still found himself smiling at the prospect of only having to wait another week not to kill but to see Y/n again, he did the unthinkable. It was the only option he could come up with. Besides Y/n, she was the only other person in the world he even half trusted. Alastor called Mimzy.

"Alastor, darling!" she excitedly exclaimed into the phone, "What a surprise! What can I do for you?"

"Yeah, hey Mimzy. Um..." he struggled to find the words, fiddling with the phone cord as he walked to the window, looking down at the street below, "I just... I need your advice about something."

"What is it, hun?" she immediately replied, "Seems its got you in a tizzy, not a lot can do that."

"I... It's about Y/n."

"Uh-oh, trouble in paradise?"

"No. Maybe?" he turned from the window, collapsing in his desk chair, "I don't know."

"Spill."

"Well, we... I just.... Mimz, I can't stop thinking about her."

"Well I would hope not, you've been together for almost a year now."

"Yeah well, about that. It may have been a... stretching of the truth? Shall we say?"

"Al." Mimzy warned after a moment's silence, "If you are playing with this gi-"

"No!" he exclaimed, cutting her off and quickly crafting an excuse, "No. It was just to get our parents off our backs. We had a deal. They were both pestering us about when we were gonna get married, you know how it is."

"I thought your dad was dead?"

"My ma though, she really wants to see me settled down."

"I guess that explains the swingers thing." Mimzy sighed, "It didn't really seem in character for either of you. So, whats the matter?"

"I told you, I can't stop thinking about her. It's like... it's like... look, we're not dating, but we're friends, you know? And we were out at a bar together a few nights ago and she just... she did something and when I looked at her, it was like I died."

"That little minx." Mimzy laughed in glee, "What the heck did she do?"

"Just something, okay?"

"I have got to quiz her about this."

"No! Please, no. She'd... probably be embarrassed."

"Mmm... okay...." came Mimzy's doubtful reply, "So what was it you needed help with?"

"Well, that. It was like the breath had left my body entirely. I felt... sick, my chest hurt. It was so strange. I thought it would go away once I got some sleep but it didn't. Every time I think about her, it feels like there is a vice around my heart and I can't stop thinking about her."

"Al, seriously? This is what you're asking me about?"

"Yeah?" he uncertainly replied after a moment.

"What are you, twelve?"

"Mimzy, are you going to help or not?"

She sighed.

"Alastor, you have a crush on her."

A beat.

"I do not."

"Yes, you do. Maybe even more."

"I..." his brow furrowed, his breath left his body.

This was bad. This could be dangerous, detrimental even.

"Are you sure?"

"Butterflies in your stomach? Pains in your chest? Can't get her out of your mind? You're even breathless for christ's sake Al. It's textbook first pangs of love."

"Fuck."

Mimzy laughed.

"You're already pretend dating, what harm would asking her to do the real thing with you do? My bet is, she's probably been feeling the same thing about you. That tends to happen in cases like yours, I've seen it before. The whole 'fake love turns real' trope. It's overdone if you ask me."

"Mimzy, this isn't one of your trashy romance novels. This is my life."

"So live it radio man! Go get that girl."

Alastor was nervous, trembling even as he sat at the bar. His glass of whiskey had gone warm on the table as he watched Y/n dancing and having fun in the crowd. This was how it usually went when it was his turn to hunt, she'd have fun and he'd find a target. Once the target left, he'd grab her and they'd move out.

Tonight he was distracted and it showed. The man had nearly given them the slip. With Alastor's knife still sticking out of his shoulder, he had ducked away and started running. Of course that meant Alastor and Y/n had to give chase. They ran after him through the streets of New Orleans as he screamed bloody murder and Y/n's heels clicked definitively on the ground. He was thankful that the hour was late and no one was out and about, thankful the man was so drunk his words came out closer to garbled singing than pleas for help, thankful he was slowed by his consumption.

When they at last caught up with him, Alastor grabbed his second knife from his belt and, taking the man's hurt shoulder in his free hand, buried it deep in the man's back. He fell to the floor, sputtering, coughing up blood. In a few moments he was still. Alastor turned to Y/n, panting.

Her pretty eyes traced a path between murderer and victim a handful of times before a smile broke out onto her face. Before he could really register what was happening, she was doubled over in laughter, clutching her stomach.

Alastor watched Y/n, eyebrows raised as they both caught their breath. After about a minute, she straightened up and turned to him, wiping a tear from her eye.

"What?" Alastor asked with a wry smile, "What is so funny about a dead man."

"He..." she broke out into laughter again, "He... the way he ran! And we almost lost him?! Oh my god, Al, that coulda been so bad."

"The way... he ran?"

"He... didn't you see it? Oh my god, it was so funny. Like he was running in a three legged race with an invisible partner." she wheezed.

Alastor felt the heat pooling in his cheeks. Mimzy was right, it was time for him to live his life. A normal existence could coexist with his hobby, Y/n had already proved that to him.

"Didn't you see?" she asked again.

"No." he shook his head, "I was... I was watching you."

"You were... Al, theres no way you were." Y/n scoffed, "No way. If you were watching me, he would have gotten away. If you were watching me, it would meant that you were unconcerned by your oh-so-precious reputation being ruined. If you were watching me, it would mean..."

She trailed off as he took a step closer to her, his gaze flicking between her eyes and her lips. Y/n's cheeks flushed pink.

"Alastor."

Her voice was a dying prayer. Reaching a trembling hand up, he laid it on the back of her head, his fingers tangling with her hair as she looked up at him with wide eyes. Alastor closed the gap.

He had been so scared. Scared she would push him away, that she wouldn't kiss back. Even a little bit scared he'd just become the next name on her list of degenerate men she'd killed.

There was a moment, a split second, where his fears were realized. Then, she washed them all away. Hands buried in the lapel of his jacket, she pulled him closer, Y/n leaned in.

They broke apart after a moment, their cheeks flushed and utterly breathless.

"I-"

"Would you like to go on a date with me, Y/n?"

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Are you going to try to kill me again?"

"Oh please, I thought we'd moved past that darling."

Y/n smiled, still holding him close. Alastor let his hands fall onto her waist as they swayed slightly under the light of the moon.

"Yes Alastor. I will let you take me on a date."

"We will not be swingers."

Y/n laughed.

"Just had to make that clear."

"No, Alastor. If I am going to get you, I want you all to myself. Now, what are we going to do about that body?"

----

Next Part -> Cover Up pt. 2

[comicaurora]

Are there any tropes or lessons you like to see used on the five man band.

I.E.: the lancer needs to learn the power of friendship or the heart needing to learn self care

Oh man. So many. Just off the top of my head-

The Leader is out of commission and The Lancer gets their wish of being in charge! Oh god why is everything so difficult this is like herding cats how does The Leader stand it

The Smart Guy has friends now, so it's easy to forget that before The Band they were isolated and awkward and overall very alone. Let's unpack that!

Oh nooooo The Lancer was overconfident and got their ass beat by bad guys and now they need to get rescuuuuuued nooooooo what if they learn a lesson about truuuuuust

The Heart supports the team without complaint… but what happens when they need support? (hugs. hugs happen)

Has The Lancer… betrayed us?? (maybe a little, as a treat, but not for long so relax)

Everyone else is out of commission! It's up to The Smart Guy to sneakily save the day!

The villain of the week made someone in the group experience Deep Emotional Issues and now The Heart is going to straight-up murder them if nobody stops them

hey bad news they brainwashed the chillest friendliest member of the gang and now we have to do an absolutely terrifying fight scene about it

Everyone on the team is relying on one member's unique skill to save them all while the rest of them buy time, and the only person who isn't sure they can do it is the person doing it

One of them is cornered, but wins using a skill they picked up from a teammate (and possibly complains about it nonstop)

Everyone is being independently interrogated about something they all did and every single one of them is either stonewalling or lying outrageously

Okay one of the team is out of commission let's try REALLY HARD to take care of them and handle any problems WITHOUT BOTHERING THEM I'm sure this won't result in a comedy of errors

Everyone gets knocked flat in a one-shot move but how cool is it when the powerhouse is the only one who manages to get back up

Okay you guys go handle the main villain I'll stay here by myself and hold off the entire army of minions no sweat

Oh hey, turns out this Heart character we've been underestimating isn't weak or underpowered, they're just usually much too nice to kick anyone's ass half as hard as they deserve. congrats on finally finding their breaking point tho

One of the characters is feeling useless, sure hope they don't push themself to deeply self-destructive extremes to compensate

Somehow The Leader has been temporarily compromised to the side of Evil I sure hope The Lancer doesn't take it upon themself to solve this the only way they know how (running off on their own and getting their shit rocked)

Local Lancer Unfortunately Concludes They Are Undyingly Loyal To These Idiots

[queenpiranhadon]

okay I'm sorry but I'm in celebrity Satoru Gojo married to actress reader chokehold.

Don't know how aware you all are about the one video where Ryan Reynolds interviews Brandon Sklenar because he's playing the love interest of his wife's character and that is PEAK Gojo behavior.

You're actually in a different city while this is happening, off for an interview with Buzzfeed.

Anyways, your upcoming movie, titled In the Stars, is about a young woman named Sora who had been diagnosed with cancer, and with only a few months left to live, she decides to live the life she's always wanted. One of love.

She eventually decides to pursue one of her lifelong interests of stargazing, something she's always been interested in as a child. Sora however never got to achieve her dream of becoming an astrologist due to her father's death at age 17, having to now juggle hospital and funeral bills without a very stable job.

With only a few hours to live however, she goes camping, only to almost murder a man who encounters her campsite by accident because she was startled.

The man's name was Daichi, he was a college professor who taught astronomy and was immediately overjoyed at Sora's enthusiasm for the sky.

The two ended up becoming close friends, regularly going out to camp with each other, and slowly gaining feelings along the way.

However, they're too late.

After one last camping trip, Sora wakes up vomiting uncontrollably and Daichi worriedly takes her to the hospital.

She's hooked up to millions of tubes and liquids, but it's futile. Sora passes away, leaving Daichi to mourn her on earth, hoping she's happy in the stars.

It's a relatively cliche plot, and yet, the movie becomes such a big hit because of you. The way you portray your character with so much genuine pain and longing, is what hooked the world in from the start.

Satoru couldn't have been more proud of you.

He's just a little disgruntled that your "love story" wasn't with him.

He knew it wasn't serious, but Satoru Gojo also tended to have a jealous streak - after watching the trailer for the movie he was unimpressed, because no one who truly loves you would ever look at you that way.

However that knowledge did help him feel a little better because it was just a movie after all, just acting.

That didn't stop him from causing shenanigans though.

Your coworker was a nice guy, his name was Ren Akiyama, and he was just a few years younger than Satoru and yourself.

The interviewer exits abruptly, leaving Ren confused in his chair, only for the famous Satoru Gojo to enter the set and sit in the interviewer's chair, with some cards of his own.

Ren looks around, muttering an "Oh boy, get me out of here", as your husband clears his throat, cameras trained on him.

"So...Ren, is it? You and Mrs. Gojo seem very close, do you call her anything special, like a nickname or-"

Ren cuts him off with a shake of his head. "No sir."

The interview begins to resemble that of every father's first interrogation of his daughter boyfriend, except in very different circumstance as we see Satoru grill the poor man about his relationship with you.

It's hilarious and endearing, seeing how much Satoru loves you and his interactions with Ren are quite entertaining as well.

It's even more adorable when the press catch you and Satoru going into the theaters to watch your movie, even after watching the premiere and seeing Satoru's eyes visibly tear up as he holds you tight, watching Sora's last living moments in her hospital bed, Daichi by her side.

He really does love you so much.

A/N: I acc loved writing this omg hahah - should I write more about this??

[anonymous-dentist]

As promised, at long last!!, here's the Spiderbit Spideypool au!! :D

-

The sun sets over Quesadilla City, breathing its last for the day.

Similarly, the guy at Cellbit's feet is also breathing his last. He's got a machete stuck through his windpipe cutting off his air, and that's probably what's making him choke. It's either that, or it's the gloved hand choking him right beneath his chin, or it's the thumb- his own- lodged in the back of his throat.

Once upon a time, this dude was one of the Federation's finest insurance sales representatives. He, just like every other disgusting piece of shit on the Federation's payroll, made a living off of scamming widows and orphans and puppies and whoever into selling their souls for mediocre insurance policies that just so happen to never apply. He has a list on his Notes app filled with all the people he's fucked over, and there's one name right at the bottom of the list that single-handedly made him a target.

Sometimes Cellbit really loves his job.

"What?" Cellbit taunts, leaning in real close to the asshole's face. He removes his hand from the man's throat and slowly moves it up to the man's mouth. He pries the man's lips open and pinches his slimy, blood-covered tongue between his pointer finger and thumb.

Smiling beneath his mask, Cellbit tilts his head just slightly- just enough to be noticeable in the dying light of the sunset- and he asks in a low, mocking voice, "Cat got your tongue?"

He laughs at the way the man's eyes widen in sheer terror.

The asshole's hand twitches; his phone, with the Notes app open, is just inches away from his trembling, spindly fingers. It's focused at the bottom of the list, and the name there:

Roier Brown

Roier is a very wealthy man with a dead son and a good-for-nothing husband. Well. He used to be a wealthy man, but then the Avengers smashed his house in with his son in it and he lost everything in the lawsuits that followed. Hence the cheap, terrible, scam insurance. It's all he can afford.

Personally speaking, Cellbit is of the opinion that Roier deserves better. But since he can't afford better on his crummy journalist salary, Cellbit torturing and murdering the man that scammed Roier out of his hard-earned money is just going to have to do.

Cellbit clicks his tongue disapprovingly. "You should know better than to try that."

'WOW, WHAT AN IDIOT!!' Voice A laughs.

'show him who's in charge around here' Voice B orders, and Cellbit lives to serve.

He twists his machete, slow.

The man gurgles at him, pale in the face and very much on death's door.

(Unfortunately for him, Cellbit has met Death himself, and She's a very nice woman. This man won't get a chance to see the Other Side, not if She has anything to say about it.)

They're on top of the roof of an abandoned gas station somewhere towards the Favela, so it really isn't surprising when there's a very annoyed whoosh of air and the soft thumping of someone landing on the roof behind Cellbit's back and tripping over his own webbing.

'SPIDER-MAN!!!' Voice A exclaims.

'my hero <3' says Voice B with all the adoration in the world.

"Shut up," Cellbit annoyedly mutters; this is his conversation with Spider-Man, thank you!

The man's eyes brighten, hopeful. Hah! As if Spider-Man would help someone like him.

On cue, a sticky thread of webbing attaches itself to the handle of Cellbit's machete just above his fingers. A tug, and the machete is yanked from the man's throat, finishing him off with one last bloodthirsty shink!!!

'finally'

Cellbit stands up and twirls dramatically, hands flying to his cheeks. His eyes, and the white eyeholes of his mask, widen in put-on shock and horror.

"Spider-Man!" he gasps. "You just killed that man!"

Spider-Man, of course, is not amused. His eyeholes narrow. Arms crossed, hip cocked... oh, he's angry.

'UH-OH!!!'

Cellbit tries not to wince at Voice A's terrified screech. Instead, he clears his throat and drops his hands to his sides, swinging them until they end up behind his back. He clasps his hands together, shrinking into himself even though he really knows that this won't work.

"Deadpool," Spider-Man coolly says.

"Spider-Man."

"What did I say about murdering people."

"...Not to do it without you?"

"Then what the fuck is this, culero?"

Spider-Man gestures towards the corpse with both of his hands... and with the machete, still loosely held in his webs over by the body. It scrapes across the roof, scuffing it up and kicking sparks up and making Cellbit actually visibly flinch.

'our baby...'

'HE NEEDS TO PAY!!!!!'

Choked, Cellbit says, "He's- it's fine."

Spider-Man, of course, knows that Cellbit isn't talking to him, so he continues his angry rant, slipping into Spanish that Cellbit only halfway pays attention to. But can you blame him? Spider-Man's suit is skin-tight, and Cellbit is a very weak man.

'HE IS FORGIVEN!!'

'our angel...'

"Muy guapo," Cellbit agrees. He sighs dreamily as Spider-Man paces around the rooftop ranting at the top of his lungs, uncaring of prying eyes. Why should he care? Anybody stupid enough to spy on Deadpool is as good as dead, everybody knows this.

Suddenly, Spider-Man rounds on him and points an accusing finger.

"And!" he snaps, back in English for the sake of poor Voice B. "You missed dinner, you piece of shit!"

Okay, this Cellbit does feel sorry about.

His eyeholes droop sadly. His shoulders sag, and he scuffs the toe of his boot against the roof.

"Desculpe, guapito," he says, and he really means it.

Spider-Man points for just a second longer before relaxing and slumping to the ground by the dead man. He picks up the man's phone, sees the name at the bottom of the list, and lets out a long, drawn-out sigh before groaning loudly and flopping onto his back on the rooftop. He holds the phone above his face, scrolling up through the list.

Cellbit takes a seat opposite him. Out of respect for the deceased, he takes one of the man's hands and covers the gaping, bleeding, rotting hole in his neck with it.

'that should make the reporters happy' Voice B comments.

'BUT IT'LL MAKE CUCURUCHO PIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIISSED!!!' Voice A cackles, way too excited over something that's probably actually going to give Cellbit a bigger headache than he already has thanks to his voices being annoying little shits today.

"Cucurucho won't find this guy until it's too late," he tells the voices.

A pause.

"It's already too late," he adds. "So they'll just find him later."

"If they find him," Spider-Man counters. He carelessly tosses the phone to the side and drops his hands onto his chest, watching the sun set above him. "Man, I wanted to kill this guy."

Cellbit frowns. "I didn't think you'd mind..."

"Nah, don't worry about it. It's fine. Just let me get the next one, okay?"

There are countless Federation employees. Some are agents, like the mysterious new "Agent Jabberjaw" wreaking havoc by the docks. Others are white collars, like the dead man by Cellbit's knee. And others are heroes, like the Avengers.

'i hate those guys...'

'THEY LITERALLY SUCK'

'i miss bobby...'

Voice B breaks down into sobs, and Voice A starts shouting for them to shut up and stop crying because crying can't bring the dead back to life but revenge will so they're going to get revenge obviously and Roier's gonna be right there with them and he's gonna get to choke Cucurucho with-

"Gatinho," Spider-Man says, pulling Cellbit out of his head, "help me clean up the body before the cops get here. You're supposed to be retired, remember, pendejo?"

Cellbit rolls his eyes. "I'm doing them a favor."

And Spider-Man rolls his own eyes: "I know, but they don't."

Of course they don't. The Avengers, under Cucurucho's instructions no doubt, labeled Deadpool a villain years ago back when Cellbit was more active. And then he met the love of his life and he retired from mercenary-ing to try and build a real home life for the first time in his (memorable) life.

And then Bobby died, and not even a superhuman healing factor could keep Cellbit's then-boyfriend from almost dying in the ambulance.

"Maybe we should do it out of costume," Cellbit muses.

He looks down at his costume with a small, thoughtful frown. He designed it years ago for easy movement and easier repair, but he's also gotten older. He can stab a guy, sure, but it's a little too hard to raise his arms above the shoulders for Cellbit's tastes.

Spider-Man raises a teasing eyebrow; Cellbit can't see his face, but he knows him enough to know exactly what his face is doing at all times.

"You know that I'm naked under here, right?" he asks.

The voices stop shouting at each other long enough to start giving very detailed descriptions of what they think Spider-Man looks like under his suit.

Very detailed descriptions.

"Uh," Cellbit says, voice cracking, "or we can just do it now!"

"What, you don't want to see me naked?"

'is he offering????'

'I HOPE HE IS!!'

"We get to see him naked all the time," Cellbit says, though he also knows that Spider-Man has never seen him naked. (As it turns out, Spider-Man sleeps naked, and he chose not to mention this until the honeymoon.)

Spider-Man's eyeholes crinkle in amusement. "Well, if they want to see me naked..."

He makes a grand motion with his arms before reaching for the hidden zipper on the back of his costume.

'yes!!!!'

'OH MY GOD YESSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!'

Cellbit flushes the same shade of red as his costume and covers his eyes with his hands. He likes Spider-Man's body, but he does not want him stripping on a roof for just anybody to see.

Spider-Man laughs. "Calma, calma, I'm teasing you, gatinho! Una broma!"

Cellbit peeks out between his fingers and sees, indeed, a fully-clothed Spider-Man.

"I knew that," he tells him. The voices call him an idiot, and so he repeats it louder: "I knew that! I knew it was a joke!"

"Ah-huh," Spider-Man says, not believing him whatsoever.

He stretches his arms above his head, groans, and hops to his feet. He stretches again, cracking his neck and shoulders.

"Guess dinner tonight is takeout," he comments.

Cellbit wrinkles his nose. "He tastes bad."

"You haven't bitten him yet, have you?"

Spider-Man sounds mildly disappointed; if anyone heard him talking like this, he'd be labeled as a villain by the end of the week. But, then again, he and Deadpool have been known for their... unique relationship since before Deadpool's retirement. They tease. They joke.

Cellbit shifts uncomfortably. "Well... no."

They have dinner together every night.

"Then how do you know he tastes bad, eh?"

Spider-Man reaches across the corpse and lightly baps Cellbit on the back of the head disapprovingly.

"We're taking him," Spider-Man tells him. Of course, Cellbit doesn't argue. How could he?

So Cellbit stands, and he goes to get the man's phone from where Spider-Man had thrown it earlier. Behind him, Spider-Man picks the man up from off of the roof and slings him over his shoulder.

God, he's strong...

'STRONG AND SMART AND HANDSOME AND BEAUTIFUL AND KIND AND'

'and generous and muscular and sweet and caring and'

...and perfect.

If Cellbit didn't know any better, he'd say that he may, in fact, have a bit of a crush on Spider-Man.

And isn't that funny?

(Roier slips into bed shortly after Cellbit does. Fresh out of the shower, he smells like Cellbit's body wash: vaguely mango-y.

He curls around Cellbit's body like a quotation mark, slotting in behind him perfectly. He holds Cellbit close, eyelashes fluttering against the back of Cellbit's head.

"You were right," he admits, words muttered into Cellbit's hair. "He tasted horrible. I brushed my teeth, like, a million times, what the fuck?"

"I told you," Cellbit says. He squeaks as he gets a pinch to his side for his troubles, ouch. "Hey!"

'do it again...'

'DUDE WHAT THE FUCK?'

"Let me pick next time," Roier says. "My turn."

"Fine."

As if Cellbit could ever tell his husband no. He deserves everything and more... though all Cellbit can offer is killings in his honor. That's all he can give, but Roier deserves more. But it's what Cellbit can provide, and so it will be what he gives him.

Cellbit can't die. He's tried, and Death has sent him back to the world of the living with a tired sigh every time. Immortality is cool and all, but...

But Roier almost died in that ambulance. Bobby did die in the house. Richarlyson could die in the next great Avengers battle. Pepito...

Once upon a time, Spider-Man was a hero. But then his son died, not that anybody outside of a select few knew that, and he stopped working with the Avengers entirely.

Blood is crusted on Spider-Man's suit, hung in the secret panel in the bedroom closet right next to Deadpool's suit.

Friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, yeah, but his home life is something entirely different.

"Stop thinking," Roier orders. "I'm trying to sleep."

Cellbit smiles into his pillow. "I'll try."

It's the least he can do.)

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

orphaned cannibal adoption AU- Charlie BURSTING in the hotel front doors, striking the iconic lion king pose, and proudly presenting the cannibal kid to the other hotel denizens

Charlie: "GUYS OH MY GOSH LOOK LOOK LOOK!" (waggles the kid happily) "A KID!!!!!!!!! Kid, say hi!"

Cannibal Kid: “Hi…”

Husk: "What the fuck is this? Child labor??"

Vaggie: "No."

Cannibal Kid: (dangling in Charlie’s grip) "I'm VERY high up right now."

Charlie: "Do you like it? The hotel? The high up-ness? The other people living here? We can change ANYTHING you like! You are my child now, and I'm melting like silly putty in your tiny, tiny hands!"

Angel Dust: "Thrillin', toots. Who carried."

Cannibal Kid: "Small hands are useful for getting things out of tight spaces."

Charlie: "I did!"

Vaggie: "Do I wanna know what kinds of things you usually get from what kinds of spaces?"

Angel Dust: "Huh. Would'a thought it'd be Vaginal Area over here."

Cannibal Kid: "Internal organs. From still warm bodies."

Vaggie: "Great."

Charlie: "I carried our new kid here ALLLLLLL the way from Cannibal Town! On my shoulders! Just like how my dad used to do with me!! Only I didn’t turn into a horse or a kangaroo or-"

Niffty: "Aww, that's a long way to walk!" (raises hand) "THEY CAN SNACK ON MY HAND IF THEY'RE HUNGRY!"

Vaggie: "Niffty, Rosie packed a lunch."

Niffty: "NOOOOOOOO...!!!"

Vaggie: "And it's adoption, Angel Dust you asshole. Also try keeping the swearing to a G rating okay."

Husk: "You fucking first."

Vaggie: "Fuck."

Cannibal Kid: "Don't worry. Auntie Rosie taught me to only put nice things in my mouth."

Charlie: "Ooooh like candy?!" (realizing cannibal) "Or, wait-"

Cannibal Kid: "Like eyeballs."

Husk: (SNORTS)

Angel Dust: "Ouchie~"

Vaggie: "What? What? Wanna share something with the room, dingbat!?"

Angel Dust: "I meannnnnn- 's not like you're exactly well equipped to feed your new kid, are ya Vagginator? That's kinda... EYE-ronic."

Husk: (snorts so hard his fur fluffs up)

Niffty: "I have an eye I HAVE AN EYE!!! It's BIG and ROUND and-"

Vaggie: "No."

Cannibal Kid: "Aw."

Niffty: "MOTHERFUCKING DAMNIT!!!!!"

Vaggie: "Oh for- Husk, just, break a bottle and let Niffty have the glass or something. This is too much sudden family bonding happening right now."

Husk: "Let me fucking empty one first." (starts chugging)

Vaggie: (SIGHS)

Charlie: "Right." (lowers kid to eye level) (her eye level, not vaggie’s) "Have you ever heard... of gummy worms?"

Cannibal Kid: "No. But I ate someone named Gary Wormwood once."

Charlie: "That's pretty close!"

Vaggie: "Sweetie, no it's not."

Charlie: "Vaggie, as the mothers, our kid's 'best so far' is always more than good enough for us, it's AMAZING."

Cannibal Kid: "He wasn't that great."

Angel Dust: "Leavin' totally mid Gary to rot somewhere back in creepy Cannibal Town, what's the name of your own sweet little murder baby?"

Vaggie: "..."

Charlie: "...."

Vaggie: "Uh.... Charlie, are you gonna...?"

Charlie: "I mean you're the one who clicked with them, I thought you'd be doing the big introductions!"

Vaggie: "I'd love too, sweetie, but I don't actually... y'know."

Charlie: "What?"

Vaggie: “…um.”

Angel Dust: "...you don't know their fuckin' name, do ya?"

Charlie: "WHAT!?"

Vaggie: "It, it never came up! I thought I'd find out when you said it!"

Charlie: "I THOUGHT I'D FIND OUT WHEN YOU SAID IT, TOO!!!"

Angel Dust: "Oh fuck me with a plastic dick- Neither of ya's gay morons know's the kid's name???"

Cannibal Kid: "It's Annie."

Charlie: "!! ANNIE IM SO SORRY MOM WILL NEVER NOT KNOW YOUR NAME EVER AGAIN-"

Annie: "Short for Annabelle."

Hotel Crew: “……”

Vaggie: "....like, Annabelle the… cannibal?"

Annie: "Tragically."

Charlie: "Oh but that's. A. Lovely name."

Annie: "My dead parents thought they were both really funny." (flat stare) "They weren't."

Angel Dust: “Sucks to be you, kid. Sorry ‘bout your old man and lady.”

Annie: “It’s okay. They didn’t own a hotel.”

Charlie: “Ahhaha! This is a horrible thing to say, but- I feel like your FIRST life changing experience with us will be learning the true meaning of family!”

Annie: “Since you’re the princess of hell, what does that make me?”

Vaggie: “A normal kid who’s mom is princess of hell.”

Annie: “Dang.”

Angel Dust: “Oh I’m gonna LOVE bein’ your uncle! You’ve got piz-zazz don’t ya~?”

Annie: “No.” (pulls Razzle out from under their coat) “His name’s Razzle.”

Angel Dust: “That ain’t exactly what I meant-”

Annie: “I know. I was just being funnier than you.”

Husk: “Ha! Now this is MY kinda kid!”

Angel Dust: “Yeah sure whatever, I’m still gonna be a waaay cooler uncle than you, so… uhhh… Vaggie-boner, why’s your girlfriend making that noise?”

Vaggie: “The ‘eeeeee’ing?”

Angel Dust: “Yeah.”

Vaggie: “It’s one of her happy sounds.”

Angel Dust: “What the fuck is she so happy about. Didn’t she get over the whole burst of motherly endorphins thing while signin’ adoption papers over in Eats-your-face-burg?”

Vaggie: “I mean, you did kinda just make it sound like you think of her as family.”

Angel Dust: “Of course you gays are family! What the fuck???”

Husk: “….you fucking idiot. Now you’ve made them both cry.”

Niffty: “I wish that was meeee…”

Annie: “I think they’re tears of joy." (dabs tear on finger and tries it) "Tastes like it, anyway. Too sweet.” (pulls face) "Blegh."

Niffty: “Emotional pain from the AGONIZING realization of everything that’d been CUT AWAY FROM YOU LIKE A KNIFE TO YOUR HEART at the same moment someone VIOLENTLY SHOVES a brand new PAINFULLY BEATING HEART into the EMPTY CAVITY that used to hold your BRUTALLY CRUSHED DREAMS… can be fun too…”

Angel Dust: “….”

Husk: “….”

Annie: “Aunt Niffty, you’re so cool.”

Niffty: “Really!? I’m also gonna let you play with KNIVES!!!”

Angel Dust: “-no, no you won’t. No. Both of ya’s listen carefully- the word of the day is ‘N’… ‘O’.”

Annie: “Knife starts with a ‘K’.”

Husk: “He wasn’t spelling knife.”

Annie: “He could've been if he’d started it with a ‘K’.”

Charlie: “YOU ALL ALREADY S-SOUND JUST LIKE A FAMILY WAAAAAGH!!!”

Annie: "So is this the true meaning of family?"

Vaggie: "It's....close enough."

Annie: “Okay. I like it here, tall mom. It’s soggy, because you’re crying on me, but it’s nice.”

Charlie: “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA- YOU CALLED ME M-MOM-”

Vaggie: “There-there, sweetie. Maybe try to not break our kid’s eardrums on the first day?”

Husk: “You’re still crying out of your one fucking eye-”

Vaggie: “Shut up.”

[ectoplasmfear]

Honestly, the way that the cast and the fandom remembers Kalvaxus is really funny to me because... he was not that guy. Kalvaxus was strict but never quite mean. He had a very no nonsense approach to his job, but had to do a lot of the more stable parts of administration considering the other person involved with the day to day running of the school was Arthur Aguefort, a deeply unpredictable hubristic cokehead with all the power in the world.

The Bad Kids - more specifically Adaine - said that she really liked the school and thought he was a really good vice principal - the episode where it was revealed he was evil. When he saw Fabian randomly hit Gorgug, he told Gorgug that he shouldn't apologize for being randomly assaulted. When he handed a ticket to Adaine, he hesitated because Adaine was clearly on the verge of a panic attack. He gave Jawbone a job. He was genuinely trying to help the Bad Kids after Aguefort did some typical Aguefort shit and killed himself in front of them. He absolutely presented himself as a very helpful adult authority figure who maybe wasn't nice but he came off as trustworthy and largely fair.

Is any of that his true "deep down" personality? Obviously not. He's a banker, a libertarian, and an imperialist conqueror. He'll allow a few select students to be influenced onto this path. He can't say he approves of the Harvestmen being at his school but they're a good expendable workforce that he can discard afterwards to prove that despite being fiscally conservative, he is an ally and he is trans inclusive. He takes his little pleasures. Murdering Riz's father. Poisoning Aguefort, making him too stupid to see what his right hand is doing. Conspiring with his horrible capitalist bank that doesn't give out pens or lollipops. Investing in stocks, consorting with gangs of creepy tieflings. And when the mask is off he lets forth a storm of viciousness, hate, malice, verbal cruelty. Which is pretty par for the course for being stuck with teenagers for five hundred years, tbh.

But again, he has been doing this song and dance for five hundred-ish years, playing the role of the helpful authority figure. Dragons - particularly chromatic dragons like Kalvaxus - are infected with an absolutely massive ego, a destructive sense of pride that compels them to dominate, collect, amass, always amass wealth. It's baked into their immortal souls. They go to places, they commit violence on things there, and then they collect their rewards. It's a vicious cycle, and not dissimilar to the violent destructive cycle that adventuring tends to follow.

So when you take his ability to ever conquer, destroy, rule, devour, amass wealth.

Being good. At this stupid fucking JOB. That he HATES. Teaching teenagers. That he HATES. At a school. That he HATES. With only one man who knew what he was really like, the real him, only one man he didn't have to deceive, and it's the INSANE COKE SNORTING MOTHERFUCKER KEEPING HIM HERE.

[inkybinkyboink]

"all the marauders died", "they all got murdered", "but peter betrayed everyone", "they're straight anyways"

SHUT UP.

BEACH EPISODE HEADCANONS

i've no doubt in my mind that this has already been written somewhere just in a different font but im high off of river water and algae right now so call me freddy mercury the lead singer of hit 70's band Queen because Don't Stop Me Now.

james is the one that organized it and man like lobbied for this okay

he waited MONTHS for everyone to have a day off at the same time and he took it and RAN

and lucky for him, it's the perfect day. it's a sunny, hot day in the middle of august, the clouds are simply beautiful, but it's still nice and sunny like i mean perfect

don't ask how, i don't know, but i think it would be really funny if james drove a minivan. mom drives a minivan and he picks everyone up

peter has to be shotgun because he gets mad carsick

james also tries so fucking hard to bring snacks for everyone but he forgets that sirius is allergic to nuts and half of the food he brings has nuts in it

just hear me out okay i think it would be really funny if big bad sirius black was allergic to peanuts

sirius would also be the one to dress the most unconventional for the beach and then whine about being uncomfortable the entire time.

remus and peter are certified Staying on the Beach™ boys. peter because he's scared of the sea and remus because he's still got cuts that are healing and he'd really rather not literally put salt on an open wound

sirius also burns like paper and is too stubborn to put on sunscreen

remus likes finding stones to skip, though

"i'll stay here and guard the snacks" -peter pettigrew

if there's a dock or something james is jumping off of it without hesitation

he gets into a diving competition with sirius to see who can make the biggest splash which ends when they jump into each other while diving into the water

finding seashells 🤝 remus lupin

peter would fall asleep in the sun and they would all absolutely bury him up to his neck in sand

they pester remus for bringing a fucking book to the beach

i mean this so sincerely and honestly with the most love and adoration in mind but the way james potter turns into a fucking 5 year old boy at the beach is insane

"guys watch me do a flip", "look, i can do a hand-stand in the water", "dude that wave was totally a shark fin", "do you think if i drank an entire redbull i could swim across the atlantic?", "i can totally see the coast of canada from here

james and sirius definitely have yet another competition to see who can hold their breath for longer.

on at least one occasion remus has to drag sirius out of the water because he might as well be fucking drowning and remus is the only one who has first aid training

the drive home is silent because everyone's asleep except for james who now realized it would have been way easier to just use magic transport and is now suffering the consequences of his own actions

prize for most sunburnt goes to sirius

prize for best sandcastle goes to peter

prize for most seaworthy goes to james

prize for best seashell collector goes to remus

[modelbus]

I've been in the worst writing slump... so I've defaulted to Kaz Brekker (oops). This didn't get as far as I wanted it to, but it's about 2k words!

Be warned: This contains death (murder), kidnapping, violence, skin trading, mentioned sex work, human trafficking (called "the skin trade" in here), weaponry, and I think that's it!

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x Gn!Reader

Tricked Target

Time is as good as the kruge in your pockets in the Barrel. You know this well, considering you have little of both; money and time. Or perhaps you have too much time. It simply depends on how one sees it, you suppose.

Someone might take you pouring over papers on a desk as a waste of time. See the mahogany wood, stained dark, and curl their lips as the sheer money it must've taken to buy.

Someone else might realize this isn't your office, isn't your desk, and keep their mouth shut.

Tonight, that happens to be an unfortunate man named Zade Oren. Tied in his leather chair, black ropes expertly woven, a gag stuffed in his mouth, and both Achilles slashed for good measure, he learned his lesson.

Don't piss you off.

And although he isn't technically keeping his mouth shut of his own free will, it still technically counts. You give him the slightest of glances, just enough to monitor the tears dripping down his face from wide eyes, before returning to the papers you're rifling through.

"This would be easier if you had just cooperated." You muse aloud, flicking through a ledger before abandoning it. "But you guys never do."

He makes a pathetic sort of whimpering that makes you grin.

You aren't a bad person. After all, you only enjoy the blood on your hands when it's from the right person. The type of person you have at your mercy right now, for example. If anything, you're as close to good as it gets in the barrel. A type of vigilante, rather than one of the profit-seeking groups.

Dime Lions, Black Tips, Razorgulls, The Liddies, Harley's Pointers. Now those are some bad organizations. You're still on the fence about The Dregs; you've seen them do as much good as they have bad. Mostly due to the smaller organization within them. Or maybe the Crows aren't part of the Dregs anymore; you don't care. They're not of interest to you.

"Ah. Here we go." You hum, finding a record of a transaction. Zade gives a feeble cry. Useless, these men who beg for their lives. As if you'll ever give them back.

The transaction seems harmless enough. Four pearls for a sum of money. A sum far too large to be worth even some really fucking nice pearls. And, most importantly, names of the buyer and seller. Your eyes ghost over Zade's name as the buyer, focusing on the seller's name instead.

Then, you crumple up the paper and stuffs it in your pocket.

Pearls. What a stupid code name. The sellers determine it, and they're never very creative with code names. Always something valuable, never something believable.

All it takes is one person (you, in this case) to see what it really means.

Kids.

"I should be going, I think." You finally say, straightening. "Don't worry, don't worry. No more people need to get hurt anymore."

Zade slumps in relief, and you let a wicked grin stretch over your face.

"Oh, no, you've misunderstood. No people will be harmed by me tonight. But you're not really a person, are you?" Your head tilts, watching the panic wash over his features.

Like a cat toying with a mouse, you are. It's just so amusing though, to witness the fear. To let them experience what they've instilled in so many others. That despair? It's precious.

Your knife is sinking into his chest before he can protest any more. Pushing past the hard bone, sinking into his heart with a sick squelch. By the time you pull it out, he's already dead.

"Fool." You sigh, leaving him there and striding over to the window. Let his guards find him later, you don't care.

And when you hoist yourself out the window, scaling onto the roof, the office is almost as you found it. Only his dead body and a note to proclaim the kill as justified.

It reads the same as always: Hurt a kid and I'll hurt you next.

The Avenger is the name people like to call you. Or the rumors of you. Most of Ketterdam has the wrong ideas about you, but you aren't fixing to correct them. False assumptions only make your job far easier.

Honestly, you'd rather be called a protector. But avenger works just as fine. It gets the point across.

A shiver runs up your spine when you're standing on the rooftop, but a cursory glance around shows nobody. You didn't expect it to, but still. The feeling of eyes following you has only gotten stronger recently, but seeing as nobody has attempted to kill you yet you assume it's fine.

Some people are just too curious for their own good and like being spies. As long as they aren't fucking up your plans, you really don't care. Honestly. The feeling of eyes is perfectly fine with you.

"You could say hi. I don't bite." You murmur into the still air, but to no avail.

The feeling doesn't leave as you head back to your home, a dingy apartment near a lot of the gambling dens. It's rented from a landlord who couldn't give less of a shit—she's never met the guy—which was perfect for you. And the place was cheap, which was a big bonus. Not that you were hurting for money, because you had no problems about stealing from those you killed, but you preferred to use it for better things.

Like buying new knives.

Dropping back down to the alleys, your feet hit the cobbles without a single sound. Subtlety was an art form, one everyone had to perfect in the barrel. Unless they were rich enough to get away without it, but you were not. Sadly.

There's footsteps behind her, and you turn to glare at the stranger. Give them a silent warning to mind their own fucking business.

Luck is not on your side today though, because they lunge at you with outstretched hands and a knife. You dodge, slamming your body into a wall to avoid the attack, hands scrambling for your own daggers.

The attacker is big, an ugly snarl stretched out across his mug, a beard covering half his face. Professional, if you had to guess, and definitely after you. Oh, joy.

This time, you don't give him the opening he wants. You dart forward, metal gleaming, knowing that the only way to walk away is to remove the obstacle in your path. In other words: kill him.

You both scramble, your knife digging into his forearm due to a nicely executed move on his part, but you abandon it in his arm to stab at him with another. A hand on your arm, metal meeting metal, it's a raw fight. Evenly matched.

But you must be off, must be mentally occupied, because you don't hear the footsteps behind you until it's too late. It's not until something slams into your head, sending you staggering with black spots, do you realize someone else is here.

"And that's meant to be the Avenger?" The person behind you scoffs.

"They put up a pretty good fight before you came in." Burly guy answers, stepping toward you.

His shoes are the last thing you see before your eyes roll back.

-

There's a hood over your head.

When you blinks your eyes open, you're met with complete and utter darkness. Although you want to panic—desperately—you don't. You can feel the ropes tying you to some type of chair, your wrists pulled together behind the back of it and your ankles tied to the legs of the chair.

Panicking now wouldn't do anything for you, so you just sit in silence.

But you're frustrated. So frustrated that you let your guard drop, that you've gotten yourself into this situation. You refuse to be another Mar, refuses to be the second Avenger that befalls the fate they tried to prevent.

"Makes sense now why he's wanting 'em." Someone is saying, and you try to subtly tilt your head to listen in. "He's always collecting 'em dangerous skinny ones."

"Putting together his own little menagerie." A second voice joins in, laughing.

The words have you tensing, against all instincts. Are they selling you to the menagerie?

Everyone knows what the menagerie is. Girls, tricked into sex work—and sometimes men—and people all too willing to take advantage of them. One of the things you worked against, and, subsequently, one of your worst nightmares.

"Serves this one right. Sardonic, isn't it?"

"You mean ironic?"

"What the difference?"

Oh, saints. You haven't just been kidnapped, but you've been kidnapped by idiots.

"Both of you stop. He'll be here soon." And that's a third voice. Only two people grabbed you, and you're willing to bet this third is the boss.

You don't recognize the voice, but you haven't exactly heard the voices of many people that are high in the chain in the Barrel. Not unless it's them begging for life, and you never hear from them again after.

But now you know for certain that they won't be sending you to the actual menagerie at least. The double confirmation is nice, even if the unknown is a whole other worry.

A door opens somewhere, and there's an abrupt rush of footsteps.

"You're early!" Probably boss guy shouts way too loudly. "The Avenger is all ready for you, but still knocked out."

"How long ago did you grab them?" Oh, that's a new voice. Faintly familiar, although you can't tell from where.

It's been a long time since you've felt so helpless. Like things were out of your carefully measured control. Not since you came home to an empty apartment, a person missing from it.

"A few hours." Probably boss answers. You don't need your eyes to know he's leering at you.

"...and how hard did you hit? Saints."

"They're alive, ain't they? Pay up."

"How much did we agree on again?" A cool voice asks, and your head jerks up. You know that voice, you've stalked the owner of that voice.

Kaz Brekker.

"Oh, look at that. It lives." Probably boss laughs cruelly, and you attempt a glare at him through the hood. "And you know how much we agreed on. Hand it over, Brekker."

And there's your confirmation. Your didn't just imagine it; Kaz Brekker is buying you. Why? You've never interfered with his dealings. In fact, after confirming he isn't into the skin deal, you actively stayed out of his business. You definitely didn't need more enemies than you already have.

The sound of Kruge being exchanged, followed by gleeful exclamations, makes you grit your teeth. If Brekker wants a shot at you, he'll have to do a lot more than pay some money.

"Get out." Brekker says after a moment, cutting the guys who kidnapped you off.

"This is our-"

"Get. Out."

Nobody makes him repeat it a third time, as is evidenced by the sound of footsteps fading away.

He's bossy, but he has the power to be. The cool indifference in his tone, the brilliant business plays he's made. Scrappy, like you, but far more powerful. There's a raw hunger in him you don't have; that nobody but him has.

It's scary as hell.

"Untie them."

There's movement around you, and then the hood is yanked off. You squint, blinking a few times, before focusing on the irritatingly put-together man in front of you. Although looking roughly the same age as you, the Barrel makes anyone be adults far too fast.

Brekker stares down at you, gloved hands clasped onto his cane. Behind him, a Suli girl hovers. Inej, his wraith. A spy, as far as anyone knows. Not an assassin. So that means whoever is working on untying you is Jesper.

"You're in quite the situation." He notes dully, but there's a wicked gleam in his eyes.

It only makes you glare harder. "Thanks, I'm aware."

The rope around your wrists falls away and you bring your hands to your lap, but don't move to untie your ankles. There's a sharpshooter behind you and a girl with knives in front of you; You aren't completely stupid. And that's not to mention the damage you know Brekker can do too.

"I have a deal for you." Brekker says after a moment, taking a step forward. He switches his crow-headed cane to his left hand, holding out his right for a handshake.

You don't take it. "What's the deal?"

"I don't think you're in a position to be asking questions."

"What's. The. Deal?"

"Perhaps I didn't make it clear. Take the deal right now, or we'll dump your body in the harbor to drown."

Well. That's not a lot of options. Everyone knows to negotiate all terms of a deal before accepting, but what choice do you have? He's brilliant for this move, and you hate him for it. Saving your life, buying you, just to force you into a deal to live.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, reason why this is such a horrible idea, you're shaking his hand. 

"Screw you." You spit out, life-saving be damned. Your grip tightens, just to spite him. Although his lips tug down, he doesn't pull away.

His reply is passive.

"Welcome to the crows."

[ssa-atlas-alvez]

Cowboy!reader Masterlist

Because apparently y’all love this lol (see- see what I did there? Y’all)

I'm trying to put these in a rough order as I go in the fic universe to try and make it easier to read aha

Edith

Description: cowboy has an elderly neighbour (this is literally just cowboy and his neighbour, in my head set before he joins the BAU) Warnings: none

Interestin'

Description: Cowboy reader is new to the team and is feeling unheard. Warnings: bad government knowledge on Atlas' part, I did try to google it but idk guys, trying my best here. Oh, also, stress eating.

I Understand

Description: directly follows from 'interestin'', cowboy reader talks down a teenage unsub. Warnings: guns, hostage negotiations, untrusting team

Lies

Description: Directly follows 'I Understand', Hotch accuses cowboy reader of lying to the teen unsub. Warnings:

The Post That Started It All

Description: Warnings: gunshot wound.

Baking and House Plants

Description: Warnings: briefly mentions anxiety.

Poetry

Description: Cowboy and Spencer talk about reading Warnings: the only thing I can think of is that reader suggests to spencer to read the warnings of a book reader likes

Allergies (Not Really)

Description: Warnings: transphobia, sad reader, guns, bullet wound, fighting, briefly mentions some murders to set the scene a bit, someone calls reader a redneck.

More (Not) Allergies

Description: Allergies (Not Really) Part 2 Warnings: minor sad reader.

Flirting, reckless driving, I didn't mean to hit you I promise

Description: Warnings: minor car accident, unsub is not a nice man, brief mentions of killings/murders.

Stronger Coffee

Description: an cop says a few offhand comments about Derek and you don't take no shit. Warnings: hints to racism (nothing 'on screen'), blood

Mama's Boy

Description: (Follow up from Flirting, reckless driving, I didn't mean to hit you I promise) Warnings: Brief mentions of murder and kidnapping (super brief), a man tries to intimidate a woman, that’s about it. Oh, some swearing. 

Pretty As A picture

Description: Warnings: a shelter?

Gay Panic

Description: Warnings: gay panic, some unsavoury thoughts - like one

Gay Panic Part 2

Description: Cowboy gets hit on Warnings: None

Darla

Description: Cowboy is in love... Warnings: n/a

Tattoos

Description: the team sees cowboy's tattoos Warnings: n/a

Mermaids and Unicorns

Description: A kid sees his first real life cowboy Warnings: n/a

Protector

Description: a guy hits on JJ at a bar and cowboy reader is not happy about it. Set before they confess their feelings, they're still "friends" here. Warning: unwanted touching (arm around the shoulder), and guy tries to kiss JJ (when she doesn't want it)

Sleepover

Description: JJ thinks cowboy looks huggable. Warnings: none

Sunflower Seeds

Description: Warnings: Death, sadness, abuse, bad foster parents, death of a child, murderous foster parents. Word count: 2403

Quit

Description: Warnings: Smoking, addiction (smoking)

The Art of Actually Quitting

Description: JJ helps cowboy tackle his smoking addiction. Warnings: Addiction, reader snaps

I'm Sorry, I Promise, Have Some Flowers

Description: Warnings:

My Bio Daddy

Description: Not sexy times I swear. Cowboy reader's father visits, things don't go too well... Warnings: abuse, abusive parents, abduction, claustrophobia, judgy nurse, hospital visits, child abuse mentions

Farmers Tan

Description: just a little snippet of cowboy reader and the team really Warnings: n/a

Southern Belle Ex

Description: the BAU run into an old friend of cowboy reader while near his home town Warning: jealousy, mentions past smoking addiction, that's about it

Home

Description: Being close to home, the team finally get to meet reader's family. Things start out great and then... Not so much. Reader makes sure his younger brother knows that despite what their parents have said, he's still there for them. Warning: homophobia, someone nearly says the f-slur twice (they don't say the whole thing, reader puts them in their place), mentions of going to conversion therapy, pro-conversion therapy views, being kicked out because of sexuality, unaccepting parents, unaccepting sibling (Jason's a bit of a dick and I stand by that). I think that's everything.

Outlaws

Description: Cowboy reader babysits Jack Warnings: None

I was worried

Description: Warnings: Blood, guns, gun shot wound, passing out, hospitals, some swear words

Sleepless

Description: cowboy reader can't sleep :( Warnings: can't sleep (idk if it's insomnia tho), very tired reader, I think that's all

Birthday

Description: Warnings: implications of claustrophobia, it's his first birthday party so he's a bit overwhelmed bless him (I say over a fully grown man)

Sick

Description: cowboy reader gets sick and makes some confessions. And it's what everyone's been waiting for Warnings: illness, mentions throwing up (no actual throwing up), cold/flu, mentions high temperature, reader feels rough, yeah

Dates

Description: Warnings:

Crazy Ex Girlfriend

Description: Dana, an old 'friend' of reader turns up at his work place and decides to make a scene. Warnings: reader gets slapped, crazy ex girlfriend, she insults JJ, she calls her a sl^t and wh0re, she also tells reader to 'burn in h3ll'

Rain and Thunder

Description: It's raining, and reader can't help but feel connected with the earth. Ever the romantic, this particular type of weather leads to more discussions of feelings. Takes place quite some time after 'Sick' and 'Dates' but you guys dont know about dates yet. I've not written it yet but it happens before this. Warnings: rain, thunder, lightning, that's it this one is happy feelings, bit cliche but ya know I enjoyed writing it aha

TikTok

Description: Cowboy reader tries tiktok Warnings: None

Guitar

Description: Cowboy reader shows JJ his secret talent (sfw don't worry) Warnings: hints to kissing? That's literally it, oh and some bad language at the end.

(No) Self-Preservation

Description: scar reveal. Warnings: scars, abusive backstory.

Promise

Description: JJ and Cowboy hit a rough patch, the song is promise by Laufey (just in case you can't see it, Tumblr's being annoying for me) Warnings: sadness :'), smoking

Like A ______

Description: Warnings:

Save A Horse

Description: Warnings:

Allergy Reunion

Description: Mia and reader reunite, chaos ensues. Warnings: gun shots, unsubs go to the school, guns, schools targeted, criminal minds levels of violence (maybe even on the slightly tamer side).

All For Nothing (Part 1)

Description: Cowboy doesn't make it in time... Warnings: Death, death of children and a parent, shock, blood, mentions of a shelter/homelessness

taglist under the cut

Taglist: @xweirdo101x @xdark-acadamiax @ara-a-bird @heidss @chubbyboyinflannel @pendragon-writes @migwayne @bigolgay @technikerin23 @supercriminalbean @honestlycasualarcade @caffeine-mess @1s3v3n1 @oddmiles @kevyeen @stealing-kneecaps @criminalskies @woodandwaxwings @wizardmon3 @aphroditeslovr @ducks118 @azeal-peal @13thdoctor-run @introvertpan84 @goth-boi-atlas @iliketozoneout @chaosofmanyfandoms @logicalhorror @luvfornick @prmsn-17

@xweirdo101x @xdark-acadamiax @ara-a-bird @heidss @chubbyboyinflannel @pendragon-writes @migwayne @bigolgay @technikerin23 @supercriminalbean @honestlycasualarcade @caffeine-mess @1s3v3n1 @oddmiles @kevyeen @stealing-kneecaps @criminalskies @woodandwaxwings @wizardmon3 @aphroditeslovr @ducks118 @azeal-peal @13thdoctor-run @introvertpan84 @goth-boi-atlas @iliketozoneout @chaosofmanyfandoms @logicalhorror @luvfornick @prmsn-17 @pinxeajin

I might have missed some people out - I'm very sorry if I have, also please let me know either in my inbox, on here, or message if you wanna be added to the taglist :)

[small-sinclair]

Hehehe I love you’re writing, here’s another request, angst with a happy ending

7. I told you that I fucking loved you and you stood there and laughed at me (angst prompt list)

9. “I love you doesn’t begin to express what I feel for you.” (Fluff prompt list)

Reader confessed their love, Bo laughs (it’s out of disbelief reader doesn’t take it that way) reader leaves, Bo comes home in the evening, obviously dude sucks at his emotions and they argue and then Bo ends up word vomiting a love confession too, little kissy at the end :3

Ooooooo. This is a nice one! Had to think about this one for a moment, but I think I have something for this :3

Bo x grey reader

What a Fool

Tw: sfw, confused Bo, mention of future killings, mention of murder/using a person, lovely Bo at the end,

When you told Bo how you felt in the garage, he had to take a double take on you. He looked at you in a mixture of disbelief and... hurt? Why does his baby blue eyes look so hurt when you said you want to spend the rest of your life with him?

"Say that again, honey?" He asked, wiping his hands over his pants, oil stains on his face. He was working on a 2004 Jeep today, and the motor was giving him trouble. "I think the heat is gettin' to my head."

"I said," you take a breath, "I love you, Beauregard Sinclair." You felt butterflies fluttering around your stomach and head. The way the golden afternoon light touching his skin and his wrist made him look like a saint. "I love you so much it hurts sometimes."

The corner of his lips twitched as a goofy smile cracked. At first, you thought he was happy, but when he started laughing hard and held him stomach, your confidence fell. He looked at you, trying to keep a straight face, and laughed harder.

He wiped a tear from his eye. "Oh, y/n--what? Did Lester put you up to this? Goodness me, darlin'. You're the funniest human alive." Bo turned back to the jeep. "What a joke."

That was the straw that broke the camel's back.

You burst into tears, turning on your heels, and left the garage. You didn't mean to start crying, but a cry escaped your mouth as you ran out the garage, pushing Lester aside as he brought visitors to the station. Lester raised a brow at you then looked back at Bo, who was following you behind, confused as ever. The group--two girls and one guy--watched as you ran up the hill towards the house. You want to throw yourself on the closest thing like a Disney princess does in a moved when their love denies them. Is this what it feels like to be broken hearted?

One of the girls didn't stop watching you go until Bo said, "Don't mind 'em. They're actin' funny."

"I don't think they are, mister," the blonde said. "I've seen a broken hearted person, and that one," she thumbed over her shoulder, "just lost all of their love all at once."

The red head girl nodded. "Yeah, man. The hell did you do to them?"

Why don't you mind you own business? Bo wanted to snap, but he had to keep the good southern charm on. Maybe they won't do anything about it?

"It don't matter," Bo said, waving it off. "Y/n just said they love them."

Lester's eyes lit up like a puppy being given a bone. "Really? That's great!" He had the biggest smile on his face. "They were real nervous about it but I told 'em 'at y'all love 'em, too, Bo!"

Oh... no. "They weren't lyin'?"

Lester's not one for violence, but... "Wha did ya tell 'em, Bo?"

Bo's blood ran cold as he covered his mouth. Man, did he feel like a prick. "I thought they were jokin' an'--"

"Don't tell me you laughed at the poor thing!" The blonde said in disbelief. "Please say you didn't?"

"Yeah, I did." Why is Bo talking to the people he's going to kill? "I thought they were jokin' an' Les put 'em up to it!"

The man shook his head, clicking his tongue. "That's cold, brother."

"Ain't your brother," Bo snapped, pacing back to the counter then towards the group, covering his mouth. "Really fucked up 're."

"Yeah! Crashed and burned seems to sum it up," the red head said. She nodded at the door. "You should go after them and say your sorry."

The blonde nodded in agreement as she checked her phone. "Yeah, mister. If you go now, you can beat the rain." She then held up her phone. "Cause, like, it'll be cheesy as hell if your run through the rain to get to them."

Lester had to nod in agreement. "Yeah. Super cheesy."

Then the man held up a hand, asking, "But do you feel the same about them? Like, do you love them?" He shoved his hands back in his sweatshirt. "Because if you say it and not mean it, it'll be Oversvile for you."

"Brendon's right," the blonde girl said. "Because that could make this worse and you might lose a friend." She then looked at the red head and asked, "Remember Will did that, Macy?"

Macy, the red head, nodded. "He played me like a fucking room after that, Percy." She then looked at Bo. "You better figure it out, man."

Bo chewed the inside of his mouth as he placed his hands on his hips, thinking. What did he think of you? Sure, he would laugh with you, talk with you, sleep and hold you. Part of him wanted to kiss you when you dragged him outside to watch the fireflies dace over the wildflowers. The way you spun in the flowers as you tried to catch stars in your hand and held yourself so soft and gentle around them, your smile always warm. Cracking up laughing when Jonesy jumped up to lick your face made his heart swell like no other. Every time he was around you, he felt so calm and lighter. Bo's heart ached when you would curl up closer to him at night, hugging his wrists and scars with so much love. He hated when people looked at you wrong, and he hated when you were taken away from him just to talk to a group of people. When you fell down the spiral stairs and hurt your knee, he wanted to bend over backwards to make you stop crying. He hated to hear you cry, to see your sadness, to see your frown... He hated seeing you run out of the station, holding her face, crying. It felt like a bullet to the chest.

So, why did he laugh? What made him think that it was a joke?

Then it hit him: Trudy said it and never meant a word. The only love he's every felt was... was with you.

"Oh, shit," he said under his breath. "What did I do?" He then looked up at the group then at the door. He heard the soft rumbles of the thunder and flashes over the sky. Fuck the killings, fuck the group... he wanted you. Sweet, perfect, beautiful you.

Macy seemed to be reading his mind. She stepped aside, and held her arm out as a path to the door. "Well, get after it then!"

That was all he needed to hear. He hurried pass them and started up towards the house. The group be killed or not, it doesn't matter. You were in that damn house alone crying. What a fool he is! A damn fool! Here you were, in the shop, looking nice than normal, all dolled up for him, just for him, to ruin something that's been building up in his chest for weeks!

What a fool Bo Sinclair is.

*****************

"I'm an idiot, Vincent!" You sobbed in your pillow. He sat on the edge of your bed and rubbed your back. "A dumb, love, stupid-stupid idiot!"

You scared him when you slammed the door, causing him to drop his coffee mug of tea. It hurts seeing you cry, but it hurts more knowing your crying over his dumb twin. Vincent just wanted to hit Bo with the tow truck--

"Y/n?" Bo called from downstairs, closing the door. "Darlin'?"

"Go-go away!" You chocked out, yelling back down. "I-I don't wan-wanna talk to-to you!" You heard his boots coming up the steps as rain pattered against the glass. You hugged your pillow tighter as you cried.

When Bo saw this scene, his knees didn't feel right and he felt sick. He did this to you. He made you cry. Goods, he's like his father--

Vincent glared at Bo as he stood. His hands moved quickly. 'Talk to them. Y/n's hurt. Fix it.' He stops at the door then looks back at Bo. ‘Fix. It.’

Bo took a deep breath and nods as he brother past by him, his eyes lingering over your crying form. He took careful steps in your room and sat on the edge of the bed. He folded his hands as he listened to your tears. The hallow pit in his chest caved in faster as you flinched away from his hand touching your knee. He hated himself more. He hated himself more than anyone.

"Hey, darlin'," he hummed softly, his voice echoing inside his chest. "Wanna talk to ya."

"Why?" You sniffed. "What? You wanna laugh at me more?"

Those words were like daggers in his heart. "No, no, y/n-- I didn't mean to laugh."

You turned on your side and sat up. You brought your legs close to your chest. He brought his leg up on the bed and shook his head. "I told you that I fucking loved you," you wiped your face, "and you stood there and laughed at me, Bo."

Thunder rumbled against the roof. "I didn't mean to, honest."

Your eyes were so red and puffy that he didn't want to look at you. "What am I to you, Beauregard?"

"What do ya mean--"

"What. Am. I. To. You?" You didn't mean to sound tired or angry. You didn't mean to curl your fingers into a fist. "Tell me. What?" You used your arm as a tissue to wipe away the snot. "Do you see me as a play thing? Want me in-in the basement like the rest?"

He felt disgusted. "No, no!" The near thought of you strapped down in some place horrifying like that nearly broke him.

"Then what am I to you?" You snapped, making him jump at the suddenness. "Am I a joke? A dumb person you thought it'll be fun to play with?" Then something clicked and your mind didn't want to go there, but it did. Your body started to shake. "Are you waiting for the perfect moment to kill me?"

Lightning flashed over his eyes, his blood running cold. Your voice being defeated. Your heart breaking in his hands all because he laughed? Calling them a joke? You. Perfect you. Breaking for a damaged Bo. Why? Why are you doing this to him? His arms reached around you and pulled you into a tight embrace. He held your head against his chest, his hand covering the back of your head protectively. You could hear his heart hammering against his chest.

You struggled against his grip to wiggle free, but it felt so safe, so loving. Luckily, your struggling failed as you cried in his arms. He hushed you softly, kissing the top of your head.

"Wanna know wha' you are to me?" He whispered as rain pattered like bullets. "Yer my first thought every morn. My last thought every night. Yer the reason I git outta bed to mak' coffee. I-I fucking live to hear ya say 'good mornin' ' to me, and it drives me crazy when ya don't say it." He held your head up and cupped your cheek. You were looking up at his beautiful eyes. Those baby blues that made you hit the ground harder. "I thin' 'bout ya when I work on the cars. I thin' 'bout ya when I smoke, wonderin' if yer cooking or bakin'. Shit," he couldn't help but chuckle at thought, "I've said yer name out loud with my last name: Y/n Sinclair." He blushes. "An' it has a good rin' to it, yeah?" You found yourself nodding. He rested his head in your hair, smelling the flowery shampoo you used this morning. "I don't know what ya did to me, and I like it, y/n," he looks down at you. "I like ya a lot."

"So," you hiccuped. "You love me?"

"I love you doesn’t begin to express what I feel for you, darlin' y/n," he answered, laughing. There's a sparkle in his eyes when he asked, "Mind if I show you how much I love ya?"

You managed a nod as your cheeks flushed red.

He leaned down, brushing your lips gently with his rough thumb, and kisses you. His lips were cracked, but they felt like the softest pillows under you. The storm under your skin calmed when you pulled yourself closer, running your hands over his shirt sleeves, tugging him closer. He held your back up as he deepen the kiss. He took you in as if you were the last glass of cold water in July. His head spun as the thoughts of you twirling in the ran sent his mind a blaze, taking you as you were, putting his mama's ring on your finger to forever call you his.

"I love you, Beauregard Sinclair," you breathed against his lips.

He smiled against your skin. "Say it again?"

"I love you, Beauregard Sinclair." And you would say it until your dying breath.

[eldritch-nightmare]

possible tw: blood, murder, ritual sacrifice, alcohol, many mentions of drunk people, brief mention of vomit though there isn't actually any in the story

idk man i'm just thinking about how the spot where jack got sacrificed is probably considered a 'party spot' by both high schoolers and college students so every party that matters always takes place there because people love to be cool and edgy and don't care about the fact that it was a spot of ritual sacrifice and that the cult members performing the sacrifice were all brutally murdered by some unknown killer.

and i'm thinking of you being dragged to a raging party there by your friends. you didn't want to go, you had like multiple papers to write and your professor was giving you absolute shit for not meeting the deadline like everyone else but your friends don't care.

"you need to relax! have some fun! live a little!"

that's their reasoning, and it's not like you can just ditch now. you were the designated driver, and you're far too nice to just abandon your friends at a party while they're all getting shitfaced.

anyways, the party is filled with other students from your college. most of them are drunk, and the place is honestly starting to feel like a scene out of a shitty slasher. you're half expecting jason voorhees to walk out of the forest and murder everyone here.

that doesn't happen, thankfully.

no, instead, over the blaring music blasting through the bluetooth speakers, the host/DJ of the party announces that in memory of the many that were sacrificed at the altar everyone was partying around, an offering should be made.

an offering of blood, that is.

which... that's a fucked up thing to suggest, you think. people died. people were killed here. it's fucked up enough that there was a party going on here in the first place, but to make light of something so tragic in such a way just feels disrespectful to the people that died.

and maybe it's because of the alcohol almost everyone here was drinking, or maybe it's some form of peer pressure but everyone, including your friends, seemed to dig the idea.

maybe this is a low-budget cult classic slasher...

you honestly weren't even paying attention to what was being said anymore, instead going over to one of your friends to tell them you were just gonna wait in the car until they were ready to leave.

but when you were stepping away from them to do just that, they were suddenly grabbing your hand and holding it up while excitedly pointing at you.

"they'll do it!"

"excuse me?"

because you're not even sure what the hell your friend just signed you up for, and you didn't even have a chance to do anything before you were being pushed forward and then dragged towards the altar.

you resisted, of course, because you did not want to take part in whatever it was they had planned. you're quite content with your blood staying inside of your body. where it belongs.

it's harder to fight against multiple drunk people than you thought it would be.

"guys, this isn't fucking funny, stop it-"

a blindfold is being forced on you, robbing you of your sight as you're forced down onto the altar. then your hands were bound together, which was only putting you further on edge because it honestly felt like they were actually going to 'sacrifice' you.

your demands for this to stop were ignored as the host of the party went on and on about the tragic murders that took place here and how your blood would appease the angry spirits of the 'poor lambs' that were slaughtered. the guy was starting to sound like a member of a cult, honestly.

which... considering the location, coupled with the sudden demand for sacrifice... well. you're really hoping this was a joke, honestly.

this was starting to go on for far too long to feel like a joke anymore, so your annoyance began to bleed away to genuine fear, "guys, seriously. this isn't funny."

and when you felt the sharpness of an actual blade press up against your neck, you began to realize that this situation was actually dangerous.

"let the sacrifice commence!"

and the blade against your neck pressed down hard enough to draw blood, but before any real damage could be done, the screaming started.

you're... not sure if this was part of the sudden impromptu ritual you found yourself in.

it sounded genuine. one person started screaming, and then another. until everyone at the party was seemingly screaming. the blindfold over your eyes prevented you from seeing what was happening around you, but the blade pressed against your throat was suddenly gone and you could hear it clanging as it was dropped on the altar.

"run!"

"oh my god, what is that?!"

"h-hey man! it was just a joke!"

"don't hurt me! please don't hurt me!"

and then everything went silent. too silent. even the air was still. you were far too afraid to move, even more scared to speak.

but that's when footsteps filled the silence, and you could hear as they approached you.

you couldn't help but flinch when you felt a hand grab your bound wrists. you tensed up, waiting for the worst. instead, you felt the rope binding your hands together come undone.

another hand pulled your blindfold down, and your blood ran cold at the scene surrounding you. there were bodies everywhere. some were still twitching. all of them were gruesomely murdered, their throats ripped out.

you had to force yourself not to vomit, especially when you recognized a few of the bodies to be your friends.

but the carnage around you seemed to pale in comparison to the man that stood in front of you. he was... very much not human. he wore a mask, so the only feature of his face that you could see was his eyes. or... lack thereof.

he didn't say a word, and for a moment, you didn't either. but the silence was too loud.

"are you going to kill me?"

and he tilts his head slightly at the question. the mask he wore hid away his expression, so you weren't sure if your question confused him or amused him.

he doesn't speak, but he does step away from you. that was enough to tell you that no, he did not plan on killing you. you don't say anything else after that, and you don't take your eyes off of him until he leaves you alone on the altar, surrounded by numerous bodies.

the drive back to your dingy little apartment was deathly silent. you were alone, but you didn't feel alone. and when the morning came, news broke about the massacre. every body there had its organs missing, and the police had no leads on who the killer was.

the blade that had your blood on it was gone, so there was no evidence that you were ever even at that party.

and after that night, every night to follow it was... different. even when inside the safety of your own home, you felt as if you weren't alone. something was watching you. you knew who it was, you just chose not to acknowledge it.

the glimpses of blue that you caught outside your window every other night was enough to confirm your suspicions.

you aren't sure why he was watching you. maybe it was to make sure you didn't go to the police, though you sincerely doubt they'd believe a word you said if you tried. or maybe it was something else.

you don't know. but you caught his attention.

you can only hope that nothing bad comes from that.

[darlingofdots]

Please tell us more about Crown Prince Mianning (referencing your tags on the "please he's a star" Blorbo meme) 👀

okay look so here's the deal (i will write this assuming you have not read these books):

Mianning is an extremely minor character in the Temeraire series. He appears in book 2 and in book 8 for maybe a grand total of 100 pages combined, AND YET when I was re-reading the series 3 times in two months I could not help but love him. some facts about my man:

he's the crown prince of china. this is already fun

he is like, 20? maybe 22? when we first meet him. he's granby's age. he's 10 years younger than laurence, the protagonist

in book 2 his main job is to be less awful and murderous than the other political actors at the chinese court, and to briefly offer respite and a new wardrobe to our much-tried heroes. king shit already

admittedly, he doesn't do much else in that book.

in between book 2 and book 8, his dragon companion is poisoned and killed. that's fucking heartbreaking. and he's still keeping his shit together even though his companion's twin looks exactly like him and that has to be so difficult

absolutely badass when kidnapped and imprisoned. he immediately figures out what's going on and what needs to be done and he and laurence just become A Team. also he keeps referring to laurence as his little brother (because the emperor adopted laurence it's complicated don't worry about it) even though, as aforementioned, laurence is like 10 years his senior. iconic.

he does politics so good i'm so proud

he just? seems like a nice guy? everyone knows the adoption is just for diplomatic reasons but mianning doesn't sneer or protest or treat laurence like a foreign pretender, he welcomes him and his company into his house and makes sure they're safe and comfortable and he speaks on his behalf to the emperor and it's strongly implied that he maintains a positive relationship afterwards and? I love that?

genuinely I think he and laurence should just be friends. brothers for real. I know laurence already has two brothers but it just seems like they'd get along really well. mianning would keep telling him to take on a concubine or two. he'd insist on official visits because you are part of this family now u better act like it >:(

in conclusion:

[wof-reworked]

ok I can't stop thinking about the jade winglet, here's my gender hcs for all of them

Moonwatcher - she/they (nonbinary)

I feel like this is fun bc rn (in canon) her gender is just "anxiety" but like,,, one day in the future she gets to actually play around with it

like she captures a very specific type of person I've met who you go "oh I mean I know she's gay but she's probably cis..." and then you have like one real convo and find out they're like not only nonbinary but better at it then you

I think she should get to be butch when she's older. I think she deserves being a) massive compared to her two twink boyfriends and b) gnc as shit

Kinkajou- any/all (genderfluid +transfem)

Kinkajou strikes me as being like. totally ambivalent to gender. Kinkajou changes her pronouns based on how the fruit he ate for breakfast makes him feel. Kinkajou is better than you

I think she was like staunchly using she/her for a while bc it just felt right and like changes pronouns situationally- Rainwing village is she/her, Jade Academy is any/all, close friends it varies, etc etc

Qibli- he/they (transmasc)

Qibli's just always kind of known who he is, and has been like. pretty contentedly in his corner for a while. I think it's like- a pillar of stability for him of like "at least I know I'm (x)"

Proximity to Moonwatcher puts the they/them in there bc I think it's nice when ppl get more comfortable so they start branching out a lil bit :> Qibli has like. guy who says "he/they" because he doesn't mind they/them and wants his friends to feel supported y'know

Winter- he/him (cis + gnc)

Look I feel bad making him one of like. two cis ppl at JMA but like I think it's funny if he's cis but inflicts a status effect of gender envy on every trans person in his proximity

guy who does makeup flawlessly because "it's fun" and decimates your sense of identity as you wonder why the fuck god gave these gifts to a man

extra funny for the fact that as a dragonet he gets offended by the implication he's pretty. he gets over it eventually I think

Turtle- she/her or he/she/they (transwoman/trans)

See here. Otherwise I think she's like trans and this could go in like. any fucking direction ngl

transmasc turtle??? hell yeah !!! transfem turtle??? hell yeah !!! gender is whatever Turtle has going on and god knows if she knows it

last egg to crack bc Turtle is immune to self reflection that isn't anxiety and self loathing

"Haha everyone hates how other people refer to them and their gender what do you mean? :)" (entire jade winglet: cringing with worry)

Umber- he/him (cis)

cis and a lil insecure about it but like. he's just nice :)

he's like experimented with pronouns and gender and found none of them really stuck so like. cis+. cis (extended dlc). you know what I mean I hope

gonna be honest I'm lost for him bc I genuinely forget he was there bc he peaced out so fast. justice for my boy I want to know more !!!!!

I could be persuaded for transman Umber ngl,,, it tempts me,,,,,,

Peril- she/her (trans woman)

On one hand I'm torn bc I think it almost doesn't make sense for her backstory BUT ON THE OTHER HAND the idea of Scarlet being supportive of Peril's identity and LITERALLY NOTHING ELSE is hysterical to me

though actually if we wanna get sad,,,, that 100% could be a manipulation tactic of Scarlet. "see I love you I even accept you" etc etc. now I just feel bad man

Peril's also in the same camp of Qibli of knowing this abt herself since she could think and being happy in it. She knows what she's about

BONUS:

Carnelian- she/they/he (transmasc)

Look butch can be a gender and sometimes you're a mean butch skywing idk what to tell you

wish she stayed alive bc her and Moon could've been legendary together. girl who will kill for you vs girl who desperately wants you to do anything else please we talked about this you can't solve your problems with murder

I think Carnelian's true gender is Skywing Patriot and idk how to put that in hc form but this is as best I've got

[hello-is-anyone-there]

Vague Guide to Gothic Academia

Lebanon Hanover (totally not because they're my favorite to write to nooo)

Franz Gordon has some really beautiful piano pieces I highly recommend if you want more classical goth music

Danse Macabre

Hannibal Lector (NBC included)

Criminology

Law in general actually

Religious studies

Come on guys the catholic aesthetics are pulling through here

Victorian collars

Leather gloves

Menthols (this one is just a personal preference, don't smoke)

As much as I hate to say it, Schopenhauer and Roubiczek

I really dislike dark philosophy but it just lines up so well >:[

Moving on to something I like far more: Taxidermy

I'm thinking mostly bones or wet specimens

Normal taxidermy works too but I think it'd clash with dorm space

Leather, silk, and velvet are good staple textures in my opinion

Which does make this harder to style in the summer but tbf dark linens have such a nice flow

The moon, obviously

Astrophysics in general. The stars and the vast existentialism of space are such a good niche. Also I don't see as much STEM majors in these things as I'd like

I'm an arts man for sure, fucked up over literature and philosophy sure, but SCIENCE BRO

That shit is so dark especially going into death studies or psychology

Honestly being a doctor in general can fuck you up

Always smelling like a cadaver (perfume or otherwise...)

Long coats, heavy boots, ties, chains, trad and victorian goth gear both work here

I do like to lean more into dark academia visually with gothic academia, just because my wardrobe would have too much of the same shit going on

Dark sweaters, waist coats and corsets, well fitting suit pants, a well structured light colored blouse usually help balance out

Gothic academia in my opinion is balance between structure and loose chaos

Makeup can also be important for a look so I suggest, strong sharp contor, white accents and dark liner. A red/maroon lip is a good choice for dark makeup in general.

I got distracted by the visual elements woops

A lot of the staple dark academia books work really well

A good murder plot always helps

The Divine Comedies - Dante

The Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux

Carmilla - Sheridan Le Fanu

NIGHT CLASSES!!!

I can't believe I forgot that one

Getting drunk on Absinthe and red wine like a damn vampire