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tremendouscreationperson · 9 months ago

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Logan x Reader pt.11

Lads it's here

Wade's party

Can y'all believe it?

<<Part 10 Part 12>> Masterlist

Logan and Laura sat silently at your dining table.

It would be funny if it wasn't so scary.

Their faces were stony, both merely staring at the other.

It wasn't until Logan ran a hand through his hair - it needed a trim, it was getting long - and cleared his throat.

“I'm sorry.”

Laura nodded, biting the inside of her jaw. She was sorry too. She really hadn't meant what had happened. Hated herself for causing any sort of pain.

“I know I was shitty but I was scared.” He paused. “Which doesn't help because you were scared, too.”

She shrugged one shoulder.

“I love her, Laura.” He vowed. “I know you do, too. And I know you hate yourself but she doesn't blame you and neither do I.”

Laura's eyes watered, she quickly blunk the tears away.

“So again I'm sorry.” He held a hand out. “Do you accept my apology?”

She nodded and met his hand with a firm shake.

“Right, now we have to beat your mother at Monopoly, she's a wizard at that game.”

Wade did in fact hold his party off until Sunday, giving you an extra day to reassure Laura you were real.

Gambit had tackled you to the floor in a hug until Logan pulled the man off of you.

“Thou’we lo’ya, I ca’ ‘lieve yo’ alive! Thank heavens.” You frowned until it locked in and you nodded. Years of living with him making you fluent in Cajun, sometimes it took a moment but you understood.

“No, you'd never lose me!” You sat up and smiled.

Gambit was kneeling - having been hoisted up by his shirt like a kitten - giving you the widest grin. “I'm so ‘ppy, chere. Miss Laura was worried.”

You let him stand and help you to your feet. “She doesn't have to be now, I'm here.” Posing with your non-muscles, and dramatically declaring, “My body's strong, I can heal from anything!”

Blade had bowed his head when he saw you - slipping in to see what the commotion was - but you didn't let him get away with just that so you pulled him into a half hug.

“You alive?”

“I am.”

“Keep it that way.”

You scoffed. “It was definitely my intention.”

He rolled his eyes but patted your head. “I'm out, gotta finish my hunt before this famous ‘party’.”

One day you were going to force him to take you with him. You wanted to meet a vampire! Yes, technically, he was one but he wasn't! He was Blade. Your brother.

You let Blade leave and smiled at the rest of the room. Wade was on the phone making party arrangements whilst Al asked for more cocaine.

Laura was yet to make an appearance. She was a little embarrassed. These people had seen her at her worst. She needed time.

Gambit sat next to Al. She eased into him and began moaning about her roommate.

Mary Puppins twaddled towards you and you bent to pick her up. She was still wearing her dogpool outfit and you couldn't help but smile down at the ugly creature.

“Uh uh uh.” Wade was off of the phone shaking his head. “Maya forgot she existed so you're not allowed to hold her!”

“Wade, I have no idea who you're talking about.” You shook your head but let him snatch her from you.

Wade snuggled his face into her and made obscene kissy noises.

Logan raised a brow. “Seriously?”

“It's nothing compared to what we hear.” Wade smiles too wide and let his eyes shift between you two. “Where's babyrine?”

“She's going to come, I told her we were going to watch one of my favourite movies.”

“The Labyrinth is the best movie.” El announced walking through the door, her hair was wet from showering as she had just returned from the gym.

“I know right!” You agreed. “Let me text Laura that we're going to start soon.”

You'd finally received your phone. There were a few missed calls from Gambit, El and Blade but that was because of the confusion.

Y/N: were going to start the movie in 10 x

Laura: ok x

It was a good thing she decided she could speak through texting. At least this time you had a way to connect. Last time she was nonverbal was a struggle.

You and Logan sat on one sofa. Him resting his back against the arm and you laying your back on his chest. El sat next to Gambit, resting her feet on his legs.

Wade sighed at you all taking up his space but threw snacks at everyone before plonking himself down on the shag rug. Mary made a home on his back as he lay on his front.

“Oh my god, someone take a photo.”

You quickly snapped a few pics of them and sent them via WhatsApp to him. WhatsApp was just like texting except you used WiFi so it was free? You weren't sure but Wade had corralled you all into using the app.

Wade found the movie and inserted the DVD just as Laura crept in.

“Hey baby, come sit with us.”

She eyed Logan but did tiptoe over, he had been acting kind. He was nicer now. Not as angry.

She supposed she was too.

You were safe.

She was able to be with you again.

To have you as her mother again.

She wouldn't have handled your death well.

When she was within reach you pulled her wrist and made her sit on the sofa you were lounging on.

Laura eased back and rested her cheek on your chest, you stroked her hair.

“Okay we're ready. Press play!” You ordered Wade who was staring at Laura in disbelief. Mary Puppins had scooted over to her and jumped up and onto your stomach so Laura could pet her.

“I know you guys are 'healing' and whatever but fuck you all! That's my dog!”

“Shut up and play the movie.” Logan flipped him off.

“Mhmmm.” Al threw a cushion in his direction.

The movie was just as great now as it was then, except for Laura leaning on you. You forgot she had an Adamantium skeleton and were slowly being clamped down on but other than that you loved it. Your stomach was sore when the credits rolled.

“I don' kno’.” Gambit shrugged. “I think I would've stayed.”

“I know I would've.” El agreed.

“Yes.” You frantically nodded. “David Bowie offering me anything I want as long as I love him? Sign me up.”

Laura sat up, effortlessly hopping off to stretch her back and releasing the hold on your organs. She gave you a face and shook her head.

“No? Laura!” You chuckled. “You wouldn't stay?”

She shrugged.

“I wis’ my pants made m’ dick look like that.” Gambit hummed. “All big n’ sexy.”

“Well, it's really more of a curse than a blessing.” Wade shrugged. “I have to order in custom trousers.” He wiggled his red booty shorts.

“Is he revealing himself again?” Al shook her head. “Mother fucker doesn't know how many pillows I got.” Wade was currently in a nest of them due to her throwing.

“What about you, handsome?” You tilted your neck to find Logan's eyes were closed. “Bab-”

“No, don't wake him!” Wade whisper-yelled.

You looked back at the man who was positively giddy. Wade rushed off and came back with a Sharpie.

“We are all in this together, Wildcats.” Wade informed the group. “If I go down I am taking each and every one of you with me.”

He uncapped the lid and drew a very crude penis on Logan's forehead.

“All this hair makes it hard to graffiti him.”

Laura giggled as Wade stepped back. She gave a thumbs up on approval. El rolled her eyes whilst Gambit snapped a photo.

“Y/N, giv’ t’ dick a suck.” You snorted and poked your tongue out in the direction of his face.

“He is going to whoop all y'all asses.” Al chuckled as she heaved herself up. “Someone needs to film that for me, do a visual description and read it or turn it into braille.”

Today was the day.

You had washed, styled and readied yourself.

Putting on the lilac dress you'd brought, with white knee high socks and some slip on shoes. You hadn't thought to buy nicer shoes because you all lived in the same building. You didn't even need to wear shoes to his.

Logan had unfortunately taken the nails off but he was forgiven because as styled his now longer hair - in the same fashion he always did - his kitten ears were back!

He picked up a flannel shirt to throw on top of his vest and jeans. It was almost insulting that he didn't need to put any effort in to look that good.

You smirked up to him, giving him a quick peck and went to check on Laura.

She was half dressed in jeans looking at different bottoms and an array of shirts.

She turned to smile in acknowledgement when you entered her bedroom.

“Struggling to pick?”

She nodded.

It was hard. You knew it when you had a panic attack while shopping. Too many choices meant different variables, different outcomes.

You plucked up the nearest shirt - a small red thing - and an over layer - a denim button up vest - and handed it to her.

“I think that will match your jeans well. Wanna show me?”

She slipped into the materials and you were right. You hadn't even thought about it, just making a choice and half lying to help her.

She scanned the outfit in the floor length mirror before giving it a final nod.

The two of you met back up with Logan, who was already opening a beer bottle.

“Already?” You raised a brow.

“I know I'll need it.” He chuckled.

“Hmm.” Your eyes swept across the dining table. “Did you move one of my hotels?”

A half finished game of Monopoly was set up and you were dominating.

“Would I?”

“Yes, you would!” You patted his jeans pockets. “Where is it?”

“Laura, tell her I'm innocent.” He laughed at your attempt at a strip search.

“I will find it.”

Logan shook his head, taking another swig and hoped to god you didn't check in the fridge.

You'd counted the amount of them left so he couldn't just put it back in the box, no it was sitting in his beer carton.

Laura was smiling easily at the two of you. She liked watching you both so clearly in love.

It was beautiful to see you at ease, you had always worried over her and ensured she was alright. Seeing you truly happy was a godsend.

She hadn't particularly cared for Logan not since her Logan but he wore the man's face so she couldn't help but feel comfortable around him. Couldn't help but feel bad when he was upset, she wanted him to like her. To be that father figure. Seeing him with you might be the closest to that she'd ever get. It was pleasant, if not slightly sad.

“Right kid.” You ruffled her hair. “Let's get going, eh? It's such a long journey.”

She rolled her eyes but allowed you to lead her to Wade's.

Logan was shadowing the both of you, he had decided to make peace with Laura. She was a kid and the closest thing to a child the two of you would get. He vowed to make her like him.

Wade had cleaned the apartment.

He. Had. Cleaned.

Hallelujah.

It was a miracle.

“Hey!” The man waved you over with one hand, the other clutching his baby. “Come and mingle!”

Laura stuck close to you as you agreed, heading straight over to the people he gestured towards.

“Y/N, Wolverines, this is Buck and Shatterstar.”

“Hi.” You shook their hands. “This is Laura and Logan.”

“You don't have to talk to them, they're extras. We're not paying them to talk.” Wade spun you to the next people. “This is Yukio, we love Yukio, and Negasonic Teenage Warhead. Real name unknown. Annoys the fuck out of me so just call her whatever you want.”

“Hi.” You pulled Laura closer to the young girls. They were stark opposites. Yukio was bubbly and colourful whilst Negasonic Teenage Warhead - shit that was a name - was dark and gloomy. “This is Laura. She is amazing. We've experienced a bit of a tough time so sadly she's nonverbal at the moment but I'm sure you girls would get along.”

God you were turning into your mother.

Yukio waved, her bangles jingling. “Hi Laura. It's nice to meet you.”

Laura untucked her hands from her pockets and waved back, smiling shyly.

“Do you want to sit and watch TV or something? Get away from prying eyes.” Negasonic made direct eye contact with Wade.

Laura turned to you before agreeing and the girls sat on the unoccupied couch.

“That's surely not her name.” You whispered as Wade produced the next victim. “Oh, hi.”

It was B-15. She was standing, drink in hand, next to a man. He had a moustache and seemed harmless.

“Hello.” B-15 smiled.

“B-15 was the lovely lady who Logan annoyed into getting you here. And here is the love of my life-" he dramatically spoke "-Peter.”

Some things never change.

“How's things?” You asked the two.

“Going steady.” B-15 replied. “We've had a few issues with another being but we think that's been resolved.”

“You're talking about the Kang dynasty being written out because of the actor right?” Wade asked excitedly as Mary Puppins wriggled in his hands. He let her down and she trotted off towards the girls.

“Things are good for me at work too.” Peter sipped his cup.

Footsteps halted any response from you as you turned to see - fucking hell - Colossus duck through the door.

“I hate your apartment’s parking.” He dusted himself off.

“You're friends with Colossus?”

Wade clapped. “Ahh you know him.”

“He's… well he's a lot fucking bigger.” You mattered. “Piotr.” You held your hand out. “My name is Y/N.”

He was careful as he shook your hand. “Pleasure.”

The party progressed and your group found their way to mingle with others.

Gambit was talking to Buck and Dopinder, El had made friends with Colossus, Blade had enticed Negasonic Teenage Warhead - you needed to find out her real name - Al was comfortable sitting with B-15 and Peter and Yukio stuck with Laura - who you swore was moving her lips.

You found yourself in the kitchen, making drinks and tidying the mess. Wade had attempted to cook but after almost burning the building down opted for take out.

The mess gave you something to do whilst you waited on your dinner. Made you feel at home. The chatter just above the music swirled around you as you washed up the final bowl.

“That's usually my job.” A beautiful woman spoke from your side.

“Sorry.” You offered.

“It's okay.” She smiled and leant against the counter. “I'm Vanessa.”

Oh. She was the one Wade liked. “Y/N.”

“Been a hell of a month, eh?”

“That's an understatement.” You dried your hands.

“Wine?” She offered. “He hides the good stuff from Al.” Vanessa opened a cupboard by your knees and behind the cleaning supplies was a bottle of wine.

You didn't know the difference between ‘the good stuff’ and ‘the regular stuff’. “I'm sorry to say but I think wine tastes like piss. Has he got any rum or flavoured gin down there?”

Vanessa chuckled but delved deeper finding a bottle of rum.

She poured you a decent amount, letting you grab your mixer and then poured herself a wine.

“The scary one yours?” She nodded to Logan who was currently in a heated debate with Wade.

“Yup.”

“And you have a pup.” She commented.

“Laura and Logan.”

“I want kids.” She whispered to herself before shaking her head. “How'd you guys find each other?”

“Oh, well we're all from broken homes. We all just met.” You sipped your drink. “I met her and took her in, then I found him again. He took us both in.”

“Oh so she's not yours?” Vanessa's eyes widened. “I didn't mean that.”

“No.” You forgave her. “I know what you meant. She isn't mine but she's technically his. It's a really long story. If you want to hear it I'll happily tell you but you have to be prepared.”

Vanessa nodded and you told her your tale until the doorbell rang and food was being plated up.

Negasonic Teenage Warhead had come up to you and told you Laura was very sweet. She informed you that they had exchanged numbers and that her name was in fact “Ellie” but forbade you to ever speak it in front of Wade.

Wade had forced two tables together and stole every chair in the building for you all. Ellie, Yukio, Buck, El, Gambit, you and B-15 sat on one side of the table, whilst Laura, Logan, Wade, Vanessa, Shatterstar, Peter and Dopinder sat at the other. Colossus and Blade were at the heads.

Dinner was nice. It was Chinese food. You all had a healthy amount and ate with a regular banter.

It was just like being in the X-Mansion.

You noticed Logan relieve Wade of Mary and saw Wade's nervous breath as he spoke to Vanessa.

Your Wolverines smiled over the world's ugliest dog.

It was so domestic.

So lovely.

You loved them so much.

“They're very cute.” El nudged you with her elbow.

“I know.” You may be biassed.

“I'm glad they're getting on.” She spoke lowly, you knew if they wanted they could hear but spoke in the same tone of voice back.

“Was it really awful?”

“She's done a complete 180.”

You sighed. “Sometimes I wish I didn't hold that power over them. I'm going to die, El, they aren't.”

She turned to face you fully. “They'll be happy with whatever they get from you.”

“I know.”

“They love you.” She rubbed your back.

“And I love them.”

“I love you.”

You smirked. “And I love you, El. I don't know if I would've survived out there without you.”

“Same.” She pulled you in for a hug and you squeezed her.

It was later in the evening when Logan pulled you close. He had slipped off onto the fire escape for a break, bottle in hand and a cigar in his back pocket case anyone - Wade - questioned him.

You had found him and he motioned for you to be quiet as you joined.

The window was silently shut and he brought you to his chest.

“Why are you out here?” You whispered. “It's cold.”

“I'm warm now.” He kissed your crown. His back was against the brick of the building, in between two windows, to hide himself. You were brought in close, in hopes to conceal the two of you.

"I've been sent to bring you in, we're taking photos. I've been in so many." You giggled, slightly buzzed.

"Let me hold you for another couple minutes."

You hummed in response, wrapping your arms tighter around his waist.

“It's been a cute little party.” You commented, resting your head on him as you looked out into the distance. The buildings were beautiful. It was still relatively early so lights were shining. Each building was its own Christmas tree with colour. There was the standard warm white, purples, blues, a lime green. They all shine individually in a beautiful mosaic.

The fact that everyone was living their own life struck you. And this was one universe. The bazillions of lives that were out there was too crazy to even try to conceive.

“Your brain is loud.” He ran a hand down your back causing you to shiver. The hand landed on your ass and gave it a squeeze.

“Stop it.” You warned.

Logan raised his eyebrows in a taunt and pulled the skirt of your dress up to squeeze the pillowy flesh.

“I can't mark you any more.” He spoke plainly. It was true. The bruises he'd gift your neck now healed. He couldn't claim you and it was driving him towards insanity.

“So you want to show me off to the whole of New York?” You finished his sentence. “I don't think a public indecency charge is quite the same as leaving a hickey.”

He hummed and took a final swig of beer. “You know what you've done to me all night?” He ground his hip into you and you felt his erect dick. “You in your little dress and socks.”

“I am sorry.” You spoke without a hint of apology in your being, actually cupping him in your hand as you spoke, “It wasn't my intention.”

He groaned. “When you were sitting on our bed putting them on I knew it would be a hard night. You look like an innocent... kitten. I wanted to fuck you into next week right there and then. Wanted to have you sit on my face when you were plodding around looking for a pair of shoes. Wanted to fill you up when you were looking for that hotel.”

Fuck me. Why was he so- “So you admit there's a hotel missing?”

Logan let out a full body laugh. His chest rumbling. “I am going to fucking ruin you.”

You worried your lip in anticipation. “We better get back to bed then.”

“Why wait?”

Your eyes bulged. “You want to fuck me here?”

He looked away and shrugged playfully.

“I don't think we'd have enough time.”

“You're worried you'd be heard.”

Fuck him.

“Maybe.”

He smirked but took a step away from the wall. “C’mon. Let's say our goodbyes.”

You both re-entered the party and Wade whooped loudly. "Finally! Come on stand with Laura!"

You'd forgotten the party was waiting on you. Imagine if you had let him take you out there.

The two of you met Laura who was sheepishly smiling. You were positioned in-between the wolverines.

"Say cheese!" Vanessa joked as she held the phone.

Laura repeated the word, making the first photo taken you and Logan breaking your necks to look at her as she grinned widely.

You were flickering through the thousands of photos that were sent, perching on the arm of your sofa. Slightly tipsy as you giggled whilst swiped at them, some of them were so silly.

You'd posed with your Void family, taken candids of Wade and Vanessa, there were a few of Al and Gambit that Wade hated, Yukio has sent over a few of her, Ellie and Laura. There was a group ‘selfie’ - you'd just learned the word despite taking some - that was pure chaos.

You deleted a few that were doubles and when it got to you and your Wolverines your finger hovered above the recycle bin.

“Don't delete that one.”

You jumped, not realising he was there. Logan was leaning over the back of the sofa staring at your phone.

“My eyes are closed.” You explain.

“Because you're laughing.”

“Exactly, I have a double chin.” Wade had made you all laugh. Logan and Laura were smiling on the lower end of the spectrum whilst you were cackling like a witch in the middle. “It's a bad photo.”

“It's not if you're in it.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, basking in the compliment, and leaned into his shoulder. He had removed the flannel shirt so his shoulders were bare.

“I love your slutty little vests.”

He huffed in amusement. “My slutty little vests?”

You nod, speaking into his neck. “You're unfairly handsome. With your little waist and kitty cat hair.”

“Are you drunk?”

“No.” You pulled up, staring into his soul. “But Gambit was pouring drinks so I'm halfway.”

Logan chuckled and stood upright. He disappeared into the kitchen, much to your annoyance, and reappeared with a glass of water and some tablets. “Here.”

You accepted what he offered and swallowed the tablets with no complaints. “See how good I am at swallowing?” You wink.

Logan was taken aback. He truly hadn't expected that from you.

“What Lo? Cat got your tongue?” You batted your eyes at him. “You were all talk earlier.”

Logan licked his lips and took the glass from your hands. Placing it on the side table. He leant his hands on either side of your legs on the sofa's arm. His nose inches from yours.

“I don't think you could handle it.”

You giggled. “Logan, I don't think you-” your pointer finger touched his chest, “-could handle it.”

He lent in to kiss you but side swept. What absolute bastard behaviour! You moaned as he stood to his full height. “C’mon. Bed time.”

Bed time?!

Bed time.

Is he being- bed time?!

You grumbled before demanding, “Are you being serious? Logan.”

“You're drunk.” He folded his arms.

“No, I'm really not.” Being so close and denied was very sobering.

He smiled softly down at your pout.

Logan offered you his hand and you huffed before accepting; getting up and letting him lead you to your room.

“Don’t think I don't want to. Earlier I was feeling the buzz, I was ready like you are now, but I can't really be inebriated so I don't think it would be right.”

Logan brought you to the bathroom, setting you on to the lip of the bath to help you with your ablutions.

“It's not rapey.” You rambled. “I respect how you feel but me being tipsy and wanting to be with sober you isn't weird. We're a coup-” You stopped yourself.

It was too late.

“We're a couple?” He teased, wiping your face with a cotton pad covered in micellar water.

He tilted your face as you asked. “Well… we are, aren't we?” Brows high.

“‘course we are.” He tossed the pad in the bin. “You're my girl.”

The warm feeling you got was actually so highschool. You shouldn't have these butterflies, you're a woman.

He spoke after a while, silently helping you wash your face. “You gotta send me those photos.”

“Did Wade not send them?” Your hands which were holding your hair out of the way dropped to your sides.

“I blocked that dick the second day I got a phone.” He chuckled. “He likes to text.”

You smirked up at him. “I'll send them.”

Logan's palms cupped your cheeks. “Good, ‘cause you looked drop dead gorgeous tonight.”

@littlecrowtime @geeksareunique @lovelyvaderx @br3nt-12 @st1nkabutt @maximumchilddreamland @catiwinky @twinkywink @ravenmedows @electricreader @racetrackheart @vulgarfuckinvirgo77 @bisasterbisexual @tzurue @narniansmagic @seamlessepiphany @4ria790 @caramelatae @mei-simp @slightlymediocree

The butterflies were back, your tummy and cheeks warming.

Part 12

#marvel #james logan howlett #logan howlett #logan x reader #logan #logan 2017 #deadpool #deadpool and wolverine #wolverine #the wolverine #wolverine x men #wolverine x reader #logan howlett x reader #deadpool 3

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ambitiouspotions · 21 days ago

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SOUTHERN NIGHTS | FRANKIE MORALES | ONESHOT

summary — you and frankie visit your family to share big news at an easter crawfish boil

word count — 5k

warnings — southeastlouisianareader!, pre-triple frontier, fluff mostly, talk of cocaine addiction, na meetings & recovery, anxiety, terrible family banter/convo, age gap (reader 25, frankie 38), slight body shaming, semi-religious talk (not really but like just in case), easter holiday celebrated, pregnancy, rusty cajun french (sorry)

author’s note — i need at least one person to relate to this pls also happy holidays

also current wip

the daiquiri machines tumbled their decadent inventory as frankie peered his head into the window of the drive-thru. college girls in their tennis skirts were busy fulfilling the order he had placed. his card was hanging lazily out the window of the rental car in his extended hand, waiting for his payment to be accepted. you were in the front seat, having lost some of the color in your face from feeling overwhelmingly nauseous after the flight and drive from the airport. you were trying to slap a bit of makeup on your face so as to not seem so sickly before arriving at your parents’ home.

those girls in the daiquiri shop reminded frankie of you when you were scraping by in college. they had just enough spunk and sarcasm to be funny without being rude. like them, that is what kept your tip jar mighty full when working towards a better life and a degree.

on your first meeting, frankie knew you would be his wife and that is exactly what he whispered to his friends who thought he was too many drinks deep. he was thirty-four, for god sake, fawning over some just now legal drinking aged cutie trying to kiss the ceiling of the top of the bar for a free drink. not to mention he and said friends were only in town for a week, having taken leave together so they could safely travel from an out-of-state military base to louisiana for a well-deserved break after benny miller suggested that it was the best place to party.

that definitely wasn't your proudest moment, absolutely sloshed, your skirt with no bloomers being hiked up from the stretch to pull yourself up some slick pole to kiss some dirty ripped sticker on the ceiling that barely said the bar's name anymore. you made it up, and back down, but when trying to step off the bar you fell. your girlfriends were drunkenly trying to pull you stand, only resulting in more fumbling.

frankie saw his chance, gently parting two of your friends and offering a hand. he looked different than he did now that he was retired from the service. only a thick mustache, his unruly hair that he grew out was in a regulation cut, and his love handles were non-existent.

how would you not expect help from him? dear god, your little college brain was spinning dumbly, trying to pull down your skirt as he helped you to your feet. the live band was still clanging on their instruments, but you were deaf to it only focusing on frankie’s eyes. they roped you in quicker than an alligator snapping up a whole chicken.

luckily even after slipping off the top of the bar the embarrassment never set in even with all eyes on you. your intoxicated state seemed to liven your mood, and even though the entire bar had seen your underwear and the bottom of your ass it didn't discourage you from taking your chance with the handsome stranger.

upon receiving your free drink, frankie offered you to dwell in your victory with him, and quite honestly there was more awkward laughter than actual speaking. a number exchange and the bar closing meant you parted your separate ways.

you were nervous to see him again, but you did. knowing he had only a week with you seemed discouraging, but there was something special about frankie. some older, military man that only had eyes for you in some dingy college bar made him so tempting. you put more trust in him than you should have because by the end of the week, you were head over heels, and so was frankie. he was whipped, absolutely whipped for some small-town girl with a pretty smile.

“that's one gallon of strawberry, and then a gallon of colada, and, uh, you had the 20oz bahama mama?” the attendant said, taking his card and exchanging it for a sleeve of cups. the top styrofoam cup was stuffed with straws and napkins.

frankie snapped out of thought, not really hearing her repeat anything, but agreeing anyway. “yeah, that’s everything,” frankie nodded, passing the stack of cups down to you, forcing you to stop adjusting your makeup. you rested the mascara tube in your lap, sliding the cups by your feet, as the rest of the order appeared. the gallons mingled together on the floorboard.

frankie handed you the styrofoam cup. the bahama mama daiquiri was specifically for your paternal grandmother, mimi, as you called her, who would refuse anything else sent her way. you wanted to be in her good graces especially after only visiting home a couple of times a year after starting a life with frankie in florida.

the styrofoam cup had its flimsy plastic lid attached with a piece of white tape. “i still don't understand how this is legal,” frankie chuckled as he pulled away from the drive-thru window.

“it's not an open container if it's taped,” you shrugged making sure the cup was secure in the cupholder.

“and they are open on easter sunday,” frankie was looking in both directions as he pulled back onto the highway. more curves and potholes were in your future as frankie progressed down the road.

“people here are going to drink any day they can,” you said nonchalantly, as your gaze fell towards the visor mirror again, sloppily dabbing on a concealer with your index finger. your face was coming together. who knew that even after a flat airplane sprite and the allotted amount of zofran you could still feel like shit but not look half bad?

“probably the reason they can’t drive for shit,” frankie complained as he adjusted the radio scrolling through the stations, most of which were some form of country music. he saw the people speeding ahead of him riding the curves in the road like they were trying to lap each other in a formula one race.

“you say that every time we visit,” you smiled, glancing over at your husband. your head immediately turned back to the window as if you would overlook the sights you had grown up with.

full trees, space between houses, muddy lakes—there was so much beauty to be had even if it was in the smallest things. every gas station and the worn down signs that came with them were advertising live fishing bait and hot food. there were more four-way stops than actual red lights and everyone took the speed limit as a suggestion.

road work ahead signs were as common as a high chance of rain. each town had a minimum of two churches to every three dollar generals, and at least one purple and gold tiger mural.

“and every time we visit i pay extra for the insurance on the rental car for a reason,” frankie pointed out as he stifled a laugh.

frankie had been passed twice while going the speed limit, making him itch just above his ear under his standard oil cap that he wore every day since he had borrowed it from santiago garcia when they had played a round of golf. the cap being part of his everyday wardrobe was unintentional until he noticed he could put less effort into his appearance without looking completely disheveled. the late-night flights caused him to grab the nearest set of clean clothing and head to the airport with an unhealthy amount of caffeine.

then when he would return home he’d toss his cap on the counter and curl into the couch until you were home from the office. the hours he was home were few and far between, though now he had more time on his hands than he would like, having a suspended pilot's license and all.

he could've cleared the screening if they had waited a week. he truly hadn't put anything up his nose for a full five days. he had a good job and completely ruined it because of his addiction. he had made it over the first seventy-two hours and felt invincible, really he felt like shit, but he had made it long enough to prove that he really could be sober. then the damned thursday rolled around, a crew briefing at the airport.

little white cups in bags, attendants following them to the restroom—frankie was shaking in his boots. he was already annoyed from withdrawals, trying to keep his nose occupied by sniffing the inner collar of his shirt where he sprayed your honey perfume. he passed the counter he’d snort on and into the stall he went, almost too nervous to piss. he knew when the cup was sealed he failed.

he tried to talk to his employer before his urine was even tested, but there was no hope. he pleaded and begged and then went to groveling. he couldn't be saved, nor could his license. he had to wait and was currently still waiting, for his hearing from the board to see if his license would be reinstated.

frankie was scraping up any odd jobs. one week at the mechanics, another stocking shelves, then the next construction all while attending narcotics anonymous. he was serious this time. he told you that he wouldn't fuck around anymore. he was going to be sober.

“you look pretty,” frankie reassured you. you were fishing around in your makeup bag as if something was missing. “you're being too hard on yourself. i see you over there looking in the mirror like there's something wrong with how you look.”

your head did a slow turn to your husband. “i’m already stressing,” you confessed, now plucking at the waist of your dress.

you and frankie had gone through your entire wardrobe for this very dress. you didn't want to walk in with the little bump you were sporting, knowing it would cause a lot of unnecessary talk. you both wanted to wait until people were mostly done eating.

“i understand, little girl moved away to be married to some sexy older military man and now she's pregnant,” frankie tried to make light of the situation, earning an annoyed grunt from you as you applied lipgloss. “okay, okay, i’m only joking, but i think they’re going to be excited.”

you rolled your eyes, picking yourself up in your seat to toss your cosmetic bag into the back of the car with the other luggage. “i think some of them will—”

“i love you chica, but your family is crazy. if all of them were happy at once then the world would be ending and the four horsemen of the apocalypse would be storming the earth,” frankie interjected, forcing you to crack a smile as you readjusted in your seat. “i’ll ask you like i have been these past few months, are you excited to be pregnant?”

you took a beat, flipping up the visor to the car and placing your hands protectively on your belly. you felt your heart twinge. your first baby, first pregnancy, and the overwhelming anxiety that went with it. “yes, but i’m so nervous.”

frankie nodded in agreement. his eyes were slightly wide but you couldn't see through his large framed sunglasses. he knew you had every right to be nervous because it was mostly if not all his fault. he relapsed, he got you pregnant, he got sober again, he lost his job, he lost his license, and you never faltered. you were always there for him.

“shouldn't matter what they think then,” he was casual with his tone, trying not to get you any more worked up than you already were before you arrived at your childhood home.

“it’s just hard to hear criticism from them. they always make me feel guilty.”

frankie placed his hand on top of yours, knowing you were picking at your nails without even having to see you do it. he gave it a light squeeze. “this is what’s gonna happen. we’re gonna eat some crawfish and we’re both gonna take a prilosec because you're pregnant and i’m old. i’m gonna drink a beer, you’re gonna sit in my lap, and we’re going to tell them that we’re having a baby. and finally, we are going to survive this week,” frankie directed, raising your hand and pressing it to his lips, his scratchy beard tickling your fingers.

“laissez les bons temps rouler⁽ˡᵉᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵍᵒᵒᵈ ᵗᶦᵐᵉˢ ʳᵒˡˡ⁾,” the sarcasm was evident in your tone, but you couldn't deny that frankie made you feel just a bit better.

“i love when i never know what the hell you're saying.”

pulling into the long driveway made your stomach churn and not from the bout of morning sickness that had passed.

your parents’ home was no different than when you had visited last thanksgiving, and even then it was still the same home you grew up with. it had good bones, had been through enough hurricanes, and never flooded even though it had barely been raised.

the propane boiler was revving, and everyone had to talk louder to hear over the roar of the fire. the yard was full of fold-out tables, taped down with one layer of black contractor bags and newspaper on top of it.

camping chairs were set by the silver boiling pot, and a table that was normally used for filleting fish was going to be used for the countertop. bowls of chunked onions and opened garlic cloves, washed potatoes, and sausage links were waiting their turn to linger in the seasoned water. the bags of frozen corn were cut open with someone’s discarded pocket knife.

your dad and his brother, parrain⁽ᵍᵒᵈᶠᵃᵗʰᵉʳ⁾, were spraying down a large open ice chest, the dirty crawfish trying to come out as they were being soaked. the little red critters were scurrying and clattering around.

the purple crawfish sacks were discarded next to the ice chest. everyone was doing something whether it was inside or outside. they wanted to make your stay welcome because you didn’t come home as often as you probably should have.

the nest was empty. just two years prior your younger brother moved out to attend college, and that left your parents alone, mostly your mother. she had the same steady job working in education while your father left for the oil rig every two weeks.

“easter bunny brought daiquiris,” you announced, walking to the boiling pot, holding up one of the gallons. frankie was behind you, toting what he didn't want you to carry.

“baby girl is home!” your father announced passing the hose to parrain. “oh, frank’s got some too,” he chuckled, walking closer to pull you in and take the gallon from you.

oh, frank, that was only what your dad called your husband because he said frankie sounded much too young for him and francisco wouldn’t work because it was too serious.

“hey daddy,” you affectionately patted his chest, the rest of the family gathering around.

technically you were late, although it wasn’t your fault that your flight was pushed back an hour. everyone else had been diving into shrimp dip and crackers and a cream cheese and hot pepper jelly mixture waiting for your arrival. the daiquiris would more than make up for your tardiness.

all the men were virtually dressed the same, fishing shirts and khaki shorts, your father and his brother looked identical. mimi stumbled over to greet you and frankie, holding frankie’s hand as she took her drink from him.

“frankie, you gained some weight, look at you,” she said, patting his belly. her shaky hands then worked to undo the tape on the top of her cup.

he couldn’t admit that his weight gain may have been due to kicking his coke habit or maybe it was the stress of his lack of work eating him alive knowing the baby would arrive in october.

“my baby likes me chunky, what can i say?” he laughed it off, passing the rest of the daiquiri supplies to parrain.

“that dress looks cute on you,” your mother commented, attempting to pull the hem of it down some as your father released his grasp. although your mother thought the mauve and blue floral dress seemed too short, at least she didn’t say you looked pregnant in it.

“hadn’t worn it in a while, thought a nice little sunny day could bring it out again,” you gave her a loose hug, internally sighing with relief that your poor husband was receiving the bodily comments and not you.

“leave frankie alone, sabine. that boy looks well fed like our girl been makin’ her cookin’ stick to his ribs,” that was mimi’s husband, pawpaw, who hobbled over. he couldn’t walk straight but tried to keep his wife in line. “toodie come give pawpaw a kiss,” he said, holding out his old arms. his hair had greyed, but goodness he still had a full head of it even in his old age.

toodie, that was you at the ripe age of twenty-five you would still be little toodie. and why? because that was just a common nickname. and parrain to you was pistache⁽ᵖᵉᵃⁿᵘᵗ⁾ to mimi because that was her baby. all the affection never seemed to wear off even after the years passed.

after you planted a kiss on pawpaw’s cheek you walked him over to a chair right in front of the boiler. he had to oversee any cooking that went on at a family gathering.

everyone was wrapped in conversation, picking up right where you left off from the last holiday. frankie joined the men, receiving an honorary slap on the back and a beer in hand.

you were across the yard looking at your mother’s garden yipping with the other ladies. they were all talking about the beautiful sunday mass and the outfit that someone would dare wear in the presence of the lord and how the children in the back pew weren’t listening at all. you had to glance back at frankie joking with your younger brother to feel better as the other women were so quick to cast judgment on easter sunday after attending church.

“how’s frankie been?” your tante⁽ᵃᵘⁿᵗ⁾ lissa asked, still inspecting your mother’s spring tulips.

“he's been fine,” you shrugged, taking a sip of sweet tea.

“i thought he wasn't working,” tante lissa probed with a raised brow.

“momma, you weren't supposed to say anything,” you huffed, gripping your solo cup a little harder.

“it slipped out, really, i’m sorry, toodie,” your mother mumbled covering her mouth slightly.

“why isn't frankie workin’?” nana, your maternal grandmother, pipped in swinging her head around.

“dear god,” your muttered while holding your temples.

“you can't say that on easter, now what happened to frankie?” mimi, who was nursing her own personal daiquiri, was now involved.

“he is working,” you groaned, feeling the heat of red embarrassed start creeping up your neck and to your cheeks. “he’s just not a pilot right now,” you mumbled that last part, hoping it would be overlooked.

from what you thought was once a private conversation with your mother was now family gossip. you were lucky enough to never say anything about frankie’s addiction because otherwise that would be sprawled across the table as well.

“and why not? he said he liked it last time he was here,” your aunt coaxed again leaning against the side of the house.

“we’re not talking about this,” you sighed, doing a slow blink while looking towards the tree that was shaking you partially.

“that makes it seem like somethin’ is wrong,” nana’s shrill voice joined again.

“nothing is wrong, holy shit,” you muttered, only to be rescheduled by the sound of the men hauling the crawfish onto the tables and spreading them out.

your father was holding up red and blue plastic trays calling that the feast was ready though no one moved from their spots, still thinking they would be receiving more information from you.

“come on now, beb⁽ᵇᵃᵇᵉ⁾,” your father called out to your mother who had an apologetic look on her face. he was waving his hand trying to summon all the ladies over.

frankie was walking over to gather you for the completed meal. that’s when everyone began moving to the table. they liked to talk shit, not the potential confrontation that would come with it.

the air smelled divine, like home—seasoned, hot, delicious—home. frankie had his arm wrapped around you, knowing your family had already started to bother you because of the smile you lost on your face.

“we’re on the easy part of this game plan—eat crawfish,” he reminded you. his nose gently butted against the top of your head and he left a kiss at the top of your hairline.

frankie wasn't wrong. cracking, slurping, peeling, dipping, and pinching fresh hot crawfish didn't leave much to conversation. people were too involved in good food to realize they weren't speaking. there were only mumbles of ‘ça c’est bon⁽ᵗʰᵃᵗ’ˢ ᵍᵒᵒᵈ⁾.’

you were dabbing your nose with a napkin, your greasy fingers leaving stains behind. the spice level caused a slight burn, but it was enough to be enjoyable even if it meant your nose was melting.

you had to remind frankie of the proper way to eat crawfish, though within a minute he was managing to keep up with your brother cracking the hot shells open.

your eyes fell closed when taking a bite of the fluffy red potatoes, it was enough to hit your stomach and feel fuzzy inside. you could've done without a nosey family chat, but boiled crawfish with the fixings sure did make up for it.

the parkay bottle was being passed around quickly; the butter substitute was lying across every piece of corn on that table.

everyone was grabbing from the pile and loaded onto their trays hungrily. they were all ripping into the thick sausage and various combinations with their assortment: onion-wrapped crawfish meat, garlic-smeared on potatoes, a bite of corn, a bite of shellfish, sausage then a bite of potato. layers of filling, tasty food that would hopefully make everyone have a bright spirit.

the sun was setting, full garbage bags were stuffed into the trash bin outside, and everyone was enjoying another round of cold drinks. even if you hadn't come home to visit, the gathering would've been this long anyway—that was how it was done—a tradition of hospitality and togetherness.

although you and frankie were exhausted from traveling, you both knew you weren’t in town very often, and no one had said anything offensive since you were alone with the other ladies—though no promises would be made for the end of the week

you were sat in frankie’s lap, sharing one rickety old camping chair semi-comfortably. you were enjoying the breeze much like everyone else. all of your hands smelled of lemons, having scrubbed them with fresh juice and pulp to try and remove the fishy scent the shellfish left.

“we ought to head out,” parrain nodded, taking his wife against his side. that southern goodbye would last another fifteen minutes to wrap up conversation. “maringouins⁽ᵐᵒˢᑫᵘᶦᵗᵒˢ⁾ are gonna start bitin’” he added, noticing the porch lights begin to flick on from their automatic timer.

“ah, before you go actually,” you spoke up, clearing your throat. that caused frankie to sit a little straighter in his chair, and slide his beer down to the ground.

“this time next year we’ll need another spot at the table,” your voice was shaky, but frankie’s arm wrapping around your waist made your tense shoulders drop.

“wait—” your mother couldn't formulate her words.

“cher bébé⁽ᵈᵉᵃʳ ᵇᵃᵇʸ⁾.” nana gasped, covering her mouth.

“we’re havin’ a baby,” frankie smiled. his chin rested on your shoulder as he spoke, watching the surprised faces as frankie confirmed what you said.

“how far along are you?” “how do you feel?” “that’s why you didn't want a drink!” “is it a boy or girl?” “no way!” “are you sick?” “frankie, what are you doing you're like forty?” “do you need to lie down?” “when are you due?” “when i was pregnant i was miserable.” “are you moving back home?” “can we touch your belly?” “toodie, girl!”

the questions and comments started rolling in one after another. it sounded like a bunch of squawking birds fighting over the last crumb of a dropped sandwich.

“okay okay, one at a time please,” you laughed, holding up your hands defensively trying to settle everyone. “i’m fine, the traveling has been rough, but i feel okay. as for baby—he is fine too. the doctor said he is very healthy. i’m fifteen weeks along so by october little morales will be here,” you explained trying to pick out the questions you had heard from the clatter of everyone.

gasps of “a boy!” were now being sprinkled as everyone settled again to look at frankie beginning to speak.

“as for me,” frankie rolled his eyes playfully. “i’m thirty-eight and not geriatric, so thank you, lissa, for making it seem like i’ll croak next week,” he teased.

“having ourselves a t-frank⁽ˡᶦᵗᵗˡᵉ ᶠʳᵃⁿᵏ/ᵖᵉᵗᶦᵗᵉ ᶠʳᵃⁿᵏ⁾,” your father laughed, seemed like he had tears brimming at his eyes.

“that’s right,” you beamed.

whether or not you’d be answering questions about frankie’s uncertain employment or the reason he wasn't a pilot anymore later in the week was almost a given occurrence, but right now you were dwelling on this moment, not wanting to forget each face as you announced the big news.

you had a sense of pride washing over you. this was your family you made with frankie. you stayed by his side because you knew no matter what deep shit he pulled himself into that you would be right behind him to pull him out.

it was almost impossible to leave after news like that, so people did what they knew—they set up for dinner.

a large magnalite pot was set outside, oil and the trinity were mingling in the pot making the air fragrant once more. a large pot of rice and gravy with smothered chicken legs would surely make you happy and keep that little boy inside you even happier.

the chicken had been dropped next, only to get a nice brown color on the edges. it would finish cooking later in that rich gravy they were beginning to make.

“toodie, you’re gonna make a good momma,” pawpaw praised, pouring just a bit of stock at the bottom of the pot to deglaze it. your father and uncle were behind him slowly pouring in flour. constant stirring made a beautiful, rich brown color the chicken legs nestled back in. the heavy lid sat crooked on top of the pot. inside the rice was cooking, measured with water to the first knuckle of course.

“thank you,” you were genuine in your response. your eyes softened slightly.

“he's not wrong,” frankie confirmed, bringing over an extra set of plates your father had sent for.

frankie and your father were in the garage. your father’s hands were already dipping into the top of an old pickup truck, fiddling with various hoses and wires, all of which were dirty.

he wanted a moment alone with your husband after a filled day of jabbering with everyone else in the family. he liked frankie more than he wanted to admit; he always just thought he was a good guy.

“so about the baby,” your father wasted no time revealing his true intentions. frankie knew your father wouldn't have dragged him in there if there wasn't a reason. “you scared?” he asked, taking a shop rag that wasn't much cleaner than the assorted parts he was touching.

“terrified,” frankie admitted quietly, leaning over the hood of the truck to look at the parts. he always liked working with his hands.

“you should be scared, and that ain't a threat—it’s just the damn truth,” your father shook his head, reaching on the cart next to him to grab his flashlight. the overhead light didn't seem bright enough for his old eyes. “everybody’s got an opinion on if you're parenting right and then nobody ever wants to step in if you need help, so you just gotta try your best.”

frankie took the flashlight holding it right above where your father needed it. he was quiet, what else could he say?

“you can't be afraid to screw up, frank,” your father mumbled, using the corner of his shop rag to wipe the gunk from the interior of a hose.

“i’ve screwed up enough,” frankie confessed. his shoulders dropped, feeling a bit defeated to admit it. “i wouldn't wish my fuck ups on anybody, wouldn't wish my life on anybody, but i’ll be damned if this little boy gets screwed up.” he paused. the words lingered on his tongue. it was the first time he had ever said anything like that aloud.

your father didn't need to ask about or dwell on frankie’s admission to screwing up. he took his honesty to heart; it was refreshing to know that his son-in-law wasn't full of bull.

your father lifted his head, wiping his hands on his jeans, the front of his magellan shirt also sporting a stain. “that’s the first step in bein’ a good daddy,” your father patted frankie’s back, giving his shoulder a firm squeeze.

“daddy doesn't want to secretly to wring your neck, does he?” you were wrapped in a bath towel, brushing out your hair. your cosmetic bag was laid out across the dress you used your entire childhood, the same dents and scratches were still indented in the wood.

“not yet,” frankie came behind you, placing his hand on your bloated belly. a teasing smirk was present on his face as he breathed in the scent of your shampoo.

“we have a long week ahead of us,” you commented, adjusting the part in your hair.

“it’ll be a good week,” frankie assured you, moving your damp hair to plant a kiss on your neck.

“snowballs tomorrow, no matter what,” you reminded him, still not having gotten your sweet fix that would stain your teeth in an instant. those shitty florida snowcones were not satisfying the spring craving you desired. the soft ice stuffed in the cup, blue bubblegum flavored syrup soaking every ounce of white. that was childhood, the fruity scent from the cold treat that always managed to lighten your mood.

“whatever you say goes, you know that mama.” he smiled into the crook of your neck, his thumbs brushing over the soft cotton bath towel.

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fantastymaidenscrolls · 2 months ago

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It’s Just Business - Julius McCabe x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Julius McCabe uses others to get what he wants. At first, you’re just a means to an end, until he realises just how badly he wants you. But relationships make a man weak, and he finds himself torn.

He’d had many names throughout his life; Francis Xavier Quinn, Julius McCabe and so many others he barely remembered the name his parents had picked when he was born. Not that he cared much; his parents were both high as a kite the day he came into the world, and they’d been high as a kite the day he’d ended their miserable lives. He was almost sure the name they’d given him was something nonsensical, some random word they found on the back of a cigarette packet, or maybe the name of some washed up musician they listened to as they shot their veins up with heroin.

He knew from an early age he could only count on himself, and that suited him just fine. It made him stronger, smarter, more ruthless. He had no problem taking what he wanted from others; after all, if he didn’t, someone else would. He used fear, coerce and control to get what he desired, using people like the puppets they were before discarding them in the dirt. He was successful, rich beyond his wildest dream and with the snap of his finger he could have whatever he wanted. But it was never enough for him, he was always craving more. No matter how much he took from others, his empire never felt complete.

He was feared equally by his employees and victims, grown men cowering before his feet as they begged for their lives. They were pathetic, barely worth the energy it took to pull the trigger that ended their existence, and he never once lost sleep over those he murdered.

Sometimes however, a softer approach was needed to get what he wanted. He’d never been one to bother with emotions, he never stayed with anyone long enough to connect. He knew that some men could be swayed into a business deal by something as simple as a pretty face and soft, supple skin. That was where you came in.

He’d met you while you were waitressing at some dive bar in Ohio, the stress of the world mounted on your pretty little shoulders. You were up to your eyes in credit card debt, and your landlord was threatening to evict you due to unpaid rent. Your lowlife boyfriend gambled and drank your hard-earned money away, and he knew you wouldn’t be able to refuse the offer he made you.

“One small job,” he smiled as you served him another beer, your bright, innocent eyes so filled with curiosity at the handsome, chiseled stranger. “I’ll make you more money in one week than you’d make in a year.”

It was an offer you simply couldn’t refuse, and so you joined him on his next job. He dressed you in designer outfits, had you dripping in diamonds and draped over some conglomerates lap as you schmoozed him. You’d never been a good flirt, but your target didn’t seem to notice through the haze of whiskey and cocaine. You knew what you were doing was wrong, but the cheques your handsome business partner handed you was more than enough to keep you coming back.

For a while, the arrangement worked, but soon he found himself despising the men who did nothing to earn your attention. He watched in disgust as their fat, rubbery fingers caressed your curves while you smiled sweetly and lit their cigars. He listened to you laugh at their terrible jokes, mop the sweat from their clammy brow and trail your finger across their fleshy jowls. He knew your business relationship was over the day he dressed you in a custom red Dior dress. The fabric clung to you, accentuating your breasts in a way that made his cock ache in his Armani suit. This was the kind of shit that made men weak, that distracted them and left their empires open to others. He couldn’t afford to lose what he’d worked so hard to achieve.

“We’re done here,” he growled, throwing you your coat and a wad of cash. “Get the fuck out.”

He didn’t want to explain why he’d cut you out, didn’t want you to know that his body ached for you in a way it never had. That night, instead of using you to get secure a deal with a Russian gun runner, he threatened his wife, watching with deadpan eyes as his adversary pissed himself while he begged for her life. He didn’t listen to the man’s pleas, shooting her before his very eyes.

You’d riled him up, gotten under his skin in a way no one had before. You’d awoken desires he’d worked hard to keep hidden, had ingrained yourself on the very fabric of his brain.

He wanted to make you pay for making him weak, to fuck you until you screamed his name and then leave you high and dry. He wanted to make tears run down your pretty face as he fucked your throat, wanted to tie you down and punish you for making him feel.

He turned up to your apartment with the intention of teaching you a lesson, but instead found you arguing with your piece of shit boyfriend on the street outside. He’d been so sure you’d left him, but you were weaker than he’d thought. But as he listened to the man who was supposed to love you, as he heard him hurl insults at you, his anger shifted.

He was no longer angry with you, but with the man who dared to think he could treat you like dirt. He followed your boyfriend all the way to the bar, hiding in the shadows until he stumbled out at closing time. It had been so easy to kill him, his knife slicing through his neck like butter. He left him bleeding out on the street behind a dumpster, just like the trash he was.

As for you, he needed more time. He couldn’t quite decide if he wanted to fuck you, or kill you for making him feel.

But whatever he decided, he’d get you in the end. He always got what he wanted.

#reacher #reacher season 3 #jack reacher #Julius McCabe #Xavier Francis Quinn #Julius McCabe x reader #Julius McCabe x you #brian tee

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squeakyleftsneaker · 2 months ago

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Watching Voltron for the 1st Time: S4 (!!) Ep. 4-6.

Cannot believe I'm still doing ts. *FREE CONTEXT CLICK HERE*. Or, if you're not the reading type, I am easily bullied, especially so by middle schoolers. And so now I'm watching this at the behest of a middle schooler. Whoopee. And also now I'm invested in how something has turned out so poorly from such decent potential. Guys I. Somehow. Have reached halfway through. We're done with season 4 now. By the way. I'm just warning you. The headloss on this one? It's going to go crazy. Brace for impact. It starts normal and then spirals out of control.

Tis Peak

Spectacular gimme 80 million of these shitty little Voltron shows

Coran getting a brainworm is so fucking. Wow. This show really understands what kind of depravity I find enjoyable sometimes.

This feels like the kind of deranged nonsense I was hoping for.

VOLTRON ON ICE BRO VOLTRON ON ICE

I have no complaints about the Voltron show episode I think it's 1: perfect and 2: hysterical and 3: maybe they should have Coran do more space coke/worms/acid because this is the exact level of clusterfucker I need.

Loverboy Lance, Allura being Keith (they really are bros) SHIRO THE HERO I'M CRYING BRO THIS IS GREAT LOVERBOY LANCE I'M HERE FOR IT

Space Cocaine is one hell of a drug guys

At least Lance is being a good emotional support dude for Allura. I WISH THEY DID THIS BETTER BRO BUT HEYO HE'S NOT HITTING ON HER AND INSTEAD BEING SUPPORTIVE WE LOVE BASED FEMINISM-PILLED LANCE

The Nadir of Entertainment

Hey Voltron you don't get to ironically joke about Hunk always being the butt of the joke when THAT'S WHAT YOU DO UNIRONICALLY

Minor note I would pay actual money to have seen the Blade of Marmora or Lotor or like, the rebels reacting to the shows lmfao

Bro I'm ngl I tuned out like. 10 minutes of episode 5 and I am nawt about to rewatch ts. I tuned back in and they were STILL talking about their plan. Man. Maybe this whole overabundance of exposition is STUPID

We're spending so much time just explaining a damn plan and we don't bother to do

Episode 5 of 6, which is, I cannot stress this enough, OVER 15% OF THE SHOW, is just pure exposition and very little is happening. Bro.

EPISODE SIX IS ALSO ALMOST ALL EXPOSITION

"Something's wrong" BRO WE COULD'VE BEEN HERE MUCH SOONER AND GOTTEN HERE WITH FAR GREATER STAKES

On god I genuinely HATE that Allura needed to be coaxed into using her magic but whatever ig when we get a win for Lance being a feminist now we must get a loss on HAVING WOMEN BE GOOD AT THEIR JOB. WHICH ALLURA OBVIOUSLY IS

Bro are they planning on addressing Keith's little sewer slide mission? Like. What??

That came out of NOWHERE dawg. I'm. WHAT???

I AM FR JUST BLINKING. WOW WHAT A WAY TO END THE SEASON BET THEY'LL NEVER SPEAK OF THAT AGAIN

TANGENT here on character ethnicities. I think it's a mistake to generally give this show much credit for ~representation~ given how all the characters are written The Same and the fact that besides Allura and Keith, their backgrounds have absolutely 0 bearing on the show. It is funny to me that Allura and Keith are also the only two of the main cast with non-white VA. Hm! Inch resting! I will unpack that further at another point because this show is FRAUGHT, not only with the existing tropes and genre conventions of a lot of space sci fi, but also plenty of other shit.

Am I particularly. PLEASED that the 3 most narratively hurt and screwed up characters so far are the OBVIOUSLY JAPANESE guy (because his name is fucking Takashi Shirogane there's no ambiguity there lmfao. 3/4 of the other earth paladins are ethnically ambiguous) and the 2 characters that are aliens and not voiced by white people? NOPE! NOT ONE BIT! And I worry it will get WORSE.

That said there's also just a total lack of development for our Ambiguously Brown (thus far at least) characters so.

Really how Inch Resting that the only character that gets to fulfill what she set out to do so far is Pidge. Who is unambiguously. Respectfully. Whiter than pure cocaine.

AND ANOTHER TANGENT about Altea for a moment. I do understand that the writers may not have INTENDED anything by having a hereditary monarchy that made a superweapon be their edenic pre-war state. But the implications of that are. Rather gross to me.

AT THE SAME TIME Altea can be deeply flawed with a lot of capacity for underpinning horrors in governing structure and STILL have their eradication be an insurmountable and colossal evil. Because ALL people have great capacity for evil. There is not one person whose fundamental relation to others would not be irreparably altered when given unlimited power. That doesn't make the loss any less great. The loss is of something irreplaceable. The loss is so vast and incomprehensible because it is a loss of PEOPLE.

No people is perfect. To claim that is flawed, it is disrespectful to us all! No people deserves to be flattened, to be homogenized, to be made a monolith. But regardless of perfection the loss of one? The deliberate and total eradication of a people is ALWAYS and MUST ALWAYS be considered a great evil. And the total eradication of a people must NEVER be framed as the result of what Those People did. Because it NEVER is. No matter what Altea did or was, their eradication was NOT their fault. Altea could've been a bit awful or rather wonderful and it DOES NOT MATTER because ultimately it would have ALWAYS been an unforgivable evil to eliminate them entirely.

This show fails to explore that. It fails pretty fundamentally at that because it gives us SO LITTLE exploration of power dynamics and has so little nuance. There SHOULD be exploration of the fact that a superweapon is a symbol of peace! There SHOULD be exploration of the fact that the Galra as an empire created this culture of blood purity and did AT LEAST one genocide. There should be exploration of the fact that like. There are deep structural injustices on every level in this show

IN FACT THE SHOW SHOULD DIG INTO THE MILITARISTIC STUFF GOING ON ON EARTH BECAUSE. WOOF. WOOF BRO. But they won't because it's a show made for children that doesn't have any guts to actually explore this in a way that you could make acceptable for children. Child soldiers, peacekeeping superweapons, a genocidal empire, I could go on. All of this is. So very fraught.

TANGENT THE THIRD: I also feel several kinds of ways about Haggar and we can get into that later because I feel like it's so. Ugh. To have someone from the victimized people be the one corrupted by this Pure Evil entity and then ultimately collaborate with her patriarchal husband to eradicate her people is so. UGH. That's... UGH. It makes my skin CRAWL. I will have to write all of this up in greater detail eventually but. The gender stuff in this show is. Ugh.

TANGENTS COMPLETE none of them are written to be articulate or even well expressed and I will defo regret the wording on all of them in like 2 days because I like to word things with intention and not just word vomit but I needed to word vomit so I figured I may as well put them there

#voltron #liveblogging voltron #voltron legendary defender #liveblogging #keith kogane #shiro #princess allura #vld haggar #haggar #honerva

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justafairytailofinnocence · 2 months ago

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Thin White Duke x reader👨‍🎤🚬👁

A/n: hello! I'm back with another headcanon. I wanted to try writing the thin white duke, I'm fascinated by his sonas 🤩. I'm not really familiar with his character, but, hey, I tried.

Please comment and reblog. It helps a lot.

Warnings: NSFW, mentions of Cocaine and drugs,

The thin white duke is a cold, mysterious man. He performed during 1976, the live tour station to station, at the pheonix theatre in London.

You were a part of the audience, another face, another fan.

After every show, he would light a cigarette and coldly glance in the mirror. He was detached, emotionless. He didn't care what they thought.

"Always the flock retreating to their Sheppard, reflections of their own desires." He mutters.

He inhaled the small ounce of cocaine from the small bag he hid.

The thin white duke straightened his collar and smoothed his blonde hair back. He was preparing to perform his next set, starting with 'wild is the wind'.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. His light eyes gazed up, uncharted by the noise. "What is it? I'm not one for interruptions."

"Hi-hello-um, I'm lost, I was looking for the bathrooms, and" the voice was soft with a tone of confusion.

"Clearly. You're merely too far into the void. You'll find your way when it ceases to matter." He said sharply.

"Well...that's not really helpful—I only need a moment of your time; please, just point me in the right direction, and I'll be out of your way." They sounded desperate.

Annoyed, he sat up, taking one last inhale of his cocaine and cigarette. He put out the flame, pressing it against the ash tray.

Opening the door, he was greeted by you.

His features were well-defined. Crisp and sharp. His white buttoned shirt was neatly tucked, and his black waistcoat was neatly sat above his black pants.

He was aristocratic, cold, and unwavered.

"You may use mine, but don't mistake my presence as hospitality. You're here on my terms."

"Thank you." You said.

He didn't say anything in response, expecting a quick leaving. You hastily wandered in and used his bathroom.

He wasn't showing kindness. He was curious.

You were innocent, untouched by the dark desires of the world. It fascinated him.

"Once again, thank you, I love your performances and on stage your, just, amazing."

He could teach you. He could teach you the darkness that lies of the world. Mentor you into corruption. The question is, are you worth the time?

"When you mentioned you were searching for something. Lost. I sensed it wasn't just the bathrooms. Rather—lost in judgement." He said. The thin white duke looked down on you as if you were an unkowning cottontail about to be feasted upon by a pale snake.

"Judgement?" You asked.

"Mm, your belief is humouringly innocent. You know, life isn't full of virtious intent. I can show you the truth, the way morality should be. A way to live to your potential." He was being vague, but tempting as well.

You interpreted it as a life lesson. He was famous, and rather good-looking. Why not.

"Um, yeah, sure," you smiled.

"Ah. How benevolent. You do catch on quickly, don't you." He lights another cigarette.

From then on, he invited you to watch him. On the stage he was performing, 'wild is the wind, golden years, followed by station to station'.

As he sang to the audience, he announced your name. "Ladies and gentlemen, I have a very special guest tonight. A visitor not from London, Y/n."

Despite them not knowing who you are, they applauded. "Now, dear y/n, if you must, linger in the shadows and be non-existent or watch in the stage light; let night carve your name into its breathless hush. No matter what you decide, it is mine to grant and yours to bear."

You didn't mind the shows. He would provide you with the top most v.i.p extravagant things. He treated you as an ideal candidate for fans to follow. Only using you when needed for parts of a song.

It was awkward first time round, standing there as he performed. Only to then be dismissed, as another piece of the flock who worships him like a messiah.

You tried to interact with him on stage only to then be offered something abstract to make the fans wild. He would offer you a rose or a hankerchief to keep your attention.

He would collaborate with Iggy Pop, Brian Eno, and Tina Turner.

The aftermath of the show would be him lighting a cigarette and saying something poetic. His usual demeanour returned.

"Their shadows chasing after an illusion of what I permit them to see. They won't understand, like flocks of sheep retreating to their messiah. Following a fantasy, nothing more."

You responded empathetically, "Your fans adore you duke, I've never seen thousands gather like that before." You said whimsically.

The duke silently found you amusing. The way you were so full of hope and how he viewed the world through a detached lense. Apathy and empathy.

He would take you around town, late at night. Upscale restaurants, private exhibits, and soirees.

He would take you to his secret soirees and parties. Often revolving in heavy drinking and cocaine.

Women would flock to him with interest. He did have affairs, but they were short and fleeting.

He spoke of neoromance to them and took psychedelics.

You sat in the corner, feeling awkward with all the unkown men and women.

The duke looked at you with a predatory interest. Inviting you to come closer. He wanted to test your limits, see how you thrived.

You smiled politely. Coming closer. He started lining up a small white powdery substance. He made a gesture; tempting you with his gaze.

You were hesitant. But with all this pressure. You might be able to finally understand the duke.

One of his ladyfriends encouraged, "Come on, y/n, it's only cocaine."

The duke watched you curiously. Leaning closer, you blocked a nostril. A few centimetres in and—

You stopped, pulling up. "I'd rather not." You said simply.

He gave a cold glance and blinked slowly. "How terribly, disappointing, I suppose you'll just live with the silence."

The duke leaned down and finished off the portion given.

He began to feel things that were out of this world. He could feel his demons rise. Even seeing the devil in his living room.

You both toured around. You were starting to see who the duke really was. A nihilist, cold, aristocratic, struggling with his own demons.

You worried he would destroy himself. But you were met with some poetic backlash or defensive answer.

There was one time when he blacked out on the ground. You nursed him back to health.

When he woke up, he saw the same innocent eyes that tempted him.

"Your...eyes...are like an illusion. Something that's real, not just the side effects. Your intoxicating, sharp, pure, momentarily sublime. But like all things, they'll fade, and I'll be left with nothing to crave."

He whispers. What he's feeling is real, something he hadn't felt in forever. "It's not just the side effects of the cocaine, I'm thinking it's love."

"And does that scare you" you asked.

"Very."

"I don't want you to fade away. I want to be intoxicated by you."

You and the duke would spend your first night together, albiet, he's not a traditional romantic man. This was the one night he didn't try the cocaine.

You both sat on the bed, he leaned in, his porcelain lips reaching yours. Undressing, tangling you into his web of self infliction.

His touch was—warm. Hearing his heartbeat. You knew he wasn't made of stone.

He kissed every part of your mind, physically and mentally. Spreading you apart like a show he would perform.

He moved inside you, feeling the innocence of your warm touch.

Gazing up. You saw a man. Not a philosopher. Not a cold prince. A man, dealing with his own inner turmoil.

You pushed yourself against him. Your hands ran down his back, as your legs raised against his hips.

He thrusted. He penetrated. He moaned.

He didn't invite you into his world. He poisoned you.

The next morning, you saw something you didn't expect of him. The sun bathed him in the sunlight. Exposing his bare back. A cigarette burned in his fingers.

For the first time, you witnessed something no one else has seen. He hasn't changed. But. You could see a smile forming on his icey glaze.

He's intoxicated by you.

Concerts became months, and the duke never revealed your relationship. He was never at peace and occasionally, still dabbled in psychedelics.

If you ever broke up. He would become more distant and still. He wouldn't cry nor allow emotions to get the better of him.

He would sit at the piano, staring at the keys. Something is missing. He would stare across the room, allowing the cigarette to burn his lips. He wanted to experience, feeling anything.

The duke would host more frequent soirees and dabbling in twice the cocaine dosage. Even adding more psychedelics.

He would sleep with women, if they resembled you he would have short fleeting affairs that meant nothing.

His songs would have prophetic meanings relating to you.

"I knew them once, but never really did, a ghost in silver, where the shadows hid. Their eyes were stars that never reached my skin, and now their gone, as silent as the wind."

The duke wouldn't forget you. Like a drug. He was addicted. Like cocaine. You were intoxicating. Like an illusion. You were real.

Bowie/sona requests: open

#David bowie #thin white duke #the thin white duke #bowie x reader #thin white duke x reader #bowie sona #bowie #labryinth #labryinth 1986

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nunalastor · 8 months ago

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Resident Evil AU

Would RE8 happen before or after Alastor’s death? Seen scenarios for both pop up but what I wonder about is how the story would even start. Alastor was in Louisiana when he died, which makes sense, the mold in this AU is tied to Roo instead of bioterrorism, so the BSAA is not getting involved because they probably don’t exist. So Alastor and Guy were never put in witness protection and moved to Europe. And if Guy, unlike Mia, is suffering from a terminal illness, Miranda wouldn’t be able to impersonate him believably because Alastor would have Guy’s symptoms memorized.

If RE8 were to happen, I think it would after Alastor is already in hell. That explains Guy’s absence without him needing to be kidnapped again and Miranda needing to impersonate a dying man, and explains the different location if Alastor’s journey took him to another circle in the pride ring, there are nine circles and the RE8 village being one of them run by the four lords isn’t a stretch.

That still brings up the question of who Rose would be unless it’s Charlie, but if it is, where is Lucifer? Does this imply Roo is in the Miranda role as the one responsible for the mold, and her whole villain motive is different (it would have to be, Miranda’s motive is to revive dead child, hard to do in hell)? No idea, but it does explain how Alastor can have his death in Louisiana and the ending of RE8. There’s no way he experiences RE8 and doesn’t go to heaven.

Also Alastor already has experience but combined with his Radio Demon powers, he doesn’t give a shit until he is up against the lords who pose a real threat to him. Crazy old lady appears? Shoot her, end the game before leaving the tutorial. Villagers turning into lycans? No big deal, do some cocaine before leaving the burning building, he is not having another one of these nights sober. That also opens the door to Alastor isn’t as alone as he was the first time, he may be trying to find the other members of the hotel and have interactions with them. Other hotel members could be the POV it switches to after Alastor becomes temporarily unavailable.

If Carmilla is the arms dealer in hell, that implies Alastor constantly going to her and dropping off a pile of crystalized corpses he’s been keeping in his bag to sell her in exchange for weapons, and she is left wondering what the hell he is doing to have this many corpses lying around. This will be coming up in the next overlord meeting.

👀

#hazbin hotel #nunalastor asks #resident evil

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dukeofdelirium · 2 months ago

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Someone needs to tell McMagnus or wtv her name is to stop trying to make a comeback when being relevant to MJ. There’s a new article out saying that she claims that Michael had secretly filmed kids at Neverland and that the tapes COULD still exist and could help with the Robson and Safechuck suit. Basically, she has no fucking clue if there is. Also, what a time to finally remember that you could have proof that your boss was a creep, took you long enough. Let’s not forget that this lady still owes the estate money, was found to have committed perjury, AND fell apart during her cross examination in 2005. What’s so funny is that as far as we know, they still haven’t contacted the Fracias who have made claims as well. They tried to get Chandler on but to no avail and Arvizo is nowhere to be seen either, especially since he got no justice if the allegations are to be believed.

Adrian McManus? that bitch needs to just croak already I’m serious bestie lmao cuz how is she still out here flapping her jaws yet saying nothing

This bitch said she was so scared of Michael that she feared for her life yet she didn’t seem to fear for her life when she was selling her bullshit stories to tabloids. The same Adrian McManus who signed legal declarations that she never saw anything happen and yet wants to turn around and claim she saw stained boys underwear in Michael’s bedroom

She said he had like vast quantities of Vaseline just like laying around in random areas on the ranch that shit is crazy 😭😭😭

McManus has been running her mouth about alleged VHS tapes for years atp. Where’s the evidence? Why didn’t the FBI find it? Why didn’t the 70+ officers that surprise raided Michael’s properties, his families homes including Hayvenhurst, his doctor’s offices, etc? How much legal manpower can a single man manage to successfully evade?

He was investigated by 20 departments within the FBI. He was investigated by multiple police departments including LAPD and the Santa Barbara county police department, he was investigated by CPS & LACF. They legit busted into his shit 3 separate times over the span of a decade and couldn’t find shit. Not child erotica, not child pornography, no picture, no videos, NOTHING that could connect him to those allegations or that could substantiate any of those claims.

The prosecution even tampered with state evidence to try and make it seem as though they had corroborative evidence. They falsified phone records and planted finger prints, they even tried to plant cocaine on Michael’s clothing when his blood work showed he had never been snorting coke 😭🤣

The cops came armed and were actively destroying his property looking for shit. They even took knives and started cutting into mattresses lmfao. What is this? Some huge drug bust?! Because that’s how the law enforcement treated it if their behavior is anything to go by.

NOTHING WAS EVER FOUND!

All they ever found was legal heterosexual porn and erotica. They found tons of nude pictures of WOMEN. They found tons of hustler and playboy. They found active and repeated searches on the internet seeking out porn of women.

Wow, he was straight? You mean like he continuously said he was his whole life? Woahhhhh that’s crazy

The state of California spent millions prosecuting Michael Jackson lmfao. For what? Over 5 million dollars were spent witch hunting that man. They were trying literally anything to nail him. They threw everything but the fucking sink at him in hopes they’d get a conviction.

The trial against Michael Jackson and the witch hunt he was forced to endure is the biggest embarrassment of the American justice system in modern history. So much time, wasted on an innocent man. So much money, wasted on putting him through a living nightmare. So much manpower used to do what in the end? So much media coverage, burying important cases. So much distraction to the global public, used to cover up the crimes of others in Hollywood.

#michael jackson #mjinnocent #mjjinnocent #mj innocent #mjj innocent #anon #Adrian McManus

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lulu2992 · 10 months ago

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Lmao I trust Sharky's infinite wisdom on duct tape, but in my opinion, I think he forgot to consider the power of cement! Also, I am liking a combination of both of these ideas! And ultimately it just makes their stories all the more unfortunate and tragic ; v ;

I don't think we really need to take into account the minimum age for juvie, and though the maximum age is 18, the time one stays may vary. But I'm thinking because this would've occurred about 5 years before the OPAC was beginning to be considered, Jacob lying about his age wouldn't really have to be necessary at all. As for his dog tag, well. It's hilarious, someone definitely fucked up and we're never going to know exactly who probably

The way I'm looking at it, Joseph can be an unreliable narrator because his perspective is very biased; the very nature of writing from specific characters is only an account of their experiences as they see and interpret them to be, which may not be entirely factually accurate. And because of cut content, changes, vague information, etc. perhaps not all the information we take in from the game as players is wholly accurate either. And I'm treating the extra/supporting content in much the same way.

(Also I've been doing a crazy amount of supplementary research on Christianity in general and also just what events took place historically, and I bet John had a hell of a time during and following the Great Recession.)

Of course, we know that the ages from the PlayAsia Blog are not official, but I don't think John's age is impossible specifically because of his profession. Man's been on cocaine for god knows how long- But people graduating from law school exceptionally early or young is not unprecedented (also I'm just very biased about him). The only real age conflict is that, though TBOJ originally describes Joseph from the start as "a child of about ten," but then he later specifies that he was exactly 7, 3 years off but still a small leap, but going by those dates, John wouldn't even exist for another 3 years as well... I've definitely hand waved this and shuffled the event further haha. I need to reread Absolution, but MAN what's with that! (Also sorry this is so long, I've gotten so passionate! I'm so happy you're passionate about fc5 still too!!)

Joseph is indeed an unreliable narrator with a very personal worldview, and some of the things he wrote in the book are definitely biased, but I still believe most of the inconsistencies between The Book of Joseph and Far Cry 5 are just... mistakes, mostly because the story and characters went through many changes, as you said. By the way, I wish we knew when this book was written and who the real-life author is! There are cool drawings in it too, and even though I like to imagine Joseph illustrated it himself, I don’t think they gave credit to the artist(s), but I could be wrong (I don’t have a physical copy; I’m sad).

I hadn’t really thought about this but it’s true that, if John was already born (and even going to school so at least 5) when Joseph was 7, then The Book of Joseph is in contradiction with Playasia because the information sheets say they were born 10 years apart. That said, Absolution also suggests John is at least a decade younger than the Father, so that’s inconsistent with The Book of Joseph as well… And if we want to trust Playasia, Jacob is 12 years older than John and 2 years older than Joseph, so he was either 17-18 or 9-10 when he burned their adoptive parents’ property and was sent to juvie, which... doesn’t really work either.

I think we’re going to need more cement :’)

#and don’t apologize for being passionate; it’s cool :D #far cry 5 #the book of joseph #joseph seed #he writes a lot so maybe he draws too?#I don’t know I like this idea #john seed #it’s true he could have skipped grades and become a lawyer early #he was 'one of the fastest rising young' ones too #but since that’s not mentioned anywhere we’re probably just trying to make oversights and vague information make sense #again :’)

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wonderfulworldofmichaelford · 2 years ago

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Psycho Analysis: Snowflame

(WARNING! This analysis contains C-C-C-COCAINE!)

Imagine this absurd concept: A supervillain cartel boss whose powers are fueled by him getting high off his own supply. Imagine too that this man wears a ridiculous outfit, and exists to be an anti-drug PSA that fails epically because he makes doing drugs look awesome. Now also imagine that everything about him is played completely straight without a single bit of acknowledgment of how absurd and campy the whole thing is.

That, my friends, is Snowflame.

The New Guardians is a comic series that would have been long forgotten as a crusty relic of the late 80s if not for giving the world the absolute coolest villain ever conceived. Snowflame has amassed a cult following the likes of which would make Jim Jones envious, due to the sheer absurdity of his existence and the pure unadulterated action movie villain charm of his dialogue. He’s perhaps one of the most minor villains out there with only a handful of appearances to his name, but he’s loved more than villains who’ve appeared twenty times as much as him.

I’m here to show you why.

Motivation/Goals: Snowflame is a cartel leader, and so he really wants to peddle drugs. Guess which drug is his forte. Go on, guess. And that’s really all there is to him! I need to reiterate that his threat as a cartel leader is played completely and utterly straight even as he spouts off the hammiest dialogue you’ve ever seen and literally gets a power up by snorting coke. This is the very core of his appeal, in that he is something genuinely terrifying and threatening but presented in a way only a comic book can pull off.

Of course, his true motivation is far, far simpler.

Look at this man. That is the face of a man who exists solely to snort illicit substances up his nose. He lives to be high. That is the extent of his desires, and all else is second to that simple goal. As long as he can ignite and continue to be the instrument of cocaine's will, he is satisfied.

Final Fate: Every single time Snowflame shows up, he dies. In his initial appearance, he apparently blows up, but three decades later, he makes his coke-fueled return to do battle with Catwoman, and despite inhaling enough cocaine to kill an elephant, a feat that should theoretically make him nigh invincible, he fucking dies.

...Or does he? Snowflame returns yet again in Peacemaker Tries Hard! Here he does battle with, you guessed it,

...who puts a poison dart frog in his cocaine and kills him.

Maybe. My theory is that Snowflame is the Kenny of the DC universe, and whenever some bastard kills him his coke-fueled powers just respawn him the next day.

Best Scene: While his fight against Catwoman is unfortunately lackluster as ordained by the writers (Selina is not lasting two seconds against Snowflame and his coke-fueled powers under realistic circumstances), it gave us one of the most gorgeous and badass panels ever made:

Really brings a tear to your eye, doesn’t it?

Best Quote: Yeah, there’s no fucking contest here, it’s this:

Final Thoughts & Score: I think I speak for all of us when I say Snowflame is one of the greatest fucking characters ever conceived.

Everything about him is a towering testament to what makes the medium of comic books great. The best villains tend to be the wildest and most out-there concepts, like a giant alien starfish that mind controls people, or a gay gorilla in love with a brain in a jar, or a giant racist communist egg. And don’t even get me started on the villains the Doom Patrol fights! Snowflame is the epitome of that; he is what would happen if Tony Montana was a DC supervillain by way of Captain Planet. He is absurd, over-the-top, and so goddamn cool.

It’s very obvious they were trying to do an anti-drug PSA here given the time the comic was released, but it absolutely falls flat on its face when the strawman constructed to be defeated so that the lesson might be dispersed is an absolute lunatic who dresses in colorful spandex and spouts off the most epic lines to ever come out of a villain’s mouth. Everything about him is absurd, but unlike something like Egg Fu he’s absurd in a tasteful and cool way rather than a shockingly racist way. Snowflame is just a dude who snorts cocaine to gain superpowers, it’s as simple as that and yet it’s also completely bonkers.

It’s genuinely unsurprising that this guy managed to get such a massive cult following that he spawned a fanmade webcomic and then got to pop up in the comics again over three decades after his supposed death. And it’s said cult following that has allowed him to pop up time and time again, even getting an appearance in the fourth season of Harley Quinn. I’m sure you can guess that I’m part of that massive cult fanbase, and I can only dream of writing a villain as incredible and grandiose as this drug-addled madman. Infinity/10 isn’t a real score, so he’ll have to settle for a 10/10 instead.

...Oh yeah, remember in the Egg Fu review when I said I wasn’t going to review Hemo-Goblin?

Psycho Analysis: Hemo-Goblin

This is gonna be really short, because there is so little to this guy. He is a one-shot, but boy what a fucking shot he is. Hemo-Goblin is a racist vampire created by South African white supremacists to give members of the New Guardians AIDS. You read that right. This is a racist AIDS vampire.

Now, unlike Egg Fu, who was a horrible racist caricature created from topical anti-communist sentiments of the time, Hemo-Goblin was seemingly created with better intentions. But you know what they say about intentions; the road to Hell is paved with good ones. I get wanting to do a commentary on the AIDS crisis, and I don’t think it’s out of the question for a superhero book to handle such a thing, but maybe having an AIDS-powered vampire give HIV to a Jamaican woman and a gay man isn’t the most tasteful and nuanced way to do this.

Oh, and by the end of his only appearance, he dies of AIDS in jail.

I’m not gonna lie, guys: I kinda love this stupid fucking creature. His weird design, the absurdity of his concept, and the awful execution of his premise makes him memorable for all the wrong reasons, but he’s memorable nonetheless. I think if Snowflame didn’t exist and wasn’t the coolest villain ever, more people would talk about the insanity that is Hemo-Goblin, though having a single appearance before dying and never appearing again doesn’t help his case much. Still, he’s just cazy enough to earn himself a 3.5/10, so he’s got that going for him.

#Psycho Analysis #DC #Snowflame #Hemo-Goblin #The New Guardians

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asmutwriter · 1 year ago

Text

Are You Scared Yet? (Part 2)

DESCRIPTION: You're teacher asks you to paint a mural for Arkham University

WORD COUNT: 2320

From Beginning / Previous / Next / Master List

WARNINGS: Swearing, very brief mentions of sex (virtually non existant), brief mentions of drugs

DISCLAIMERS

This is fiction. Please always talk to your partner before doing anything and make sure they are ok with what you are doing beforehand

"So let me get this straight" you say as you sit at a picnic bench outside. Bag beside you, lunch in front of you. Hope sitting opposite you as she has her fingers interlocked with each other. Resting them near her face as she nods slightly. Picking up a chip as you use it to point at your friend. "You think that Yoda could defeat Iron Man in a one on one fight?"

"That is exactly what I'm saying"

"You realise that Iron Man is a full sized human with a metallic body suit. And Yoda is a 2 foot nothing creature with a stick right?"

"Yet he would still win"

"Absolutely not". She goes to justify her answer more as someone sits beside you. Lucky places her bag onto the table. Shutting her eyes.

"Do either of you have any drugs?" Lucky says as you delve into your bag.

"As in paracetamol or cocaine?"

"I'll take either at this point"

"You have a fun night then last night?" she nods. Opening her eyes as a mischievous grin comes over her face.

"Oh it was very good"

"Gross" you say. Taking out some paracetamol and placing it in front of her. Then grabbing out your water bottle and placing it down too. "Keep the bottle with you ok? I'll just take it later tonight. Assuming I can sleep in my bed tonight?" she chuckles slightly. Placing two tablets on her tongue before taking a few large gulps of water.

"Yeah I guess you can sleep in your own room tonight. Where did you sleep last night?" you point at Hope as she points to herself.

"Managed to find this one who let me stay over. Don't get me wrong, your desk chair is great comfort. But I'd love a bed tonight" the three of you laugh. Hearing a bell go off. You grab your bag, walking to the main building with your friends. Departing ways with Lucky as you and Hope head to art class.

The class goes by as normal. The end of lesson bell rings. "Luna, can I have a chat with you please?" your teacher says. You look at her. Nodding. Hope catches your gaze.

'Lucky bastard' she mouths at you. Causing you to laugh as the class packs up. You stay behind. "I'll see you in your dorm?" she says. You nod. Smiling at her as she walks off. The room empties and Destiny rests against her desk. Your bag sat on one shoulder as you pull it up by the strap.

"You wanted to see me?"

"Yes. Don't worry you're not in trouble or anything". She smiles, folding her arms over herself as she looks at you. "I've been studying your art. You have an extreme talent" she says. "I'd pay good money to own the pieces you make"

"Thank you" you say. A soft, cocky smile on your face as she continues.

"Arkham University wants a mural done. One to show students, teachers, and guests what this uni is all about. Being the art teacher they asked me to do it. However, I think it'd be done a lot better by you". Your mouth drops slightly as you realise what she's asking for you to do. Shock filling you.

"You want me... you want me to paint the mural?" she nods.

"I understand that you have your academics that I must encourage you put first before taking this on. And if you are unable to find the time then I get it. But I think it'll be a great learning experience for you. A great way to show this place and any future employers that you are a true artist".

"When would it need to be done by?"

"Before Halloween would be ideal. But due to your academic studies I would talk to my higher ups and see that it could be pushed to Christmas time". You nod. She clasps her hands in front of her face. Bringing them down as she looks at you. "I will give you until the end of the week to decide"

"No. No yes. I'll do it"

"Are you sure Luna? Don't you want to think about it for a bit longer then five minutes?"

"No. I want to do it. Its what you said - It'll look great on my portfolio" she chuckles slightly. Nodding in agreement.

"I'll let the big boss know" she smiles. Coming over to you as she places her hands either side of your arms. "Thank you"

You leave the classroom. Heading back to your dorm. Going into the room you see your friends there. "You lucky bastard" Hope says. Causing you to laugh as you slump off your bag. Throwing it onto your bed as you sit on the edge of it. Removing your shoes. "So what did she want?"

"She wants me to paint a mural for the university"

"You're shitting me?" Lucky says. You shake your head. Looking at her. "That's excellent news" she comes over. Hugging you close to her. "I'm so happy for you" she says. You hug her back.

"I've got a free day tomorrow so I was going to sketch it tonight and start working on it tomorrow"

"What about our assignment?" Hope speaks up.

"I can do that when it gets dark. I've already started it so I'll finish it tomorrow night" you move away from the hug. Smiling at your concerned friend.

"I've only got one lecture tomorrow so I can join you afterwards?". Lucky says. Causing you to look at her as a grin comes over your face.

"Oh yes!" you say. Grabbing out a sketch book as the three of you continue chatting, smiling, and laughing as the night goes on.

The next day comes about. You manage to sketch out a brief idea of the mural. When you wake up Lucky has gone to her lecture. So you get up, get dressed, and have something to eat. Heading to Hopes dorm room, thankfully its on the same floor as you. Knocking on it as she answers. Still in her pyjamas. She squints at you through tired eyes.

"Why are you up so early?"

"Its 9:30. You should be happy I didn't come round when I actually woke up" she turns. Going over to her coffee machine as you go into her room. "I woke up at 7"

"Jesus are you ill or something?"

"Nope. Just don't sleep much" you smile, looking around as she pours herself a drink. "I went to see Destiny this morning. Get her to check over my sketch before I painted it. She's given me the go ahead. Told me where to paint. So I'm here to grab you". She lets out an annoyed grumble. Rubbing her face dramatically with both her hands.

"Ok. Let me shower quickly and I'll come" she grabs a pile of clothes from the floor. Heading to the en-suite bathroom. Hearing the shower start to run a few seconds later. You sit on the chair, looking at the picture frame she has on her desk. Of her, you assume her mum, and a dog. Smiling as you look at it. It wasn't long before she comes out. Towel drying her hair as she sits on the bed. Putting on some heeled boots as she chucks her towel down.

"You ready?" she says. You nod. Standing as you both head out. Finding the wall in question. You stand and look at it. Hands on your hips as you figure out the first move. Getting out a white paint - it being an easy colour to paint over if needed. Starting to outline the image. Hope taking out a blanket. Lying it onto the floor as she lies onto it. Putting some sunglasses on. Her hands resting on her abdomen as you paint.

It's what you enjoyed about your friendship with her. You didn't need to chat with each other to enjoy the others presence. You could both do your own thing and be content with the silent company. So you painted and she sunbathed. Hours must've past. Hearing a voice behind you. Feeling thirsty you turn. Going and sitting cross legged next to your friend on the piece of area she'd claimed. Grabbing your bag and taking out a tin of coke. Opening it she seems to be drawn out of her sunbathing. Resting up on her arms as she looks at you.

"Shall I go get us some lunch?" she says. You take a sip of your drink. Bringing it down and nodding. She stands up. "Whatcha want?"

"I'll come with you"

"No. Stay here and rest". You roll your eyes at her before smiling. She moves her sunglasses to the top of her head.

"Chips. Cheesy chips" you say. She nods. Turning as she saunters away. She always walked with such purpose. You sip your drink. Shutting your eyes. Enjoying the sun on your face.

"Holy shit" you hear. Opening your eyes, seeing Lucky with Hope. "That's looking so good Luna" you smile. Hope handing you your food as they both sit down with their respective meals.

"Thanks. Just waiting for it to dry before starting to add colour"

You eat and chat throughout lunch. Getting up and going over to the picture. Continuing to paint as they chat. Involving you in their conversation. Time passes quickly. Hope says something. But you're to in the moment for you to register what she says. Jumping as she touches your shoulder. Turning you look at her.

"Hmm?"

"I'm getting cold now that the suns off of this patch. We're going back to the dorm. Are you gonna join?" you look back at the picture then at your friends.

"I've just got this one small bit left to do. Then I can leave it to dry. I'll be... an hour I reckon"

"Ok Miss Workaholic" you smile.

"I would hug you" Lucky says "but you are literally coated in paint". You laugh. Turning back to the picture.

"I'll have a shower when I get back. I'll be quick I promise"

"Yeah yeah" they both say "see you in a bit". Walking off as you continue.

You stand back. Admiring your work in the quickly fading sun. Checking your hand for any wet paint before wiping your brow with the back of your hand. Placing your hands on your hips as you nod in approval.

"You're out awfully late" a voice says. Making you jump. Again. Turning you see Professor Crane.

"Do you feel the need to make me jump every time you see me?" he smiles. Not denying or confirming your rhetorical question.

"Shouldn't you be back at your dorm?"

"Its not that late" your smiling face turns to one of more seriousness. "How late is it...?". He looks at his watch. Rolling the sleeve of his blazer slightly to check.

"Just gone 7:30"

"Shit" he raises a quizzical eyebrow. Amusement on his face at your obvious disheveled nature. "I told my roommate that I'd be back in an hour. 3 hours ago" he chuckles. "Art takes time. Time that I always miscalculate". He tilts his head. Looking at your work so far.

"Destiny asked you, correct?" you nod. "You must be very good for her to ask you. Shes very particular with her artists and art style"

"Really?" you look at him as he continues to look at the mural. Head titled upwards slightly. "She always seems so relaxed". He laughs softly. Shaking his head as he looks at you.

"All an act. Shes very anal about things". You chuckle.

"I can tell you do psychology" he tilts his head to the side at your comment. "Just casually dropping a psychological term into your everyday speak". He smiles

"Yes. Well... It comes naturally". You go over to your bag. Wrapping up the paint brushes in plastic and putting them into your rucksack. "I'm surprised you know that terminology"

"I studied psychology and sociology at school"

"Yet you study art here?" you nod. "What made you take that drastic change?"

"I enjoy being creative. Making art through shapes, patterns, colours. Can't do that in psychology. Psychology has no real expressive nature. Its a fascinating topic. I loved studying it. I still read books about different experiments and outcomes of events. But this-" you motion at the wall. "This is what I was meant to do". He nods. Watching you like you were an actor on a stage. You run a hand through your hair. Regretting it as dried paint flecks stain the strands. Causing him to laugh softly. You smile slightly at him. Picking up your rucksack.

"I really should be getting back to my roommate. She'll be worried about me otherwise"

"Can I just say-" speaking before you turn. You look at him. His glasses frame dulling the blueness of his eyes as he looks at you. "I have a lot of interesting books about psychology if you'd like to borrow them to read". You blink at him. Unsure of how to answer. "I have a lot of a higher level then what you would've read at school that you are welcome to"

"Seriously?" he nods. A soft smiling tugging at his lips as yours widens.

"They're in my classroom. I have lessons running quite late tomorrow so lets say... 6. Come round and I'll lend them to you. Assuming you don't have a class then?" you shake your head.

"No my class finishes at 4 so that's perfect timing" he smiles.

"I'll let you get off now. Can't have your friends worrying about you"

"Thank you professor Crane" you smile at him. Adjusting your bag on your shoulder before heading back to your dorm room. You're friend greeting you as you pop your bag down onto the bed. Heading into the shower to get rid of some of the paint from you.

Previous / Next

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macchiatosdumptruck · 6 months ago

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I often wonder what would have happened if Daniel and Terry had reunited in the 90s and actually talked about everything that happened in '85. Terry could have apologized, and they might have spent some time together. When Terry shows up with Kreese at the dojo that day in season 4 everyone expects Daniel to hate him. Instead, they start talking—and maybe even flirting a bit—reminiscing about the '90s and sharing some laughs. They could walk away from Kreese and Johnny, enjoying each other's company. In that moment, Kreese would be left thinking, "What the heck? This isn’t how this was supposed to go!"

As much as I love 90's silverusso and Tig and Ralph, I personally see Terry still being too deep into cocaine, hurting from his friend breakup with Kreese, and Daniel would be in the middle of his "hoe phase." ( Traumatized from his first male crush having been Like That, and just the 80's in general, trying to identify/understand/control his sexual identity) for it to work.

That being said, there's no reason this can't exist in AU land. (But then they wouldn't have that s4 backyard moment you describe)

I do very much enjoy the idea of Terry, as some sort of move to prove his own newfound morals to himself, reaches out to Daniel in an attempt to apologize, all 12 steps style. Convinced that whatever was inside of him that was making him rot was all cut out with all the yoga, and rehab, and therapy, he would track Daniel down and watch him from a distance, unsure of how to approach.

(also, still holding onto that obsessive, possessive thing inside of him, but knowing, logically, he shouldn't, can't act on it as New Terry, he knows this gives him the advantage)

He waits until something comes up that puts Daniel at a disadvantage, in need of help, with his guard down. Not for anything untoward, mind you. Terry just wants to be sure he'll have the time and opportunity to make sure his apology is thoroughly heard. It's an important step of the healing process.

When, for whatever reason, Terry swoops in, much like that fateful day in Miyagi's back yard with Mike, Daniel is too shocked to react at first.

Every alarm inside of him is going off, telling him that he needs to get away. But Terry had strength, and reach, and determination, and he pins Daniel. Daniel panics, sure something terrible is going to happen but not knowing what.

And then Terry grabs his face with his hands (a hint of that past rough treatment still lingering) and turns Daniel's face towards him so he can finally say -

"I'm sorry."

I imagine at first Daniel would trust him about as far as he can throw him. And Terry would get impatient, but see the need to play by Daniel's rules.

He's a better person now, after all. He genuinely does want to repent, to have the light of Daniel back in his life. And so he backs away, keeping a respectful distance.

He's never too far though, and as the days and weeks go by and Daniel, with his loving, forgiving heart sees that Terry is (more or less) respecting his wish for space (after all, it wasn't Terry who was being sent to keep an eye on the boy Terry has men for that) Daniel starts to slowly lower his guard.

He remembers the highs, the adrenaline rush, and how Terry made him feel horribly alive. He remembers what he tried to forget, which is that he had enjoyed his time with the man, even when it hurt, right up until that moment in the club.

Terry isn't a patient man, but he uses every iota of it that resides within his body because he knows the reward will be worth it. He knew Danny boy better than the boy had liked to admit. Better than Terry had expected to.

He was a stubborn spitfire but if he was handled correctly, he always did give in.

#silverusso #a nonny mouse #flash fic

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salllzy · 8 months ago

Text

The meeting of Justice and Nature #4

Alastor knew what was going on in Hell, so far the angels had dug themselves a nice grave and Sarah was playing her part rather well. He did feel sorry for Emily, his daughter-in-law looked as if she wanted to be anywhere else. Which was understandable, Sarah had his temper after all. However, they wouldn't need to resort to such tactics if Heaven had listened to them in the beginning. But they hadn't. Alastor hummed as he followed his target, a brute of a man who had escaped any form of punishment by bribing the police, judges and prosecution. But he would deal with them later, right now? He had a predator to hunt down and remove. The sad sack of shit didn't deserve to live. He hummed and twirled his cane as he followed his target into the bathrooms of a gentlemen's club. He already knew how he was going to get rid of him, the man was known for his overindulgence of certain things. Other than young boys that was. So injecting a lethal dosage of cocaine into him? Wasn't going to raise any red flags for anyone. Alastor smiled as he looked at the slumped body, he would raise the alarm when he was safely away, an anonymous tip would be good enough. Then he would turn his attention to those who were supposed to be upholding justice. There was a special place in Hell for them. He was the Angel of Justice, he wasn't good or evil, he simply was. Justice was to punish the guilty and protect the innocent and should justice not be delivered? Then he turned into vengeance. Which is what happened in this case. Not that he was complaining, it was always fun and entertaining when he got to hunt down a few scum. Alastor was well aware that he wasn't like amongst the heavenly Courts, he had killed a fair few angels in his time and they were unable to stop him. Not even Sera and her precious rules. He knew that he needed to make an appearance soon, no doubt those of the Heavenly Courts would be wondering where he was. Those who knew him or had worked with him before were well aware that they couldn't force him to do anything that he didn't want to do. It was something that irritated Sera to no end and why he kept doing it. ---- Alastor lurked in the shadows as Micheal tore into Sera and it wasn't just Micheal either. He had to give his daughter credit, she knew how to get others to her side. Using facts and logic made it difficult to argue with her at the best of times, coupled with the evidence that she liked to collect? It was nearly impossible to win an argument against her. He was so proud of her. "Well, this looks like a party." His eyes landed on Emily who was clutching Sarah's blouse and his daughter? She looked as if she was one step away from erasing Sera from existence. Alastor sent a withering glare towards Sera as he made his way to Emily and Sarah, a vicious rumble echoed in the room, she had gone from the realms of being displeased and annoyed to angry, so very angry. The stench of ozone filled the air and Alastor could feel the small tremors under his feet, she was holding onto her temper by a thin thread. One that could snap at any given moment. There were very few things that could anger her to this point, in fact, they could be counted on one hand and there would be fingers left over. Then he saw it, a vivid red hand mark on Emily's face. It was far too big to be Sarah's, not that his daughter would ever lay a hand on her wife, Sarah would soon skin herself alive than harm Emily. His eyes bled green as he looked at Sera. The Seraphim didn't look sorry, she held her head high as she was given a dressing down by Gabriel and Raphael, neither of the Archangels were being gentle. It didn't take him very long to figure out just what had happened. Then before anyone could say and do anything, his sword was rammed straight through Sera's mouth. The Seraphim hadn't seen it coming.

#hazbin hotel #alternate universe #hazbin alastor #dad alastor #hazbin hotel lucifer #original character #feeding the duckies #sal's snippets #the meeting of justice and nature #hazbin emily #hazbin sera #lilith x lucifer #hazbin lilith #Emily x oc

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diazsdimples · 1 year ago

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Fic Writing Review 2023 🥳

Words and Fics

222,730 words published to AO3

1 fandom (9-1-1)

Most recent drop: sugar and spice and all that smells nice (Buddie | 6.3k | E)

Longest fic: Buck's Baby (By Accident) (Buddie | 119k | G)

Top Fics By Kudos

Buck's Baby By Accident (Buddie | 119k | G)

Fucking Finally (Finally Fucking) (Buddie | 3.9k | E)

Burning with Need (Buddie | 3.8k | E)

First Words (Buddie | 2k | G)

In sickness and in health (but mostly in sickness) (Buddie | 3.7k | G)

My Fandom Events in 2023

Didn't do any! I joined the fandom in June and didn't write anything until July 🙃

Upcoming Events and Projects for 2024

This all depends on how many babies need delivering next year ngl, and how much of the year I spend on call but here's the WIPs I have so far!

To finish/publish:

With you I'm home - I quoted 20 chapters for this because Buck's Baby was also 20 chapters but I am 100% playing this by air. In this fic, we see Buck and Eddie embarking on their first year of marriage. They have a 2 year old son (Aidan) and Christopher, who is 14. This fic will show them navigating parenting a boisterous toddler and a sassy teenager while they begin their journey to having a new baby.

Cat Fic!! - this has been sitting in my WIPs folder for months now and I haven't had the beans to write it recently! Buck has adopted a cat with a curious name that brings a whole load of feelings to the forefront of his brain (is he saying I love you to the wrong Eddie?) and also provides some excellent material to fuck with his friends.

AUs that live in my head rent free

GTA AU - Listen I know this sounds weird, BUT, Buck and Eddie are heads of rival motorcycle gangs and constantly engage in turf wars. They realise they have the same product dealer for their cocaine lockups, who has been selling them dodgy product, resulting in loss of revenue for both men. They come together to confront the man realise they work extremely well together and who knows, maybe rival MC gang members can fall in love!

Piano Teacher!Buck, Parent!Eddie and Student!Chris - this was inspired by my Musician AU Play me like a fiddle, and was vaguely encouraged on Ao3 by @theotherbuckley, and will be a oneshot of Eddie coming to Buck after being referred to him by Christopher's physical therapy. Buck is more than happy to take Christopher on as a student is fast delighted by his constant, bubbly optimism. Eddie watches as Buck teaches his son and watches Christopher's confidence in himself build and realises, fuck, he's slowly falling in love with his son's teacher.

His Dark Materials AU - Buck finds himself in possession of an alethiometer and the more questions he asks of it, trying to figure out it's true meaning, the more he finds himself being drawn towards a dark, mysterious man he's noticed hanging around the college lately. Buck's daemon is instantly drawn to Eddie's daemon and the two find themselves unlikely friends, embarking on a quest to discover what it is the alethiometer is trying to warn them about.

Single Parents AU - Buck is the single father of two daughters and has just joined the 118 and is struggling to find his place. He meets another single father at his daughter's school in the pick up line one day and Eddie reveals he's training at the LAFD but struggling with childcare while he does it. Buck suggests they combine childcare and offers to help Eddie train, and even gets him a position in the 118 when Eddie graduates. How long will they coparent their three kids before they realise they've got it bad for each other?

Misc. ideas that haven't quite developed into fics yet but exist!

Magic Au - Buck and Eddie both have the power to control their auras (which have a colour and scent specific only to them) and go through rigorous training to enable them to save the earth from the Elder Race threatening to take over (inspired by Michael Scott's Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel)

Detectives AU - I've been watching too many Scandinavian crime shows and want to write Buddie solving a grisly murder

Chances are I'll come up with more over the summer!

Tags and rules under the cut

Rules: Feel free to show whatever stats you have. Only want to show Ao3 stats? Rock on. Want to include some quantitative info instead of stats? Please do this. Want to change how yours is presented? Absolutely do that. Would rather eat glass than do this? Please don’t eat glass but don’t feel like you have to do this either.

Tagged by @jesuisici33 and @hippolotamus thank you my loves!

(no pressure) tagging @malewifediaz @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming @theotherbuckley @disasterbuckdiaz @thewolvesof1998 @callmenewbie @cal-daisies-and-briars @daffi-990 @monsterrae1 @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels @rainbow-nerdss @wikiangela @steadfastsaturnsrings @spagheddiediaz @eddiebabygirldiaz @watchyourbuck @loserdiaz @smilingbuckley @fortheloveofbuddie @spotsandsocks (ignore if you've already done it!)

#ao3 review #there will probably be some weird sex in there too tbh #praying musican au makes it to the top 5 list next year #that's my baby #ceo of weird AUs

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jannwrites · 2 years ago

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tv show ask meme : GUILLERMO DEL TORO’S CABINET OF CURIOSITIES (2022). (2/2)

a selection of lines from the horror anthology cabinet of curiosities. modified slightly for rp purposes.

PICKMAN'S MODEL.

behind everything beautiful lies the dark.

beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but what about the horror?

you can't rush perfection.

all i said is i don't see what the fuss is about.

i just fail to see what's so interesting about them.

i think the rats got to her.

these are...powerful. the darkness, the ugliness, the corruption.

we cannot let sympathy or altruism shield us from finding the truths of this world.

sometimes, when i'd wake in the night, i'd hear them through the floor.

what is happening to me?

i mean, you knew how important this was to me.

i don't even recognize you anymore.

what is art in this modern world without truth?

i think we need to give them some names. i think they deserve that.

someone's up awfully late this evening.

Ii's my business to catch the undertones of the soul.

if there are any ghosts round here, they're the tame ghosts of a salt marsh and a shallow cove.

i feel like you're disappearing from me.

the darkness has a way of catching me.

it must be shocking to see the state of things here.

do you feel it, [name]? the fear.

what you make--it crawls behind the eyes, it makes you crazy.

i know where fear lives.

DREAMS IN THE WITCH HOUSE.

don't you worry. i'll help you figure it out.

i promised you I'd protect you. you remember that, don't you?

who has the power to break it down?

i know the other side is real. i've seen it.

maybe it's time that we consider what else we can do with our lives.

the house has undeniable powers.

you care more about your dead sister than the living.

i've seen a forest. a forest that takes the dead inside.

wait, wait. you're telling me that you put an unknown chemical from an unknown gentleman into your body?

what we need to do is knock some sense into you.

i think you're desperate, [name].

i think you'd do anything, anything, to prove that what you've been fighting for is real.

i'm sorry. i'm sorry i couldn't save you when i had the chance.

if i hadn't been so afraid, i wouldn't have ended up here.

i couldn't think of anything else but seeing you again.

i have to investigate that house.

something stalked you here. it followed you through the door.

there's something in there trying to hurt us.

i feel the energy her anger left behind.

they stuck pins in her to see if she would bleed.

what demons have you been conjuring?

the dead want you now.

i hope you understand what you brought to this world.

what i've done cannot be undone!

i told you, you couldn't escape me.

i'll ride this body as long as it will last.

THE VIEWING.

you're like a legend.

hey, buddy, got a smoke?

i was intrigued for sure.

what kind of flowers are these?

well, it looks amazing and sounds amazing.

i am not gonna let temptation get the better of me.

it made its way across all that chaos, all of that potential destruction, longer than many human lives, to us here tonight.

i want to know what your stunning mind makes of it.

now i'm even more curious than ever before.

dead worlds seed new, living ones, time and time again.

she's proven what others refuse to admit about the nature of the universe and humanity.

it's hard to talk about it in words, you know?

your presence here has made this night so much brighter to me.

science tells us you can never truly know the future state of a particle.

perhaps control of the machinery is your real ambition.

i want something that doesn't exist.

there's a void inside of me, you, everyone. an endless abyss.

everyone has a black hole inside of 'em. what i want is for mine to stop eating everything up all the time.

you are really harshing my mellow, man.

yhe truth is much more complicated.

i can't tell you about an image you already have in your mind.

i saw his blood, i saw his tears.

oh, a test where i have to do cocaine? finally, a test i can pass.

it's not as if you've never done this before.

it made me nostalgic for things that never happened.

you brought me all the way out here to show me a fucking rock?

did you not hear anything we just said right now?

THE MURMURING.

birds carry our souls, our beliefs, our hopes.

but that word...that word also suggests a voice, a whisper, a prayer uttered in the dark when we think we have lost it all.

pop me in a room with a stack of books, and I'm happy.

who wouldn't want to lift off and fly away from the world like that sometimes?

if there is a god, he certainly is a very cruel one.

i'll check, you go back to bed.

what are you doing here in the gloom?

what are you reading?

they sound different. more melancholy.

you haven't had any sleep. you're very tired.

it might help if you tell me what i'm meant to be listening for.

you get that crease, just there, when you're trying to solve a mystery.

this is beautiful. but when i look at it, all i feel is sad.

she must have felt very trapped here.

is it so wrong to read a dead person's letters?

and how do you know they're dead?

god forbid i should feel something.

the minute some people step into a falling-down old house, they start seeing ghosts.

you haven't cried at all. not since...everything happened.

people say they see things here, but it's just a morbid fascination with other people's misery.

how am i ever supposed to help you if you never tell me anything?

why is it always about me? you went through this too, [name].

i feel lost. i feel...angry. i feel completely heartbroken.

i try and i try, and i just feel you slipping away.

take my hand. you won't be alone or cold anymore.

i've been so lost.

#rp meme #rp ask meme #rp starters #rp sentence starters #rp sentence prompts #* mine.#part 2 finally after *checks watch* eight months #meme: tv.

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sawsdoe · 20 days ago

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On 16th April, the trans comedian Jordan Gray shared the following message on social media: “If I die of transphobia, just drop my body on the steps of parliament”. This followed the UK supreme court’s ruling that the definition of “woman” for the purposes of the Equality Act was to be restricted to those of us who are actually female.

Thanks to the ruling, achieved by the tireless work of grassroots organisation For Women Scotland, some of the UK’s most vulnerable women — rape survivors, those in refuges, female prisoners — have seen their entitlement to privacy and safety upheld. The ruling also means that all women can expect the bare bloody minimum — our own changing rooms, sports categories, sexual orientations, political movements, shortlists — in a world still largely framed around meeting the needs of men.

It is brilliant news, if long overdue. Female people — the sex that owns the least wealth, commits the least violence, performs the most unpaid labour, gestates all the new humans — matter enough to be legally recognised. It’s surprising, then, to see reactions such as Gray’s. Our rights are so upsetting — so scary, so devastating — that they might actually kill him!

I’m reminded of the passage in A Room of One’s Own where Virginia Woolf describes the impact on men of women ceasing to serve as looking-glasses “reflecting the figure of man at twice its natural size”:

The looking-glass vision is of supreme importance because it charges the vitality; it stimulates the nervous system. Take it away and man may die, like the drug fiend deprived of his cocaine.

A century later, and women are rejecting similarly male-centric, regressive definitions of femaleness, such as trans writer Andrea Long Chu’s “any psychic operation in which the self is sacrificed to make room for the desires of another”. Oh no! Take that away, and Jordan Gray might literally expire! Or perhaps not. Perhaps women existing in their own right isn’t a plot to hurt trans women. Perhaps not everything revolves around male feelings, all the time.

To be fair to Gray, his has been a common response to the supreme court ruling. There has been widespread dismay from individuals and institutions who, for the past decade, have pandered to trans activist demands while ignoring the concerns of feminists, lesbians and indeed anyone with an ounce of compassion for women and girls who want spaces and resources of their own. The actor’s union Equity quickly put out a statement claiming that “while the victors pop champagne bottles outside the court, our trans members’ safety and dignity at work is now at yet greater risk”. How dare these women celebrate having the most basic, minimal rights affirmed when there are male people who might want to use their toilets! Can’t they at least look ashamed?

Former Labour Leader Jeremy Corbyn responded by declaring himself “really saddened by the level of vitriol and hatred being directed toward the trans community”. “We are losing our common humanity,” he tweeted. “How hard is it to treat people with kindness and respect? Trans people are human beings – and they deserve to live in dignity.” The likes of UCU’s Jo Grady and Owen Jones have treated the ruling as hateful and regressive, calling for more kindness and compassion towards its supposed victims.

It is a measure of how much damage trans activism and gender ideology have done to women’s rights that a mere restatement that women exist as a definable group — a group that deserves resources, and the right to organise independently — has provoked such a response. There is a word for people who find a female “no” intolerable, and it is not “marginalised” or “victimised”. I find it grotesque that there is a call to shower even more pity and attention on people who hold such deeply entitled, misogynistic views that the prospect of having a noun — just one noun! — that remains exclusive to female humans is enough to prompt a week-long tantrum.

Even those who like to consider themselves “somewhere in the middle” on the trans debate have been guilty of this misplaced sympathising. In a piece for the Guardian, Gaby Hinsliff worries that “some gender-critical feminists who have endured years of death threats, ostracisation and attempts to get them fired […] are clearly in no mood to be magnanimous”, whereas “for trans people and those who love them, this is a frightening and uncertain time”. It’s an interesting play-off. Gender-critical feminists might have experienced years of the worst, most terrifying abuse but the main issue isn’t their lasting trauma. It’s that it might have made them less “magnanimous” towards those who perpetrated it, who are too busy being “frightened” by women having basic rights to give a second thought to how the women they harmed might be coping.

What all of this highlights for me is the utter absence of empathy, compassion and kindness on one side of “the trans debate” — and it is not the side of gender-critical feminists. This lack of empathy goes to the very heart of the sex and gender debate, and to the mess created by politicians who could not be bothered to consider the feelings of anyone other than trans-identified males.

It takes a lack of empathy for women for any adult men to claim to be one in the first place. It may not be deliberate. I am prepared to accept that while some — the Andrea Long Chus, the Dylan Mulvaneys, the Grace Laverys — are clearly trolling women, others are simply too bound up in their own distress to consider how insulting it is to women and girls to reduce them to an idea in their heads. Along with most women, I am not incapable of feeling empathy for these men. Nevertheless, theirs are not the only emotions that count. Other people matter. As Woolf put it, “women feel just as men feel”.

Like many feminists, while I find the concept of gender identity fundamentally sexist, rooted in regressive and often pornified stereotypes, I have never had any particular desire to tell men who believe themselves to be women that in actual fact, they are not. It’s not just that this would be needlessly hurtful; it’s also that their beliefs aren’t remotely interesting. Scratch the surface and it’s bog-standard fantasising about how women lack complex emotional lives, or enjoy being hurt, or really get off on getting dressed up. It’s not some great challenge to “the gender binary”; it’s conservative and it’s boring.

What interests me and others — what has always interested feminists — are the diverse, complex lives of women and girls. The trouble with trans ideology is that an absence of empathy for female people is so deeply ingrained — so essential to the maintenance of the passive femininity myth — that any assertion of female needs, desires and boundaries is instantly translated into an attack on trans women. It is as though female humans, those eternal looking-glasses, only operate on two emotional settings: the desire to serve males by saying “yes”, or to hurt them by saying “no”.

This is why every time women have suggested that we are a class of humans in our own right, we’ve been accused of wilfully denying trans women’s “right to exist”. It’s why the supreme court ruling has been swiftly reinterpreted, not as something about and for women, but as cruelly targeting males, just for the sheer hell of it. It cannot be that women are doing something on behalf of other women, with male desire on the periphery; to those in thrall to gender ideology, such a thing does not compute.

I have found it obscene to see the handwringing over women drinking champagne following the ruling, with the implication that these are heartless bitches who wanted to be “triumphalist”. Do you want to know what triumphalism looks like? It’s Jordan Gray on Channel Four, getting his dick out to play the piano while singing “I’m a perfect woman – my tits will never shrink”. As an actual woman, who has experienced both flashing and years of deep distress related to my own changing body, this really pissed me off. Still, I managed not to put out a request that my misogyny-murdered corpse be deposited outside the Channel Four studios.

And one of the reasons why feminists don’t tend to do this is that ours is not a politics of pure grievance. It’s about examining what women and girls actually need, and trying to make it happen. For Women Scotland were not campaigning against trans rights; they were campaigning for lesbians, for female prisoners, for sex assault victims, for all women who want support and recognition in law. That is what empathy looks like — looking outwards, thinking about the needs of others.

That trans activists and their allies have interpreted the ruling so badly shows just how poor their own empathising skills have become. I am sure they would feel happier if they could start to consider what other emotional settings women have, beyond those that revolve around meeting or not meeting male desires.

We are people with our own inner lives, and once you learn to think of us as such, you might see that our needs have nothing to do with attacking you. You will feel safer, but first of all, you need to learn to be kind.

#victoria smith

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