#partly because it means you care enough to check up on me

[dyns33]

Family's House

Next episode of Alfie Solomons and his wife dayly life as idiots in love

Y/N knew how to keep a house. Or almost.

In any case, she knew how to manage on her own, cook, clean, do the laundry, but that didn't mean that she loved these activities, or that she did them perfectly well.

However, since she was married, it seemed important that she behaved like a good wife who took care of the household chores, so that her husband could rest when he came home from work.

And with his "work", Alfie needed a lot of rest.

Since he was not very trusting, he didn't like the idea of ​​letting a housekeeper hang around unsupervised at their house, but he had found the sister of one of his loyal employees who could come by three times a week to take care of the cleaning, laundry, dusting, checking the silverware, and other things that he didn't care about at all.

On top of that, he often insisted on cooking. Maybe he was afraid that his meals would be poisoned, or he had noticed that his wife's food were too salty or overcooked, but in any case, even if he was gifted, that also annoyed Mrs. Solomons a lot.

"I could do it !" Y/N insisted, who also didn't like coming home and finding herself in front of a frightened girl, who didn't know that her boss wasn't the type to punish someone because the forks were put away wrong.

"And when would you have time, love ? You're often with me at the bakery, to help me keep the accounts, check that everything has been done properly and stop me from killing everyone."

"I'm not there as often as you."

"And the employees regret it. I think they're plotting. Ollie's been making me walk a lot lately, he knows my back doesn't like it, and that you'll take my place if I'm bedridden. Little vermin. I heard about an election project."

"Stop, I'm serious."

"Me too, love. For the plot, and the fact that I don't care who cleaned the house, as long as it's cleaned."

Maybe he didn't care, but the Candem harpies did. Y/N wanted to convince herself that she didn't care about their opinions, but that wasn't entirely true.

She wanted to be a good wife, for everyone to know that Alfie Solomons had made the right choice in marrying her, and that they were very happy.

Of course, it was also good to have a cleaning lady. A sign of wealth. But she couldn't help it, she needed to feel useful, and to show that she cared for her husband. In her family, they took care of each other, even if it wasn't always in a conventional way.

Since he was an excellent husband, Aflie had noticed her nervousness. He had first thought that she was bored. That was partly why he gave her work at the bakery, but also because he trusted her, that she was very talented, and that he liked to be with her all the time.

Since that didn't seem to be enough, he made the mistake of asking Tommy for advice. Except that since he didn't consider Thomas to be the best at relationships, or at keeping secrets from his sister, he talked about horses.

"Why ? Are you planning to buy a horse ?"

"Well, you see dear Tommy, maybe. You guys like these devil's creatures, and I love my wife. I was thinking of getting a mare, I found a charming one, adorable, but a little crazy. Agitated. Oh, I know what you're going to say, she senses that I'm not comfortable, all that bullshit, but no, she's like that with everyone. How can I calm her down ?"

"If she's naturally like that, you won't be able to. But you can always try to talk to her nicely, stroke her head and blow on her nose." Tommy answered seriously, not understanding what they were talking about and really lovng horses.

"… Yeah, I'm not sure she'll appreciate it."

The moment he put his hand on her head and complimented her, Y/N stared at Alfie with a dark look, as if she had perfectly understood what he was doing and why. He was certain of it when she stood up, leaving the room after blowing on his nose.

"Damn witch." he mumbled, thinking he was completely under her spell.

With her problem not resolved, Y/N took the time to consider the situation while remaining calm. It was not necessary for her to do great things to be a good wife.

Cleaning his shirt after work, preparing a good meal from time to time, lighting a fire in the fireplace in winter by offering a pillow for his back and tea. Simple gestures, but very important.

It was the middle of the afternoon when she decided to do all this before Alfie returned. Nothing impossible.

But in the end, she burned the dinner, missing even a simple loaf of bread, she broke plates, one of which had belonged to Alfie's maternal grandparents, she almost set fire to the carpet, and her husband's favorite shirt fell into the mud, in the middle of the street, after Cyril barked cheerfully, making her jump as she wanted to hang it on the windowsill.

So Alfie found the house in this state, with his wife crying in the middle of the living room, her hair disheveled, full of flour, and her dress covered in soot.

"It reminds me of the war." was the only thing he could think to say, looking into the distance before approaching, his hand gently caressing her shoulder. "So, love, did you lose a battle ? What happened ?"

"… I wanted to please you."

"It's a success, I love seeing my wife sobbing."

"You're still not funny. I can't even make bread. I ruined your shirt, the carpet… I broke one of your plates. I'm a horrible wife, you're the one who should be crying."

He could have answered right away, but Alfie Solomons knew his wife well. She had many qualities, just as many reasons why he had fallen in love, and one of them was that Y/N was a stubborn woman.

Worst, she was a Shelby, so she was worse than a mule.

So he took a deep breath, forcing her to stand up so that she sat on his lap like a child, letting her finish crying and talking nonsense before speaking.

"Treacle. Listen to me carefully. First of all, I am a very funny man."

"Medium funny, and often without meaning to." she mumbled, her head nestled in his neck.

"True. In any case, I'm not a man who gets attached to stupid things like a shirt or a rug. I'll buy others. Same thing for the plate. I have lots of memories with my grandparents, I don't need a plate, I have lots of plates. I can go and break all the family's china."

"No."

"As you wish, love. For cooking, I admit that I would love to come home and enjoy a meal made by you with love. But if you don't like cooking, I love cooking, and I love watching you eat what I cooked for you. You don't know how to do it ? I can teach you. My bakery may be fake, but not my talent. My breads are the best in the country, my mother's recipe. Family secret. But we are married, so I can let you in on it."

"… You're really not angry ?" she asked shyly, feeling a little ridiculous, a feeling she didn't like at all.

"It would be very tempting to tell you that you deserve a punishment and to spank you, but no, treacle, I'm not angry. I appreciate that you wanted to do all this. You are a perfect woman, at least the perfect woman for me. I am fulfilled. And I don't tell Ollie and the others, but I also think that you do a better job than me at the bakery. Mutiny always lurks."

No doubt she got that from her family, the business sense and the ability to work perfectly. To compensate, Y/N was simply not good at being a housewife, and Alfie didn't give a damn.

He gladly kicked the clichés, the old ideas and the gossips of Candem who dared to criticize his wife or make fun of him because he rolled up his sleeves and went into the kitchen.

Why wouldn't it be normal for a man to take care of his wife ? A good husband had to recognize all the work done during the day, and in thanks, he could cook, massage the poor feet of his sweetheart, and make tender love to her in the marital bed.

And Y/N really had a lot of work with him and his company. No one could deny it.

Just having to put up with him was already a full-time job. He himself wasn't sure how she managed it, or why she loved an old fool like him.

"It's true that you're crazy, we're going to burn the house down !"

"No, love, we're going to make a brioche."

"Not if you keep holding my butt like that, instead of watching the oven !"

"My nose will know. While my eyes and hands can't resist the sight of my wife, kneading dough, wearing only my apron."

"I don't even remember how you convinced me to do this."

"A lot of charm and the promise of a heavenly tasting brioche."

"I'll eat it alone, after throwing you naked in the street."

"It wouldn't be the first time, treacle. If I promise to stop kneading your beautiful behind, will you let me taste our work with you ?"

"I'll think about it."

The brioche ended up burning, because despite his promises, and his shrewd nose, Alfie was particularly distracted when Y/N leaned over to grab a dish.

But it wasn't her fault, and since he didn't stop kissing her, she didn't have time to think that she would never be completely good at keeping house. It was already wonderful that she knew how to keep her husband on the right tracks.

[creatingblackcharacters]

hi there; first, thank you for making this blog and all the lessons you do, i really appreciate them as a Black person because it highlights a lot of struggles i face with fandoms in general, and why i dont interact more in certain spaces. it makes me feel seen

with regards to your questions, i'd also like answers to them from nonblack fans, especially nonblack anime fans. i don't even mean consuming anime with overtly racist caricatures of black characters (because numerous anime fans pirate their anime and never send a cent to the creators anyway), i mean how can they make fanworks of it?

how can they look at something that they are told is wildly offensive, but then defend with "well, this is how it looks in canon"? where is the line drawn between what's okay and what isn't? as long as it's slow and gradual, is there no line at all?

these are probably just rehashings of your own followup questions, so please excuse that, but i do have an anecdote

i joined a casual anime server the other day and a lot of folks were lamenting one Black character's racist design and how often those on social media will replicate it without thinking/caring. The thing that struck me is that, I've checked this character's tumblr tag regularly for a long time. There are always people who will post art/fanworks of this character with his racist design. Yet hardly ever, if ever, (outside of Black fans) have I seen any of these folks- the ones in the discord server- try to talk to artists/writers/fan creators/etc via asks/replies/etc. There's a notable amount of people in that server and a notable amount that agreed the design was outright racist and that they'll never make fanworks like that, and yet still silence

i'm not entirely sure what would be the line, or the "okay, that's enough" moment to spur any of these folks into action. i'm not sure if there is one. the only reason i don't make my own "hey what is wrong with all of you" post and blow up is because I've made a wonderful little friend group in this fandom who get it, and I don't want them to get caught up in whatever happens if I were to make a post like that

And this is just for getting people to stop using the canon design of the character, i.e., to stop drawing him as a racist caricature. This isn't touching on the people who 1) lighten his skintone [he's been horribly whitewashed over time, which has been reflected in some fanarts and fan merch], or 2) give him a looser hair/straight hair texture, rather than his type 4 hair (there's also #3, which is fanfiction with straight up slurs, and horribly racist writing in it that my friend heavily warned me not to read, but that was more of a one-off case and I've had the creator blocked a long time now).

my point being, we (Black fans) can't even get folks to stop with the caricatures, which we have to start with, and then there's even more of an annoying uphill battle with the other stuff. I'm just so tired of all of this; it makes me want delete my own works and turn away from fandom all together because i can't stand it.

trying for polite and assuming ignorance hardly ever works, speaking bluntly doesnt work at all, making public posts hardly goes anywhere (partly because of how rarely people reblog things anymore, partly because it makes people 'uncomfortable' to share this information with others). Black fans so obviously need help to combat this, and yet it's like sitting at a tea party and hearing all these pretty words in this one setting, yet nobody does anything different/better when the party's over/outside this setting.

sorry for dooming a bit, but like, genuinely i would like to know where the line is for nonblack folks? what is the point/are the points where you would speak up against antiblack racism? have you ever considered speaking up? if there's ever a moment you recognized antiblack racism and didn't say anything, why didn't you? did you consider how your lack of speaking up might affect your fellow Black fans? or how Black fans may be interpret this as silent agreement with the racists/with the racist 'norm'?

..those could maybe be alternative ways of asking your last followup question?

(if i've made any blunders or overstepped here, please let me know!)

No, I'm glad you spoke up! I too would like to see answers!

[nepobabyeurydice]

Am currently obsessed with the idea of annabeth returning to Gotham and becoming a crime boss allied with red hood/like an adviser of sorts to him partly because if she’s the princess of Gotham, she’s running it her way, and partly as revenge against bruce, because if a 7 year old he neglected could kill to survive, he could kill to avenge his son. She’s very strong on the no messing with kids rule for obvious reasons, and she doesn’t see robin as an exception to that because she is not plagued by pit rage. She has a very confusing (to them) relationship to the bats cuz she openly hates Batman, and will taunt him by putting robin in supposed danger, but never actually hurts him and anyone who does hurt him is made to see the error of their ways through somewhat violent means.

She acts mainly as damage control to Jason when it comes to Tim, because he’s her big brother and she’s trying to subtly break the influence of the pit over time. She either stops Jason before titans tower when she learns what he’s planning or goes to confront him there. Then, later, when Damian joins the family, she taunts Bruce about his dead daughter, using details no one else should know, and dramatically reveals herself. (Sadly, I am the only person who can write it the way i want it to be written, and will not ever write it)

Annabeth getting a call from Talia (incredibly alarming to her btw) and seeing Jason doing his vengeance shtick: Maybe I should go back to Gotham and check that he’s okay.

Grover who’s about to set out on his Percy Supervision Mission in Yancy Academy: Please for the love of all the gods be good.

Luke would be fine with letting her go since while he’s a bit weird about her it’s still a sibling-like bond and the idea of 12-year old Annabeth with beefed up Jason standing in front of the world’s worst criminals brings me joy.

Annabeth, walking into Jason’s apartment after six minutes of making sure his neurosis were the same: Damn bitch you live like this? After all my architecture rants too??

Jason: Are you a fucking ghost?

Annabeth: Are you?

Annabeth is very clear about being Annabeth and doing her whole leaving the Wayne name behind forever to Jason who kind of struggles to wrap his head around cute and shy Anna being this terrifyingly smart monstrosity. She makes his plans even more sick and twisted, plays around with the ambiance and the clues and makes sure that it can only be traced back to the Red Hood and not Jason Todd. Which means she tortured Dick psychologically at several points in the middle of other villain fights to see which reactions she can use against Bruce more subtly so that’s fun.

Dick, on his third mental breakdown of the month about Anna: I miss her so much I wish we tried harder to find her!

Annabeth, writing it down from where she’s hiding: Making the cases be increasingly similar to what happened to me has produced results. Find a demigod and recreate case with Bruce to torment his further.

Tim was originally barely a factor to Annabeth because she doesn’t really care for him unlike Jason and Jason’s plans on what to do with him seemed sane enough but after he mentioned that he wanted to get into Titan’s Tower Annabeth arranged for something on the Drake’s end to pull Tim away for a while and convinced Jason to focus on the Joker plan again. Annabeth is extremely against involving anyone who isn’t Bruce, Joker, Alfred and Dick in her plans and only occasionally considers adding Barbara. So when Jason shows clear interest in hurting Tim as a way to get back at Bruce she moves up her whole timeline and has ten different plans running to keep Tim out of the country at first then away from where Jason would be by orchestrating a few YJ fights until Jason tells her to fight Tim herself since he can’t get there in time.

Annabeth: Fight him? By myself?

Jason: Yeah, I believe in you *cuts the call*

Annabeth:…Fuck it, I’ll do a Riddler impression and hope for the best

said impression is completely terrifying and taken out of a saw movie basically and Tim is now wary of ever approaching a truck (which was actually a monster) since it. somehow threw him into a building and shattered three of his ribs. Annabeth continues running interference like this as she tries to keep Jason on task with ‘make Bruce kill the Joker’ scheme.

Eventually she’s called back to Camp after Percy shows up and Annabeth decides she needs someone to keep an eye on Jason and the whole plan thing so she sends Julieta, her godly half-sister, to keep him on track.

Julieta infiltrating Gotham Academy during the last three weeks of classes: This is so stupid.

Jason: I don’t care, tell me his habits and schedule.

Julieta: Do you get off talking to me like that?

Jason:…I’m sorry.

Basically all of TLT happens and Annabeth returns to Gotham immediately after the summer solstice which enrages Luke who speeds up his plans a bit and Percy is saved by the naiads and Annabeth is now double heartbroken and back in a city that encourages her to fester in her rage.

She lets Jason loose on Bruce and the Joker as she kidnapped Tim and uses him to torture Dick and Babs as she uses references to all of Jason’s career as Robin to guide them while taunting that she knows who they are and making another Saw trap. Meanwhile Tim has been given a slice of ambrosia and feels like he’s dying, he’s not but his godly heritage is diluted by four generations so it’s real bad pain.

Annabeth: It’s this or processing my emotions, Timothy, and I’m a Wayne, so down the hatch!

Tim, writhing in agony and shaking as Ares pretends not to notice him for six hours before helping him: Am I on drugs?

Things go down, Jason reveals himself, Bruce in a fit of desperation tries to cut his throat open but Julieta who helped in said Joker kidnapping stabs him thought the arm and Joker who was wisely knocked out by Julieta’s during the jokernapping is rescued by his henchmen while Jason has a mental breakdown and Bruce is dumped in the Batmobile by a truly done Julieta

And that’s all I can think of right now.

Thank you for telling of your idea, it’s actually a lot of fun, and since I was thinking about making a fic dedicated to 13 What-If scenarios in the Annabeth is a Wayne Universe this is definitely going on the list of you want it too.

[thicccshady]

I Feel Like Fucking 2% Milk🤒

Eminem X Reader

✨️MasterList✨️

AI GENERATED IMAGE (still I spent far too long working on it)

Content: Fluff, Cursing, Vomit (800 Words)

It was a cold Michigan winter in 2003, and the king of rap, Marshall Mathers, was laid up in bed, defeated—not by his so called rivals or critics, but by the flu. His girlfriend of four months, Y/N, was about to experience the one thing absolutely no one could prepare her for: Sick Marshall. 

Wrapped in a worn fuzzy Detroit Lions blanket, Marshall sat slumped on the couch, surrounded by a fortress of crumpled tissues and half-empty bottles of Gatorade. His nose was red, and his voice was hoarser than it had been after The Eminem Show tour. 

"Y/N," he whined dramatically from the couch. "I think this is it… This is how I fuckin’ go." A sneeze loud enough to wake the neighbors snuck up on him. 

Walking into the room, Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. “Bless you.”

“Fuck you.” He pouted.

She carried over a tray loaded with flu-fighting essentials: canned chicken noodle soup, a thermometer, some ginger tea, and—because she knew him too well—a pack of Skittles. 

"Marshall, I promise you’re not dying," she said, setting the tray down. "You have the flu. People deal with this all the time." 

He sniffled, pulling the edge of the blanket up to his chin. "I feel like fucking… 2% milk." 

Y/N laughed as she handed him the tea. "Here, drink this. It'll help." 

Marshall took the cup, inspecting it. "The fuck is this? It smells weird." 

"It’s ginger tea," she said. 

He eyed the cup suspiciously. “Nah, I’m not drinking this." 

"Marshall."

He sighed dramatically, taking a reluctant sip. His face scrunched up. "This shit tastes like disappointment and hot water." He pause and looked at Y/N. His face shifting to a puppy dog look. “I mean, thank you. I love you.” 

Y/N gave him a playful shove and grabbed the thermometer. "Let me check your temperature, Mr. Mathers." 

As she tried to stick the thermometer under his tongue, he squirmed like a little kid. "Yo, stop! What if I choke on it and die? Then what? The goddamn tabloids’ll have a field day. 'Eminem Dies of… fuckin Thermometer Tragedy… Y/N to Blame.'" 

"Christ Marshall stay still!," Holding his head she finally got the thermometer in place. 

After a few seconds and a death glare from Marshall, it beeped, and Y/N read it. "100.4. See? You’re not even that sick. You’re just being dramatic." 

"Nah, rounding up, 100.4 is basically 104," he argued. Marshall flopped his head back on the couch. "I’m lucky I can still talk right now." 

Y/N smirked. "Yes, aren’t we all so blessed. God forbid you lose the ability to whine." 

Marshall grumped but couldn’t hide the tiny grin tugging at his lips. He picked up a spoonful of soup and muttered, "You’re lucky I like you." 

"You’re lucky I put up with you," she shot back, planting a kiss on his forehead before heading to the kitchen to get more tissues. As she turned her back, she saw the Lion’s blanket fly across the room then heard what could only be described as gagging from hell. 

“Oh fuck,” she muttered and grabbed a trashcan. Turning around, she saw Marshall pale as ever and covered in his own vomit. She was too late. Grabbing tissues she cleaned up his face as he sat dazed. “Marshall? You alright?”

He looked up, eyelids half closed, “Can you get this off of me please?” Ironically, his sweater was indeed covered in vomit. Had he not been in such an obviously miserable mood, she would have made a terrible “Lose Yourself” joke.

Getting that out of his system, Marshall was feeling a little better. However he quickly blamed the vial ginger tea for his “upset little tummy”. 

---

Later, Marshall’s mood seemed to lift—partly thanks to Y/N’s care and partly because she let him pick the DVD for their afternoon marathon. 

As they watched Breakin’ for the millionth time, Marshall mumbled along, knowing it word for word. Towards the end of the film, he fell asleep leaning against Y/N. She sat still, hoping he could get some much needed rest. His eyes fluttered open as he snuggled up a bit more. "Yo, Y/N," he murmured. 

"Yeah?" 

"Thanks for taking care of me. Even when I’m a pain in the ass." 

She smiled, cupping his cheek gently. "Of course, Marshall. But next time, try not to act like a shithead over the flu, okay?" 

"Mmm, No promises," he said with a mischievous grin, sneezing loudly right after. 

Y/N just laughed, knowing she would never trade this chaotic, hilarious version of Marshall for anything. 

✨️Want to know when I post? Click here to join my taglist!✨️

@crazycat-ladys-blog@ @tomdayaloveforever@ @4-ln4@ @hereforfun-31@ @watercolorskyy@

@viktoriya2008@ @confiaenanaa@ @nebulamorada@

[crisiscutie]

Hello, sweetie! I'm happy to see your newest headcanons and I can't stress enough how much I love all fo them <3 I'm glad that you're partly back, and I'm also very much in love with your fic series on AO3! Keep it up! <3 I thought about something for your Domestic AU: So... After a Mother has given birth to her baby, there's a phase that starts from birth to 6-8 weeks later. That time is called "puerperal" I think? I'm not sure, since I don't know the term for it in English ;-; I hope that you know what I mean though... So I was wondering: How would Sephy support his beloved Darling during these stressful and painful times? And how's Domestic Darling doing and feeling during that time? How would Sephy keep the other children in check and/or do the children support their beloved Mother as well?

Thank you so much in advance and I love you <3

Hello, love! What a wonderful scenario you had bestowed on me! I think you mean the postpartum period, also known as the puerperal state?

In this scenario, Sephy immediately shifts into mother hen mode. He is well aware (through his maternity books) of the postpartum period for mothers. He'd be sure to address Domestic Darling's health issues promptly, as the maternal mortality rate is quite high during this stage.

He's not willing to take ANY chances. She'll take as much time as she needs to rest while he handles both their duties. I'd even reckon he will take a really long break from his mercenary job to take care of her, because he's already made and saved much gil from those dangerous contracts he took on.

Domestic Darling's energy levels would be pretty low during this stage too, which is a huge difference from her typically happy and optimistic personality. Sometimes she would be a little grumpy and snap at Sephiroth for being a bit overbearing, but of course, she'd eventually apologize and make an effort to handle her emotions better. It'd be especially difficult for darling to bond with baby Lucrecia because she is physically and emotionally drained (Couldn't imagine what it's like to feed her when she starts teething 😬). But she is still determined to do it.

This also made me think of a cute outdoor scene, where Sephy holds Darling in his lap while she cradles baby Lucrecia. Sephiroth's big white wing being wrapped around them so they can unwind without the bright rays or any other distractions. And he's keeping an eye on the boys in the distance.

For the triplet boys, I can see the triplets becoming even more competitive somehow??? They wouldn't want to see their precious mother feeling down, so they would do their best to bring back her happiness. And each boy is incredibly eager to achieve that on his own. But it wouldn't be long until their older sister, Angealica, lectures them about the importance of working together. Making Darling feel better shouldn't be a competition. And with Angealica having her father's bluntness, they'd get the message pretty quickly.

Overall, Domestic Darling is the core of her and Fluffy Sephiroth's family, so it'd be very interesting to see everyone come together and get her back on her feet.

Thanks for the great ask!

[monsterunderthesheets]

TABLE FOR ONE... OR THREE

a litte Vash x Fem! reader fic I made while I was in the middle of waiting tables as work. got a little baby fever for Vash so please treat this fic with care.

!!TW!! mentions of Pregnancy!

Soft drops of rain and a barely noticeable background music were the only ones accompanying you as you continue to polish highball glasses and coffee mugs. It was an awfully bleak and uneventful week at the Café yet it was not a problem for you in the slightest. In fact, it was a godsent chance for you to be left with your own thoughts and enjoy the peaceful solitude of it all. What’s even better is that you’d only have an hour left till you flip the sign closed. These past few days, the rain hasn’t stopped since the day before. According to the recent broadcast, this weather will continue till about next week which to you was all the better for a news because with it, means less customers to deal with, in turn, less work on your plate.  Just the thought of a relaxing week made you heave a small sight of contentment and unconsciously pulled your shawl better up your shoulders.

The door to the café chimes open, indicating a customer had arrived. Your shoulders slumped a bit but you quickly set them square again and wore your best smile. ‘I guess one more customer won’t hurt.’ You inwardly thought.

“good evening! How may I help-“

For a moment, you felt your hearth leap to your throat and your fingers ran cold.

Just standing by the door way, stood a tall man clad in red, with a mop of golden locks atop his head. You know that face all too well. The face that you promised yourself you'd smack when you see it.

" uh..." the man hesitated, already sensing your white-hot rage from across the room "t-table for one please?"

It took only but a few wide strides to get to him, not wasting time and threw the first hand you were able to followed by another one and then another with quick succession. None of which ever connected to their target, of course, you knew how good he was with dodging any forms of danger. The thought just flew over your head at that moment. You did promise to hit him but you never said you'd be confident enough to land a single one on him. All you could do was scream, - partly because of humiliation and the other in great loathing-

 "the FUCKING AUDACITY you have to show up here again with that stupid smile on your face you FUCKING bastard!"

 Vash cough both of your wrists mostly to keep you from doing more harm to yourself than it would on him. Still not satisfied, you resort to kick his shins but that too, was swiftly avoided. (God knows how he managed to) Eventually, Vash had to restrain you by incasing you in an embrace. "I missed you too, Mayfly." he sighed.

"shut the fuck up and let me go, you asshole" you hissed and a bit out of breath. You hate to admit it but you missed his scent, the faint smell of a rainy musky undertone with a hint of... Iron?

Vash notices and pulled you back to check on you but before he could comment on it, you shoved him off of you and fixed your shawl back on your small form. You used to love how quick he was to notice the smallest discomforts you might have but right now, all you ever felt was hate. You knew what you were signing up for but you couldn't just forgive him for what he did to you a few months ago; disappearing on you in that state without even leaving a simple goodbye note. That particular day still hurt like a fresh bullet wound to you.

"what are you doing back here?"

"I happen to be close by so I thought I'd pay a visit." he sheepishly laughed, completely ignoring the fact you were so close to breaking his bones. You scoffed at his pathetic excuse and waved him off.

"well then, hi, and goodbye." you turned to return to the bar counter to start hanging up the closed sign. "Now get out of my sight before I plant some bullets in your head." you warned.

"Hey now, come on Mayfly-look, I'm sorry, okay? But I really need a -ACK! "  Vash hissed in pain, and you immediately stopped in your tracks. You turned back to look at him and hurriedly yanked his red jacket. On his side were two fresh wounds, one a clean shot through the side and the other a deep graze. You also found another wound, possibly made by a sharp object, on his chest. You spew a string of curses under your breath as you dragged Vash into the back in a panicked pace while Vash let out is own string of “ow's” in the process. He knew you were such a worry wart so he made another pathetic attempt to lighten up the mood; “Please handle me with care, doc.-" "shut up Stamped!" you hissed. You know you do hate him but it's not at all in your nature to wish death upon others. Especially not to Vash. He obliged after you snapped at him, but with the way you behaved, Vash wondered what the new change of demeanor was all about. Maybe it was because he left you all of a sudden when he promised you he'd stay? In his defense, he genuinely did. But with a bounty on his head and a reputation for hunters constantly nipping at his ankles, he can't risk getting you involved. But the way you’re acting right now is too different, like you changed so much in over just a few months. You seemed snappier than usual, maybe a bit hotter headed than normal. And this kind of worried him a bit. Has his absence really did that much damage to you?

 You both spent the entire time in awkward silence but Vash decided to speak up after getting patched up. Specifically addressing the slight change of personality as of late. But you were too eager to not talk about it and tried to literally avoid the subject by abruptly getting up from your seat. Big mistake. The sudden motion caused you to be light-headed and lost your balance, luckily, Vash had always been quick on his feet and caught you before you hit yourself on something.

Your pride still getting the better of you, you shoved him away, not wanting to be touched by him any more than he already had. This caused your shawl to get caught on his mechanical arm, yanking it off from your shoulders. Vash froze in place. Realizing the turn of events, you couldn’t do much else other than avoiding eye contact.

You held your belly in a pathetic attempt to hide the little bump you’re carrying.

"how... How old is it?" Vash squeaked; eyes glued on your belly.

"... A couple of months." you answered reluctantly. He was too silent after that. You didn't know what was going on in his head. Not when you can't see his face. Slowly, you raised your gaze to meet his but as you did, all you saw was... Pain? You weren't sure anymore but you could have sworn you saw it, just a tiny glimpse and it was gone, replaced by a congratulatory smile that was obviously forced out. Something Vash had been so bad at doing since forever that the sight of it made your chest ache.

"My God, congrats Y/N! Your husband sure is a lucky guy!“ Vash stepped back, his hand finding it's way to the nape of his neck. His voice broke on the last word, a sure tell-tale sign that he was fighting back tears. But he was adamant to bury his heart in hopes that he wouldn't seem upset and an asshole for being bitter about an occasion where people are supposed to celebrate and welcome a new life. He forced out a laugh and added "Have... have you decided on a name ye-OW?!" you interrupted him with a boot finally connecting to his shin, causing him to double down

"god dammit Vash, were you really that drunk that night? IT'S YOURS, YOU STUPID PLANT!"

Your face was flushed red with annoyance, tears threatening to roll down from your face. After all, it was the truth. It was why you were seething with hate when he left you. As a plant he told you that there was no way he could reproduce with a human; That it would take an impossible miracle for a plant and a human to conceive a child.

It wouldn't have been a problem for you when he left, but when you found out you were with child, you felt betrayed. That you were taken advantage of and used. That was why you made a promise to yourself to forget about the man that you thought had loved you and commit to you with no strings attached. That you would raise this child without mentioning a single word about the bastard that left you. But Vash is here. He is in front of you, and within the deepest depths of your core, you have the smallest hoped that he would stay this time. You wouldn’t force him if he doesn’t want the baby…  it would hurt you, sure, but he’s the humanoid typhoon, he should always be on the run. What other choice do you have?

For what felt like forever, Vash had barely spoken a word since you broke the news to him. You were dying to know what was in his mind, spare yourself the agony of forever wondering what he was thinking.

“then…” it was barely a whisper but you managed to catch on it and looked up to him.

“then… can I?” he continued, hand slowly raising to touch your belly. You hesitated, but eventually dropped the arm you were using to block your belly. Vash took this as granting him permission and slowly knelt before you; eye-level with the baby inside. His touch was feather-like, as if he’d break you and the child if held both of you the wrong way. His palms were warm and you swore, if you held your breath long enough, you could catch his hand trembling very faintly. He took a deep breath and placed his forehead gently on your belly.

Just before you could ask what he was doing, you felt a faint flow of a peculiar sensation within you. It wasn’t anything you had felt before but it wasn’t anything akin to pain either. Just calm…or at peace? Definitely something you cannot describe in words. Then you witnessed something you’ve never seen happen to Vash even for as long as you’ve known him and his true being.

Before you, Vash’s skin was etched with a soft blue glow of what looked like the same markings that plants would have. From his forehead to his cheeks and jaw, down to his chin and neck. Soon, the same markings are present on your stomach even strangely so, you can see a silhouette of a child floating inside your womb, as if you became a transparent vessel for the child you carry. It too adorned the same markings as him. The whole site was beyond beautiful -ethereal even- that it could possibly haunt your dreams or even for the rest of your waking days. Yet despite the barrage of overwhelming emotions, all you could think about is how you felt nothing but relief and gratefulness.

Seeing the baby’s response  to its father’s greeting Vash choked down the forming lump in his throat, tears welling in the corners of his eyes, his smile a mix of fear and hope. Vash’s voice managed to croak out only but a few words:

“hey there, little guy.”    

-END-

[pastelwitchling]

My prompt is that Kyle works as an army surgeon and he is one Alex is brought to when he gets injured.

***

Michael had forgotten about Alex inviting Kyle over Sunday afternoon. He’d forgotten about Alex’s fond smile and twinkling eyes when he’d told Kyle to have a late lunch with them on their one day off. Conveniently, he’d also forgotten all about waking Alex up from his much-needed afternoon nap when Kyle’s knock came at the door.

“Sorry,” he smiled, “Alex moved. See you never.”

He was about to shut the door in his face when Kyle caught the edge and pushed back. “Guerin, I swear, you can either go tell Alex I’m here, or I’ll scream until he hears me.”

Michael frowned. “Wow, Valenti. Alex has barely slept all week, he’s finally getting some rest, and you want me to go wake him up? I thought you cared about him.”

“You’re such a dick,” Kyle grumbled, shouldering his way in, knowing full well that he was probably one of the only two people in the world that Alex would never forgive Michael for kicking out. He still liked to believe the other guy never existed, but that was a whole other issue he didn’t have the mental space for right now. Not when Kyle was tossing his keys on the coffee table like he lived here, and heading into the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea.

“I mean it, Guerin,” he said easily, starting the water heater. “You either go wake him up, or I do.”

“Go wake him from the only sleep he’s had in days?” Michael scoffed. “Yeah, I’ll get right on that.”

Kyle gave him a deeply unimpressed look. “Taking long naps in the afternoon isn’t going to help him sleep at night. Besides, I need to check his leg, that’s the whole reason we set this up.”

Michael straightened, alert. “What’s wrong with his leg?”

He shrugged. “The pain’s been worse lately.”

“I haven’t noticed that,” Michael said before he could think better of it.

“What, Alex hiding his pain? Personally, I’m shocked.”

He clenched his jaw. “Alex would tell me.”

“C’mon, Guerin,” Kyle sighed. “You know what he’s like. He’ll deal with the pain by himself as long as he can. Nothing you or I can do about that. You should’ve seen the day he actually lost his leg.”

Michael, who’d been looking towards the corridor where his and his husband’s bedroom was, slowly turned to look at the doctor. “What?”

“Don’t get me wrong,” he said, oblivious to what he’d confessed to as he poured water over his teabag and stirred in some sugar. “I know he was in shock, but . . .” he tensed, his words only now catching up to him, and his shoulders fell with a sigh. He looked over his shoulder at Michael, his dark eyes apologetic. “Don’t tell him.”

Michael glanced at the corridor again. “You were there that day?”

“Keep your voice down!” he hissed, glancing towards the bedroom, too. “Look, Alex never knew, okay? I did a stint as an army surgeon for a while, and I got pretty good. Good enough to be the first to hear about a familiar name with a bullet in his leg.” He shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as though trying to expel the memory. Michael, for the first time, was listening to him intently. “I jumped at the opportunity. Fought for it. Alex was unconscious the whole time I was in that room, I only know about his reaction . . . or his lack of it . . . because I hounded the nurses about it. I knew he’d . . .” he swallowed thickly, “I knew he’d have a rough time when he woke up. I wanted to stay right next to him, I swear, I wanted him to know he wasn’t alone, but . . .”

Michael nodded. If Alex had woken up and seen someone he’d known last as his bully, one of the first people to ever really break his heart, it would’ve made an already soul-crushing situation infinitely worse. Michael was in no mood to insult or mock, mostly because he would’ve given anything for Alex to have been happy to see Kyle there, to at least know he had a friend who actually cared at his side. And partly because he didn’t think he could claim he would’ve made Alex any happier being there himself. Not with the way they’d left things.

“Don’t tell him,” Kyle repeated, quieter this time, the plea evident in his voice. Michael just shook his head, the only reassurance he was willing to give, and Kyle hugged his mug with both hands, relieved.

Michael wanted to pretend he wasn’t telling Alex because he was jealous that Kyle had been there and he hadn’t, or that he couldn’t be bothered to care about Kyle’s secrets, but the truth was . . . he was grateful. He was so grateful that Kyle, at least, was there. That whether Alex knew it or not, he had had someone who cared enough to be there.

“M’gonna go wake him up,” he said. “You’re checking his leg before we eat.”

“Obviously,” Kyle said with a bit of impatience, whatever weird tension that had existed between them officially gone. Michael went down the hall and quietly opened their bedroom door to find Alex still dozing softly, wrapped around Michael’s pillow, unable to sleep without Michael’s sent surrounding him.

Despite the turmoil of emotion swirling in his chest, a soft smile tugged at Michael’s lips. He knelt on the edge of the bed, the one movement alone enough to make Alex’s eyes flutter.

“Mm mm?” was all Alex could manage.

Michael leaned down on his elbow beside him, brushing his hair back from his brow and pressing faint kisses from his warm temple down to his chin, sliding a hand up his spine as Alex melted deeper into the bed instead of waking properly.

“Kyle’s here, babe.”

“Hmm?”

“Kyle’s here.”

“Hmm.” He nodded, his cheek squished against the pillow. “I’ll get up, gimme a sec.”

Michael’s heart was about to burst out of his chest. The Alex he knew would be up and out of bed, ready for the day the very second his eyes opened. The fact that his husband felt safe and loved enough these days to enjoy his few moments of peace meant the world to Michael. It meant he was doing this husband thing right.

“Okay,” Michael laid down properly next to him. “I’ll wait with you then.”

              He smiled sleepily. “No, Michael, go wait with Kyle.”

              “Yeah,” he scoffed, “like that’ll happen.” Their smiles lasted all of a few minutes, then Michael asked, “Why didn’t you tell me about your leg hurting?”

              At this, Alex’s eyes opened a sliver, quietly studying Michael’s face. “Honestly?”

              Michael frowned, cupping Alex’s jaw. “Yeah, Private, honestly.”

              He shrugged a shoulder. “I didn’t notice. I’m so used to limping, to the exhaustion, to the migraines . . . I didn’t even realize the source of the pain was my leg until Kyle came over to Deep Sky yesterday. He took one look at me, told me to sit down for a minute, and then the next thing I knew, I . . . couldn’t stand back up.” His eyes shut, and a self-deprecating chuckle escaped him. “It’s scary sometimes, thinking that someday I . . . might not . . . be able to . . .”

              “Hey,” Michael cupped his jaw, “if that ever happened, I’d carry you everywhere on my back. I only care that you’re here, Alex.” He slid a hand to the nape of Alex’s neck. “And I know that’s all Valenti cares about.”

              Alex raised a brow, his smile small but returned. “Did you just compliment Kyle?”

              Michael made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat, but as Alex laughed, he couldn’t help but watch him and think of that day so many years ago now, when Alex had lain asleep in a hospital bed, not knowing that when he woke up, he’d find a part of himself gone forever. Not knowing that he’d had a friend to hold his hand and fight to make sure that he would make it out of that hospital room.

              Michael hadn’t been able to really hate Kyle for a long time. Now, knowing he’d saved his husband, he didn’t think he’d ever stop being thankful to him—

              “GUERIN!” Kyle’s muffled voice sounded from inside. “STOP MAULING HIS FACE AND LET HIM GET OUT OF BED SO I CAN CHECK ON HIS LEG ALREADY!”

              “Son of a bitch!” Michael sat up, glaring at the door. “Does he want me to kill him?!”

              “No one’s killing anybody,” Alex groaned as he sat up, already in better spirits with his cheeks pink and smile soft and amused and so, so loving. “I’m coming!” he called back, and suddenly hissed, doubling over his leg and automatically grabbing Michael’s shoulder in a vicelike grip.

              “Hey, hey,” Michael wrapped him in his arms and held on tight. “You’re okay, it’s okay.”

              “I-I know,” he managed through clenched teeth, his face pressed to Michael’s collarbone. “Just . . . stay here for a second.”

              Again, the image of Alex alone in his hospital bed came to mind, and Michael tightened his hold on him. “I’m not going anywhere, Private. You’re not alone.”

[skaruresonic]

Crusher partly left because they no longer felt part of the Sonic fandom due to the direction the franchise is going. That and their fanfiction often got ignored, unless they talked about discourse which is not fair.

But I don't think the harassement is just one-sided. I have seen plenty of blogs talking badly about Sonic fans for not sharing the same opinion. Like calling a Fan the R-slur because they said they loved a character from sonic idw on Twitter. You know the people that do that. You follow them to.

...We're really gonna play this game today? "Random says the R word sometimes so that means you're no innocent"? Yeah, no shit. I know I'm an asshole. I have never made that a secret. What you're seeing is me at the very end of the damns I have left to give after years of trying to give my harassers the benefit of the doubt.

To be brutally honest, I no longer care. My sympathy for them has, quite frankly, dried up, because when people claim you're playing victim for bringing up that it's fucked-up to be told your dead mom is burning in hell, it jades you. It hardens your heart.

Crusher's harassment is regrettable and I don't blame him one bit for jumping ship when he did. He seems a lot happier in his new position.

I have my own life to live too, you know, and at the risk of sounding callous, having your stuff ignored is not just a Crusher problem. Do you care that I just graduated Year Two of our language program? Do you care that in a month or so, the program will have published a children's book I illustrated? Do you care that I'm developing a visual novel quite literally all on my own?

I'm guessing the answer is "no" because it's not convenient to your belief that I'm a harasser. And maybe I am. Maybe I have become one.

There, you have my confession recorded in writing. Go check XDAmz's Twitter and see them gloat to their friends about it.

I am the one who motivates me, every single day, because nobody else will. And I'm not just being "woe is me" about it either because my aunt left graduation ceremony early; I receive very little support irl or online unless I ask for it, which I don't do because it feels like I'm burdening people.

In fact, my family doesn't encourage my language learning at all. They've shamed me for it, in so many words.

I don't think you realize how much effort it takes to self-study one of the hardest languages to achieve fluency in when you have vertigo so fucking bad that you can hardly do anything but lie in bed. In the words of Eminem, "Some days I just wanna call it quits, I feel like I'm surrounded by a wall of bricks." But I kept going because I couldn't afford not to. It's the same for creative endeavors, as with anything else.

I have sympathy for fic writers, especially in this current fannish climate where you're essentially shouting into the void. But at the same time, after a while, you really do have to take stock of your priorities and decide what's important to you. Engagement is nice and we could all stand to receive more recognition for our efforts, but it cannot be the engine that drives you.

This has been a recurring pattern in my life. I've learned that I can really only be my own cheerleader most of the time. Maybe it's this way for most people, maybe not, but that's just how it is for me.

On top of that, I feel guilty about not doing enough to support my friends' stuff while handling own stuff. So thanks for the reminder.

[colorfuldream]

Watched a really nice video about Island of the Slaughtered and in order to free my mind from it, I'll rant about it and give some headcanons

TRIGGER WARNING for death, torture, ghosts/malevolent spirits, light SA mention/talk at the very end (it'll be in bold to be easier to notice! It starts after "Based on your thoughts about Heather, the text will take on new meanings yet work").

So, it's rare for writing to scare me. However, for some reason, this did give me a fright. Maybe the way the YouTuber read it, or perhaps the music and ambiance he added, is why I was hyper-vigilant while showering but the concept itself is terrifying when you think about it. 15 people died! You'd think that the kill count would stop, that they would survive for longer, but they don't. Even smart or athletic characters get caught... And for the dumbest reasons. Exactly like teenagers. They all make mistakes yet, somehow, this is barely their fault. They couldn't have planned it. They couldn't have known. The killer is almost omnipotent, it's like they can smell whenever there's an opportunity. They don't seize the simple moments of weakness (like how they didn't keep watch or, at least, only had one person which is exactly how Harold managed to sneak out and get killed), they wait until they can get that perfect chase or opportunity to torture the campers.

I feel like the sheer number of victims is what gets me. It's so easy to assume that they're all competent enough to survive a little longer. What makes it hit harder is that the last footage of those poor teens is the beginning of TTI up to Ezekiel's death. Imagine seeing the beginning of a horror movie composed of your loved ones and not knowing how it ended or, worse, learning that they were a victim, brutally killed, and you can't even have the body back. A whole month. That's how long it took for someone to go help them. Everyone knew. And no one did anything. Fucking Chris McLean ended up doing it. The same man who abandoned them, got them into this mess, and refused to say where the island was located.

Now, some headcanons before I overthink two of the deaths:

The canon serial killer and the one in this AU cohabit in the island. Maybe on good terms too. Our buddy with the hook and the chainsaw is just chilling, maybe helping out a little his mate, but enjoying the show. The chainsaw used for Heather might even be his! What a good pal.

The ghosts see each other as they were before their deaths. Be it that they're imagining it or that they can manifest a not-scary look. Owen and Geoff are forced to stay close but they really don't mind!

They don't really care for Chris's helpers. Sure, they were angry and disliked them, throughoutly tormenting them, but they weren't the target. They likely could have killed them, as the helpers probably accidentally broke some rules, but they were pawns to torment and scare Chris further. At some point, they begin to leave them alone as they realize that the helpers are their age... They're like them. Chris brought two more teenagers on an island with a serial killer, a monster who dismembered Ezekiel, with no experience and no actual weapons. Fuck, they're normal teens. What are they doing here?! This just angered the ghosts even more and cemented their desire to take revenge against Chris.

As long as Chris doesn't realize that he broke some rules, they let it go. Those are only here to scare him and make him squirm. To make him know that they're here at all times, watching, waiting for him to slip, loathing him.

While it's canon that the ghosts are fine with the survivors unless you've slighted them, they won't impose their rules and haunt you. They'll maybe taunt you and be here, reminding you that they died partly because of you, but they won't do much. For example, Trent will simply check in on Gwen. Her guilt is already enough and he doesn't have it in him to cause her more remorse. However, the sound of his voice as he sings into the night, kills her inside. He doesn't mean to but she's being eaten alive at not being able to get him out —even though she would have died with him if she stayed or manager to free him and they both know it. Noah, on the other hand, will glare at Duncan and make snippy remarks whenever he's trying to give out instructions. He'll question his choices and at every hint of annoyance, simply raise an eyebrow and in his classic tone say "really?" which guilts Duncan enough for his taste. He also chirps in when Duncan inevitably realizes that he was right about some of the directions, the bitter realization that they were both wrong and right about some things, that this was a misunderstanding and they were both too stubborn to work it out, that Noah could have survived if he hadn't been a jerk. All Noah had to say was "told you so" and Duncan would dig his nails into his palms at the cruelty he had displayed.

The reason why the ghosts didn't get the killer immediately is because they didn't know the limits to their powers and they were scared. Simple as that.

To add onto that, they used Chris as bait to make sure everyone else got out safe. They made Chris's death longer and more painful than anything they had gone through before immediately killing the murderer. That or they then tormented them until they died, either of natural causes or of fright.

Time for me to overthink two of the deaths!

My choice is Ezekiel and Heather. Ironically, they're the beginning and the end, both pictured as innocent and young.

Quick note for both of them but the ghosts may look like that because that was their last state as living. Yeah, I'm implying that they were dismembered alive.

Ezekiel:

I LOVE the writing for his discovery. It comes across as child-like, even when it comes to his corpse. You could say I love it to bits.

It's easy to forget that he was a sheltered kid after everything that happened in the canon. Here, he's portrayed as sweet and so, so much like a child. Someone who didn't deserve it.

He was an easy target. He might not even have noticed that anything was amiss until it was too late.

It would take time to find every part of his body. Did the crew search for him before setting off? I doubt it. They likely put things together quick and bailed, never finding his every piece.

A small detail that came up was that the hole Katie hid in might have been the one where his arm was. I like to think it was and she had to bite back her scream. The killer could have thought that they didn't need to search for her, she'd abandon her friend and get back to safety or if she didn't, she'd have screamed her head off at finding a rotting arm as she tried to hide.

His rule is the most interesting part to me. Chris will have to search for his body once but then he will simply have to run to them every time afterwards... And that's the last thing you want to do when there's a killer on the loose! It's also very, very fun for a video game. All the rules are! The art not being too scary either would make it very good. Anyhow!

If Chris needs to bring them back together, it's even more horrifying. Would he need to carry them with him in case Ezekiel wants to bother him? Do they go back to their original places and he needs to do everything every time?

Picture his voice. It isn't scary. Yet it would make it so much more eerie and unsettling. While true for every victim, his ghost doesn't even look scary. Again, it's child-like. And with everything else, it makes a wonderful picture.

Heather:

I love EVERYTHING about this one. The reference, the call backs to the canon... The writing!

I'll keep the latter for the end as it will tackle more sensitive content.

God, the way she's the last warning. Threatening. Vengeful. Exactly how she was in canon and how Chris perceived her.

The fact that she was found by the two most important people to her character! Iirc, Gwen found her head which is a shame since it's a reference to when Leshawna (sorry for the spelling guys) stuck her inside of the fridge.

The way she was grabbed by her ponytail! It's the way she wore her hair in latter seasons.

Off with her head for the queen bee. The stereotypical mean, popular girl.

Now for the writing: This was a straight-up call-out to her haters. I LOVE LOVE LOVE the way it directly calls Chris, and us, out. She was a kid. She was terrified, begging, small and alone as she was killed. It makes sure we get that. We know her as a mean girl but she was a girl. She didn't deserve it. The way her suffering was highlighted, showing that she was crying like a young kid, compared to the others' was well-written and hit harder than the rest. It can even imply that Heather pretended to be meaner than she was for the show. It's a valid theory for the canon, she was cunning and she knew it made her memorable. But that meant that Chris truly thought she was. Based on your thoughts about Heather, the text will take on new meanings yet work.

Last trigger warning for SA:

"She was pretty". Amazing. Perfect. That, by itself, tells me that the creator is a very good writer and knows how horror works.

Listen. Listen up well. The SA headcanon isn't bad. Is it gross? Yes. The entire AU is. SA is. However, we've grown desensitized to murder and gore. Not SA. It still feels horrible and outrageous. That's why it works and makes for good horror. BUT! The thing is not to overdo it. Not say too much, not use it too much. Especially not as a fetish.

Here, it's done perfectly. Yes, she's a minor. They all are and most got brutally murdered. So a creepy murderer isn't that bad.

The implications that he kept her head because he found her pretty are amazing. It makes her fate so much more tragic. It brings a new level of cruelty and disgusting to her death. We know that he doesn't have pure intentions. Just staring at her frozen head is horrible enough. We know the way he looks at her, how he sees her. It also raises the question why. Why her? Canonically, most of the girls are pretty. Lindsey, in particular, was the most beautiful. Was it because Heather cried and begged? Was it because he had disfigured the others before he could notice their looks? Is it because he found that "submitting her" made her better? (Which is incidentally a real thought process r*p*sts have. Some like to bring some people down a peg by doing those awful things, hating how they felt inferior because their poor victims didn't look at them or at the world "right".)

It's a real question and worry that this simple like brings. It brings a real, scary subject we aren't desensitized to just yet into this and enhances the horror. It doesn't say too much, it isn't insensitive. We won't ever know what the killer would/will do. We just know he's a vile piece of shit on every level.

It's also a huge contrast to how child-like Heather was described as and how it was hammered into our heads. It's said so simply, almost like another child would say. "Oh she's pretty". It isn't said in a gross way! That's very good writing. It keeps the same tone. It's almost eerie with how simple and factual it is.

That headcanon exists (and might be popular, I don't look at the fandom) because the line and implications are there. Horror should make you uncomfortable and that's what this does. Of course, personally, I wouldn't say the killer did anything. But, he might have planned to. He might have after the body was discovered. It wasn't like the campers had the time to bury their friends or would fathom that this monster thought Heather was pretty.

It all depends on the delivery and of course some edgelords will be insensitive and approach it terribly. I think the actual AU did it exactly how it should be done.

The entire Heather section was done as best as it could ever be.

[amethystina]

I was casually rereading whtd, as one does, and reading the comments (because i love the extra insight you give about the information that we're limited to in Ga On's pov) when i stumbled upon this comment: "… sort everything out? (and no one dies along the way, hopefully) He'll be very happy for them." about lawyer Ko and that in combination with the "minor character death tag" has made me Extremele worried about him. (plus you have also said that the kidnapping tag is not the one we should be worried about!!) I know you probably can't say anything about this because of spoilers, but know that it has been noted!!

Also kind of want a scene wherein lawyer Ko, Yo Han and Ga On are all together. Their dynamic would be so exquisite!! (obviously no pressure to actually write this, just a thought)

Anyway, whtd remains so good even after already having read and reread it in its entirety at least 5 times (and some scenes/chapters much more than that) (my ao3 history says i've visited whtd 200 times… so uh. yeah. i'm normal). I love slow burn so much (to the point where most romance book leave me disappointed bc they MCs get together like 100 pages in), i just love reading/watching the build up of a relationship and you write it so well!

I guess i just wanted to thank you for writing! I hope you're doing well <3

I'm usually very careful not to spoil what's going to happen in future chapters but I'll make an exception this time and flat-out say that you don't have to worry — Lawyer Ko is not going to die. I would literally never forgive myself if I killed him xD Not to mention that you all would probably come for my head if I did. He's just too amazing to be killed off!

So, rest assured, he's not going to die :)

And there will be at least one scene with Ga On, Yo Han, and Lawyer Ko in the same room unless my plans change dramatically. Which they rarely do, but "rarely" isn't the same as "never" so we'll see. Truth be told, though, I'll probably try really hard to keep it because I totally agree — the dynamic would be SPECTACULAR. So yeah. Stay tuned for that, I guess? ;)

You've definitely read Who Holds the Devil more times than I have x'D At least in its entirety. I mean, I reread the chapters at least twice (often three or four times) but I rarely start from the beginning and read it all the way through. I did at the end of my long break last year to get back into the swing of it, but it's difficult to find the time for that since I always have to focus on the next chapter. Which is a bit stressful at times, I will admit, since it puts more pressure on me to remember things at the top of my head (or at least know where to look if I want to check any details) but I'm lucky enough to be blessed with a really good memory, so that helps.

Anyway, I'm so glad you're enjoying it 💜 I honestly didn't plan for the slow burn to be quite this slow when I started the fic, but I can't say I have any regrets. Much like you, I just enjoy it too much ;) There's something so incredibly satisfying about delving this deep into Ga On and Yo Han's feelings and slowly developing relationship. And I guess that's also why I can't help throwing out tidbits of information in the comments, since there's usually so, so much happening within this story that you readers don't see (especially within Yo Han's head).

And I'm still not sure how to handle the knowledge that some people read the comments specifically to find those tidbits. Like, I don't mind you doing so! Go right ahead! They're public and all that. But it kind of blows my mind that some of you are so interested in what I'm writing that you'll do that. It feels a bit surreal to me, but in a good way? Like I'm an ACTUAL writer or something xD

Anyway, thank you so much for this kind and supportive message 💜 I definitely needed it right now because things honestly aren't all that great. Partly because of overall exhaustion and restlessness — mostly due to work — but even more so since it's now been a month since I posted a chapter and the requests for me to please update soon are starting to come in. I swear, it happens like clockwork every time I don't post within a month. And, what makes it worse, is that it's often from people I don't see comments from when I actually DO upload more frequently. As in, they don't comment on the fic itself, only when they think I don't update fast enough. Which is pretty disheartening, not going to lie.

Tragically enough, once the month mark passes, I have to start bracing myself whenever I get a comment or ask because there's now a 50/50 chance that it'll be someone asking me to update soon. They usually try to be nice about it, but it kind of always fails.

So, again, thank you for this. Because while I know that I should take my time and update on my own schedule, it's not always easy to remember that when people start asking me why it's taking so long. This was a nice change of pace and I'm very grateful for your kindness. Thank you 💜

[stevie-evans]

Closing Time

Who: Stevie Evans and Delilah James When: June 9, 2024 Where: 'Sip N' Time's Cafe Triggers: none Notes: Stevie talks to Delilah about his crush... 🙈

Stevie -Stevie went through the closing checklist. This is out of habit than actually using it. He tosses down a series of check marks and only had to sweep and mop before calling it a night. He lifted the receiver and pressed the conference button as a means to speak to Delilah over the store speaker instead of dialing her in the store’s office. “Hey boss. All I have left is the cafe sweep and mop. I should be done and ready to go in 20 minutes.” His finger removed from the button and Stevie grabbed the broom and dust pan and set to work moving chairs and tables to give the cafe a good sweep.

Delilah - The store had been closed for the last twenty minutes, and while Stevie cleaned up, Delilah went to go count the money in the back office. They'd surpassed last years earnings, and the year before that. Every time she used the green highlighter it made her surge with pride. Her little store was doing well thanks to all those that worked there. She'd just finished up doing the daily count when she heard Stevies voice over the PA system. A chuckle tumbled past her lips and Delilah got up, exiting the office. "Youve not got to stay, love" she yelled, wandering through the store to find him. " You can go home, I'll finish the clean up. You've done more than enough for today."

Stevie -With a song playing through a wireless bud, Stevie did quick work with the broom. He hum sang an old 50s song when Delilah’s voice barely pushed through the song’s instrumental break. “It’s fine. Truly. I want to make sure tomorrow’s opener has a clean cafe. Besides, this is a part of my work duties, boss.” He said with a charming smile. Stevie paused the music as it was rude to keep it going while they spoke. He returned to sweeping. “How’d the store do today?” He casually questioned, partly because he was proud of this place and wanted it to succeed. He sees firsthand the amount of work Delilah puts into it.

Delilah - "I know it's part of your work duties, but I can clean up." She replied, grabbing the dust pan and a hand broom, picking up what Stevie had begun to clean up. "We did really well, we made $800 more than last year. I'm quite proud - hence me trying to get you off early" she replied with a chuckle, glancing up at him. "Everything ok for you today?"

Stevie - They worked together, which came easy as it’s not their first time closing shop. Stevie went to get the mop bucket and set to work in the far corner. “That’s amazing, Delilah! Do you think that boost is from the Founder’s Day boost? I overheard several people raving about the pastries, especially the chocolate chip cookies.” He spoke and mopped in unison. “Remember that one woman who orders the dirty chai with a pump of mocha? I hadn’t seen her in a month. She surprised me this afternoon and said she’s been away taking care of her sister. She has left a big house in her late grandfather’s will and went to help move. Can you believe that? It sucks she lost her grandfather, but now I have this image of an old Victorian house filled with spirits and secret passages.” He said, reaching where Delilah was with the broom. Stevie eyed her for a quiet moment and then smiled, shaking his head slowly. “I was just thinking…” he started, then changed his mind. “It’s probably best I don’t bring this up while I’m technically on the clock.”

Delilah - She considered his question for a moment and shrugged, "Anything's likely at this point. I reckon the booth helped a bit, but our hard work has helped immensely." She replied, focusing on cleaning up the floor as best she could. Delilah listened to Stevie speak. She remembered the patron he was talking about, and pursed get lips. "Next time she's in we best be sure to give her a free coffee. I might ask for pictures of the place though, I've always been partial to a Victorian." She myself with a chuckle, dumping the collection of dirt in a waste bin before looking at Stevie, a brow arched, "Well, now you've got to say it. You can't just begin saying something only to stop!"

Stevie - True, it can be an amalgamation of reasons. Whatever it may be, it brought a smile to his boss’s features, something Stevie enjoyed. “If you’re in, I’ll tell you, but I’ll make sure she gets that freebie no matter what. Can’t have you miss out on that Victorian.” Stevie stuck his foot in this mouth and wished he could return that minute. Delilah’s eyes on him caused Stevie to falter momentarily. With a steadying breath, he stopped his mop job and casually clasped the long pole with his two hands. “I wasn’t trying to bait you by starting and stopping. My mind and mouth sometimes don’t sync. I think it’s a family trait.” He laughed, nerves tried to swoop in, but Stevie curtailed it. “It’s about that crush admission. I feel I need to apologize for it. It wasn’t appropriate of me. You’re my boss. Don’t places usually frown upon that kind of…I don’t know. Behavior?”

Delilah - A bright grin formed on her features at Stevies statement. He was a good egg, and she appreciated him and his hard work. " Why thank you kind sir," she replied with a chuckle, hoping that the patron came in when they were both working so they could get more of a story. Part of Delilah wondered if the house was haunted now that she knew it was a Victorian. They always seemed to have some sort of tragic past. Stevie stopping his movements had her pausing, head cocking to the side. As he spoke, her cheeks depend to a deep red. She had just been teasing him, and she'd regretted it after mentioning it. She didn't have an HR department, and she didn't want Stevie taking her texts the wrong way. Even if he was a very handsome guy. "Stevie... You don't have to apologize." She began, putting the dustpan and hand held broom down. "It's not like you were openly checking me out at work, or asking me out...Besides I'm your boss, I shouldn't have texted you the way I did, even if I was just teasing you. I suppose I just got a little carried away with it.

Stevie - “I felt I needed to. I’m glad you weren’t offended or wanted to move me to the back room to deal with inventory all day, so you don’t need to see me.” So, she was teasing him because she didn’t see him that way? Stevie wanted to question it, but this could lead to that awkward place he was trying to prevent. He likes Delilah, and he likes this job. It’s one of the better ones he’s had since ever. “I didn’t mind the texting. I found your reaction to it cute.” He admitted, giving her a sheepish smile. “I meant what I said with my answer; anyone who gets to know you as I have will see how incredible you are.” Even though he feels internally deflated, she doesn’t see him like that; Stevie knows that whoever she likes will be one lucky person.

Delilah - She waved a hand at him "I wouldn't banish you, Stevie." She replied, blue eyes assessing him. There was something in his gaze that had her wanting to furrow her brow. That though ght however, was quickly extinguished when he admitted to finding her reaction cute, the pink hue of her cheeks deepening. "You really are very sweet and good, you know that right?" Her heart felt like it was in her throat. She wasn't trying to flirt or give him mixed signals. Her feelings were all over the place what with Ethan coming back into her life, maybe if Stevie didn't work for her she'd give him a chance. The last thing she wanted was to lose him as a friend and coworker. "You do realize that the sentiment goes for you too, right? I'm quite shocked that you're single all things considered. I mean, you're so sweet, and charming, and just - look at you!" She bit down on her bottom lip, "Sorry, as your boss I need to not say that kind of thing. Just know that anyone who meets you should be honored. I know Im honored to know you."

Stevie - “This makes me happy to hear. I like the backroom crew. They’re cool people, except Joann runs a tight ship, and I don’t know the ins and outs. She’ll have me out and on my butt in a matter of minutes.” Stevie laughed. The blush on Delilah’s cheeks brought out the sparkling sapphire in her eyes, and Stevie secretly marveled at her beauty before snapping out of it. Sweet and good. These are the perfect words to describe Stevie, and he can’t tell if these words bother him at that moment because, yes, he’s those two things, but Stevie also wants to be seen as desirable. Even captivating. He wants to display the traits he’s read in countless stories where characters swoon in their intended presence. However, his self-confidence hit with the demise of his last relationship, leaving Stevie in a quiet, protective bubble. “I can say the same about you. My last relationship left me feeling like I wasn’t enough. I haven’t been able to get past it, I guess.” He shared. What harm can there be with doing so when he’s already admitted his crush? “I know. It’s okay. This situation with my crush on you isn’t exactly ideal. I think a secret HR person will appear out of the coffee machines and ask what’s happening.” He laughed at the visual. “It’s cool if you don’t see me like that. Or if you do, but the timing sucks or whatever the reason is. I just wanted you to know you’re crush-worthy. 100%.”

Delilah - A laugh passed her lips upon hearing Stevie speak. He was always cracking her up in one way or another, and that was one of the things she liked most about him, his humour and his ease around people. “She’s hard but good, I’m grateful for her even if she can drive me mad.” They really should have been cleaning, but Delilah couldn’t help but feel like getting to know Stevie and really listening to him was far more important. Besides, she lived above the store, she could pop down whenever and finish cleaning up. Her heart clenched slightly at his words. She knew that pain all too well, and it broke her heart to know that someone would do that to Stevie. Her first instinct was to wrap him in a hug but that wasn’t appropriate. Even if she desperately wanted to. “Look, I’ll start by saying this - your last partner was a bloody wanker for making you ever feel like you’re not enough. And there’s definitely no HR person because what I’m about to say would get me fired from my own job no doubt -“ she began, cheeks aflame. “It’s not that I would be opposed to anything Stevie. You’re kind and charming, and easy to talk to and so so handsome. I’ve just got a lot going on and I rather value you as a friend” she managed to get out, running a hand through her blonde hair. “I just wish that you could see you the way I, and undoubtedly many other people do. You’re amazing. If your ex ever shows up you let me know, and I’ll set them straight.”

Stevie - Delilah's store has a good mix of employees, all eager to watch the shop thrive. When Stevie applied for the job, he was still working late nights at a diner and in dire need of a change. Now, all these months later, he feels as if he's part of something important—not just for a paycheck but to watch a dream flourish. Stevie couldn't anticipate the direction this conversation would take when he brought up the whole crush topic, but now he felt guilt pit in his stomach. Stevie's not a woe-is-me sort, and he doesn't want Delilah to feel she needs to protect him from his cheating ex. Yet, the sentiment does chip at the guilt and he breathed a sigh. "If she shows up in Bearcreek again, I don't think you'll need to worry. She and I are ancient history. I don't even miss her anymore." He missed the friendship they once had, but that ended as soon as she told him about the other guy she slept with. Stevie's eyes settled on Delilah's blushed cheeks again, curious if his face was as red as hers because it felt hot. He's embarrassed and wishes he didn't bring any of this up. "Of course. I-I should have realized all of this was out of the question. I value our friendship too, Del. You're one of the few people in this city I talk to daily. None of that small talk." He knows she gets his meaning. "Are things okay? With what's going on in your life?" He remembered the mop in his hand and lifted it to place it back into the bucket. No matter how awkward he feels, he'll put his friendship with Delilah first.

Delilah - The store was her pride and joy, it was a miracle that it was still running so well, and she had to thank her employees for being so amazing. Without them the store wouldn’t be half as successful. “I have to worry about it a bit, I care about you.” She replied, lips pursed. Even if he didn’t kiss his ex anymore, the fact that someone had hurt him caused Delilah to feel protective. Even if she didn’t really have a full right to. It wasn’t that it was out of the question, but there were other factors at play that Delilah normally wouldn’t have to worry about. In a perfect world she might have teased him a bit more, even kissed him, but they didn’t live in one of those. “I consider you one of my closest friends, you know that.” Talking with him was easy. Comfortable even. Her mind immediately went to thoughts of her conversation with Ethan, and all the complexities that came with that particular relationship. “Someone I thought would be a part of my life in a certain serious way and then left… is now back. I’m not sure if you remember Ethan, but he’s back and it’s a rather big cock up.”

Stevie - As much as this conversation pains him, Stevie's thankful for it. For starters, they're speaking about it like adults, something he's not too surprised about, given how he and Delilah typically talk to one another. The thing is, once Delilah mentioned Ethan, Stevie's demeanor changed. He abandoned the mop in its bucket and faced her. "Oh..." he said at first as his gaze focused on Delilah's features and body language to gauge what this return meant to her. "Have you talked to him about what happened between you?" He asked and went to take the chairs down and offered Delilah to sit, Stevie taking the one opposite her. "How are you handling this?" Stevie said he would be okay if his ex returned, but that doesn't mean a storm of tumultuous emotions wouldn't brew underneath the surface.

Delilah -To say she was a bit of a mess about everything would be an understatement. Ethan leaving and torn something out of her that she was only just mending, only for him to walk back into her life. She sat down opposite Stevie, grateful that he still wanted to talk to her even though she didn’t exactly fully return his feelings. “We talked yeah… He said that he realized he messed up, that he wants to settle down and make a life for himself.” She pursed her lips then, crossing her arms over her chest. She hadn’t fully opened up about the Ethan issue with anyone yet, scared to know how her friends would react. “I feel…. Confused. My feelings aren’t as gone as I thought they were, but I’m still quite hurt. We- don’t have to talk about this if it’s odd.” Guilt ebbed in her and she hoped she wasn’t making Stevie uncomfortable.

Stevie - With a sympathetic gaze, Stevie took hold of Delilah’s hand and clasped it between his much larger ones. “We can talk about as much or as little when it comes to Ethan. You mentioned the guy to me in passing, but I never got what happened. Is it okay for me to ask why he suddenly left? Did this happen when you lived here or elsewhere?” If it was elsewhere then Ethan deciding on Bearcreek to be the place to settle will seem as if he wants a second chance…

Delilah - She looked at their joined hands, taking slight pleasure in the fact that his hands practically consumed hers due to the size difference. Her blue eyes closed and she let out a small sigh. She really was grateful for him. “We were friends and then it got to be more and it got intense and it was like we were dating? And I guess it went too hard too fast for him and he left.” She looked up at Stevie then, “it happened here, so he’s come home. So I can’t be too mad about him coming home but…” her smaller hand squeezed the hand clasped with hers. “I’ll be grand, I just have to take some time.”

Stevie -It’s as if a puzzle piece clicked in, and Stevie sees why Delilah is careful for anything to transpire between them. She’s already been through this with a friend, and the aftermath left her without that close connection with Ethan that she once had. It slightly pained him, but he’ll be okay. But will she with this current situation? She says she’ll be, but Ethan’s the one who left her when things got too serious. Stevie would struggle with that if he’s in Delilah’s shoes. “Has he mentioned trying to pick up where you left off?”

Delilah - Her chat with Ethan had been in her mind on repeat, the only thing that was distracting her was work. Though it felt nice to talk about it with Stevie, it was still fresh and hard to wrap her head around. “He has, but I’m not ready for that. I dont really fancy getting my heart broken again. I’ve told him I’m down to being friends and getting to know one another again, but as of right now I’m protecting myself… do you think that’s the right course of action?”

Stevie - “He wants to pick up where he left off with the more-than-friends part.” Stevie asked after he realized he wasn’t clear with the initial question. “I-“ He paused to think about this. What would he do? Could he return to a friend with his last ex? He was able to with exes before her, but the last one brutalized his heart. “I think you’ve made the right choice. Trying to pretend he doesn’t exist and avoid him at all costs isn’t realistic. It sounds like you have things to work through if restoring that friendship is important for you and him. But it’ll get tricky not to fall back into the familiarity of how good things felt when it was more than friendship.” They’re adults; there’s no point in pretending sex doesn’t happen. He’s stupidly fallen into that with his ex when she returned to visit her family over Christmas.

Delilah - A slow nod came from her at his words. The affirmation that she was doing the right thing was welcome. Even if it was probably hard for Stevie to hear what she was saying. Delilah had to admit that it would be difficult to not fall into patterns with Ethan. She had needs, and seeing him even with all the pain brought back passion filled memories. “I will admit that’s what I’m most afraid of. I have a hard time withholding from myself when it comes to … certain aspects of being more than friends so, I will most likely just be working much, much more to mitigate that.” Delilah squeezed his hand again and offered him a small smile. “You really are very good Stevie. I’m so lucky to know you… thank you for listening to me and not pushing me away when I teased you about your crush.”

Stevie - You’ll do great, Delilah. I know you’ll at least try your best. If there’s a slip, don’t do what I did and beat yourself up for months.” Stevie’s one to find things he likes about other people. The beauty in it. However, it takes a lot for him to fall head over heels, so he keeps gravitating towards an ex who wronged him in the worst way. The hand squeeze brought Stevie back, and he hoped it wouldn’t be too painful to see Delilah with someone else, wishing it was him instead. “Hey,” he said, his voice low yet sincere. “That’s what friends are for, yeah? We can talk about anything. Which includes teasing.” He offered a sweet smile and soon let go of her hand. “I better finish this mop job, and before you offer, I’ll take care of it, Del. You’ve been on your feet all day.”

Delilah- Her blue eyes assessed him, knowing that even despite his words, if she did slip up with Ethan that she'd most likely be chastising herself for a while afterwards. It was just human nature. She offered him a small smile, hoping that despite his crush, they could always remain friends. losing his friendship wasn't something Delilah really wanted to experience. "You finish up the mopping and get out of here, I've kept you far too late. I've got to go tidy up the freezer." She replied, attempting to not dwell on how cold she felt after Stevie let go of her hand.

Stevie - At least Delilah didn’t insist on finishing his mop job. “You got it, boss.” He said, lifting the two chairs onto the table again. Stevie watched as Delilah left, feeling an instant pang of loneliness. Why is it so hard for him to get out and date? It feels the few relationships he’s had were with people he’d grown close to, and their absence from his life sucks. Reaching out to his most recent ex is a mistake, but he’s someone he used to turn to about everything, and he doesn’t want to talk to Delilah about his feelings after the talk they just had. Stevie shook his head and set himself to work. Maybe he’ll go to Troubletones after work and put himself out there. Or he can talk to Sam about dating app advice. Something is better than nothing.

[vinylvenom]

Kobra jogged over to the counter, putting his ray gun on charge. He always felt unsettled after any kind of conflict, especially a clap. As he moved, his rosary beads fell out of his pocket. Poison picked them up.

“Mikey.” they said.

“What?” Kobra’s reply was harsh, as if his city name had came out of the mouth of someone other than his sibling. It stung.

Poison handed him back the rosary, each wooden bead intricately carved with a rose. “You dropped it. I know you'd be upset if you lost it, but I can't work out why you kept a symbol of a god you never had faith in."

“It belonged to our grandma. Why wouldn’t I?"

When thier grandmother had passed, Poison's misery had been palpable. They'd shut themself in thier room for days on end, not opening the curtains, only leaving at night to drink and stumble home in the morning, woozy. Kobra had thought of all people, Poison would understand.

She was just as special to you as she was to me, Gerard.” Kobra noticed that Poison didn’t react to thier city name at all.

Just because you never had faith, doesn't mean I was the same, Kobra thought.

“Don’t lie to me like that. I’ve seen you praying.” Poison replied.

“Bullshit.” Kobra snapped back.

Poison frowned at him. They never yelled at Kobra, and that was maybe what pissed him off the most. Despite the whole killjoy thing, they were still ever-peaceful Gerard, preferring to talk things out rather than fight about them.

Partly, Kobra hated himself, for how angry, how defensive he was towards everything. Years of bullying in the city, the oppressive regime of it all and then years of scraping together something resembling survival had done this to him. No matter how much his sibling or his friends had tried to help, he still felt bitter about it. He didn't trust anything, but faith was what kept him going. He just wanted to believe in something.

Poison walked out of the room, quietly, sensing that thier younger brother was upset. They thought about staying, but decided for now giving him space would be the best solution.

Kobra tried to distract himself, but his thoughts were incessant. He felt so alone. Almost as lonely as he had when he'd stay behind when his sibling had gone out with thier older, cooler friends. He hated feeling this way, so cut-off from everything that brought him joy. He barely noticed it happening, but he started to cry soundlessly.

Poison walked back through the room, looking for the charger for thier ray gun. They had The Girl in tow, who was babbling to them about something excitedly but stopped when she entered the room, looking dead straight at Kobra. She tipped her head to the side, a strange, learned little mannerism, and tapped Poison on the shoulder, gesturing towards Kobra.

Poison briskly walked towards Kobra and The Girl, quick as ever, sprinted to Kobra and hugged him - her small arms wrapping around as much as him as she could. Poison sat next to Kobra, and leaned over to hug him, too.

“Mikey…” they began quietly.

Kobra sobbed. "G, I- Does this make me weak? Am I not good enough because I can't keep my emotions in check?

The Girl offered Kobra a small and soft, yellow, vaugely bear-shaped stuffed animal from her dungaree pocket. Kobra took it, ruffled her hair in appreciation and hugged it close.

Poison replied almost instantaneously. “No. Feeling is what seperates us from Better Living, where emotion is a symptom of the human condition that they ultimately want to break. You’re clearly hurting and I’m sorry that you feel this way. I'm here for you and I'll always care because you’re my brother, and I love you.”

Kobra sat in silence for a moment and then replied. “…I love you too.”

[yourtoradorasextendedwarranty]

Lack of Realization

Featured above you have 2 very prominent voices who used to be very much on the forefront of the Anti-SJW space. Now Heel in this clip raves like a lunatic. Probably partly annoyed but mostly probably playing it up a bit.

However what SBG and CRG have in common is the fact that they don't see the slow push. What do I mean by that? Well let's look back shall we.

In most games you could not chose your sex or anything else. You had and MC and you played as only that MC. Then when character creators came out, you could opt to be male or female. At some point it became "Transphobic" or "Sexist" to have "Male" and "Female" in games. SO NOW, we have "Body Type 1" and "Body Type 2" which serves the same exact purpose. So why change the language?

Now we have pronouns in games on top of "Body Type". Ok. So let me get this straight. You WANT to be the opposite sex as a trans person.....but when given the option, you want to ALSO make the character trans as well, rather than live out your dream with someone that LOOKS a lot like you but is the opposite sex? And there it is. There is the problem right there.

This has been a push over time to change games as we know it. What's more the game this is about, Star Field often actually misgenders your character which I think is hilarious. Not because I don't like trans people, but because it shows that it was ONLY put in as a virtue signal rather than something done out of principle. And it's really cheap as well. I don't want this crap in my games.

But Chris and Derek (some black guy) are so out of the loop, they don't see this put at all. And I get it. They have other stuff probably in their lives they care about and probably just don't really focus on content anymore, therefore don't care much to actually check what is going on with a lot of this stuff.

But it gets worse. Because it's not just in western games. It's also the fact that the ESG Bros™  have managed to get Japanese companies to start self censoring their games before they even push them over here. And one day, Japanese games will be the exact woke garbage that we have over here. We are basically exporting Neo Marxism overseas and I personally hate it. How long until it's in all media everywhere with the exception of the MOST hyper conservative cultures in the world. Which ironically enough are run by tyrants that want claim to want stability in their countries. And they eventually won't be able to keep it up economically and they will fail because communism always fails. As does tyranny.

But we need to understand what's going on here. Sure, taking "Male" and "Female" out of games is "Small" as it were. And now with this pronoun thing it's also "Small". But grains of sand make a heap. And how long until these people get kicked in the face "metaphorically" and realize that they are complacent in this. When "Moderate" lefties stop paying attention to what's going on things go south before they are ever able to react. And it makes me hope all media they love dies completely just so they can be like, "Wait what happened" just so I can rub it in their faces that they are morons.

Mind you, I don't want these assholes to win. At all. Even to prove a point. It's just a reminder that these people lost touch.

[nerves-nebula]

As a kid I noticed that no one liked the ends of bread loafs so I decided I wouldn’t let it go to waste or let anyone feel bad about not eating it. I also make myself milk shakes with bruised fruits, eat the icing no one wants off cupcakes for people & eat leftovers when I think whoever bought them must’ve forgotten about them. I often have to take a moment to decide if I can really handle these things (or to check if it’s truly unsuitable for consumption, I may tolerate stale bread but I will not eat mold… on purpose) & to prepare myself mentally to do so. I’m really good at acting like I’m just a silly goof tho so everyone thinks that I just really like eating weird things (which is partly true)

I was just wondering if any of the turtles might find themselves doing something like that. Raph would probably be the most likely, especially for the same reasons as me but I’ve also been seeing a lot of asks recently saying he has food sensory issues like Donnie? (Did you make a post about that because I feel like I’m missing something) I could also see Mikey having my weird food habits w/ how I cover it up

Ik your own sensory issues make answering food asks hard so don’t worry if you’re not sure how to answer this, just something I thought about yk?

i once drank like most of a cup of paint water. i dont remember why, i think it was an impulsive thing, and once i realized i'd been FORCED to eat worse tasting stuff I chugged it to make my friend laugh. then our teacher got freaked out cause like what if i just poisoned myself. not food, but an interesting story this reminded me of.

anyway, generally i tend to slot the turtles into these three categories when thinking about their relationships to food:

Will eat mostly anything: Raph (he's god food anxiety, if something can be considered Food he will eat it, possibly binge if there's too much, and hoard for later if he thinks he can), Mikey (enjoys food/isnt picky, will go out of his way to make food abominations to irritate/disgust his brothers)

Will eat a normal range of foods: Leo (probably the most normal attitude around food because she never starved as much as the others and he doesn't have a ton of sensory issues. still has some food anxiety & has trouble sharing, but she's pretty chill about it.)

Has a very strict set of safe foods: Donnie (a lot of sensory issues, a lot of being forced to eat things he cant stand, he has a lot of stress about being forced to eat new foods. if he tries something you say is good its likely that it means he trusts you- or at least cares enough about your opinion to give it a shot)

I don't remember everything I've said about the turtles, so it's possible I planned for Raph to have food sensory issues at some point but he doesn't as far as i remember. Honestly, his main stuff about food is bingeing, starvation, hoarding, not letting food go to waste, and his guilt about having cannibalistic intrusive thoughts.

Point is that it sounds like Raph would be closest to what you're doing here. Raph wouldn't wanna waste food EVER and he might even get triggered when other people do hah.

[angstyaches]

Hi! I just want to start off by saying I'm a really big fan of your writing. My fav is Charlie and Shayne 💜💜 Apologies in advance if I am not formatting this correctly. I'm not too familiar with Tumblr etiquette. This is my first ask! I would like to request a fluffy hunger/stomachache fic. The scenario I imagine is one of them is not taking care of themselves because of the demands of work/school. It's catching up with them via hunger pains. thank you for your consideration! -🦦💜

Thank you, lovely otter anon; this was a perfect request, and such a nice one to start off the new year. I hope I did it justice!

CW: prolonged hunger (unintentional), mention of food issues, stomach pain, stomach noises (onomatopoeic because I've been feeling it lately lol), brief embarrassment/flustering.

___

“I’m fed up of talking about college now,” Charlie sighed. “I want to know about you. How are you, lovely?”

Shrunk down to fit on a screen that Charlie could hold in the palm of his hand, Shayne seemed to be sitting at the desk in his bedroom at the Aldridges’, one side of his face lit more brightly than the other as the fading daylight drifted in through the net curtains. Charlie knew there were net curtains in Shayne’s room because he remembered thinking ‘who still puts up net curtains these days?’ 

“I’m okay,” Shayne said. “A bit tired after training with Ryan all week. Elliott’s not here and she’s taking all of her mentoring out on me.”

Charlie broke into a nervous half-smile and leaned back into his pillow. It was flat – standard issue for students who were availing of campus accommodation – and he kept meaning to steal a fluffier one from his parents’ house. His room was on the ground floor of the building, so in order to retain any amount of privacy from the outside, he had shut his curtains despite the early hour (oh, wait – maybe that was why people used net curtains?). The only light was from his desk lamp across the room, which made his face look a bit ominous on-screen.

The shadows seemed to elongate his weariness, carving it out of his pores and his cheekbones. He hoped the quality of the picture on Shayne's end was low-quality enough that he wouldn't notice.

“How long did you train for today?”

“I don’t know,” Shayne grumbled, pressing his fingers into his own shoulder as though working on a knot. “Like, a billion hours?”

“A billion hours, wow,” Charlie remarked. He licked his lips, guilt stirring in his gut as he prepared to ask; “Have you eaten today?”

Shayne made a slightly disgusted face, which Charlie luckily knew was only partly serious. He lowered his voice and his gaze, eyes landing anywhere but on the camera lens. “Yes, idiot.”

Charlie waited a second, just in case Shayne was planning on elaborating. It was never a good idea to push him for details, but on occasion, he offered them up freely.

“Sorry. I had to check.”

“It’s okay.”

The guilt still churned sickeningly in Charlie’s belly. He hated bringing up triggering topics and making his boyfriend uneasy – especially when he wasn’t actually there to try to comfort him – but tonight, the guilt was about more than that.

Charlie himself was struggling to think of a single time, in the past four days, where he’d sat down and had an actual meal.

Cookies and muffins were snatched up from the student union shop in between seminars; packets of crisps and jellies were slowly munched over the course of five-hour essay-writing marathons; the odd smoothie was slurped on during a lecture. The only hot form of sustenance – if you could even call it sustenance – he’d had was in the form of coffee. And the volume of coffee was an issue in itself, far exceeding the volume of water that had passed his lips that week.

Tonight was the first opportunity where he might have been able to put a frozen pizza in the oven, or boil some pasta, but even if Charlie hadn’t been too exhausted to stand in the kitchen that he shared with three other students he barely knew, he still wouldn’t have done it.

Because since early that afternoon, hours before he’d handed in his final assignment of the week, he’d had a horrible tummy ache.

Maybe it was the stress of the final weeks of the semester. Maybe it was the endless flow of coffee eating away at the lining of his stomach. Maybe it was both. Charlie didn’t know.

What he did know was that seeing Shayne’s face – even on his phone screen – made him feel marginally better. That was, at least, until he’d started questioning his poor boyfriend on his eating habits, like a hypocrite.

“What time are you going to your parents’ tomorrow?” Shayne asked, still not really letting his eyes focus on the camera. He was anxious to divert the conversation away from food, and Charlie was, too.

“I think I’m getting the train around ten past one. After my last seminar,” Charlie said. The pain in his belly swelled at the thought of spending the weekend and jumping into the following week without having seen Shayne at all. “Are you sure you can’t come? They’d love to see you. And obviously, I would, too.”

Shayne shook his head. “Sorry, love. Nancy is still saying it’s better for everyone if I keep laying low. You know, Ryan hasn’t even been taking me to the Green. We’ve been training in the basement.”

Charlie clicked his tongue and found his mouth and throat unexpectedly dry. Fear erupted at the core of his being, flickering nauseatingly, whenever he let his mind appreciate the fact that it was dangerous for Shayne to be without Nancy’s or Ryan’s protection. He couldn’t imagine how scary it must have been for Shayne to know that, too, and he immediately felt bad for trying to convince him to come out.

He eyed the bottle of water on his desk, which he’d purchased earlier in the week and then promptly forgot to avail of.

“Do say hi to them for me, though,” Shayne said, referring to Charlie’s parents.

“’Course I will.” Charlie heaved himself upright and slid to the edge of the mattress. God, his head felt heavy, and his cheek absolutely did not want to leave the pillow. He needed to grab that water, though. Maybe dehydration was also partly to blame for the dull, persistent spasms in his stomach.

He slumped back onto the bed, laying his phone down for a few seconds to unscrew the cap on his bottle. This left Shayne looking at the blank-white ceiling. Charlie took advantage of the few seconds of invisibility to rub his stomach, pressing his fingers deeply into his flesh. Hopefully, the firm, circular motion would relieve the pressure he could feeling building in his organs. If it was gas, or if something he’d snacked on was upsetting his belly, it was better to get things moving so the pain could fade.

As he took a drink, he could feel the room-temperature caress of the liquid trickling through his oesophagus and into his stomach. His belly let out a little glug, echoing the sound his throat made when he swallowed.

“Are you seeing Jonathan and Belle this weekend?” Shayne’s voice asked.

“I’m not sure, actually...” Charlie gasped and reached for his phone, his belly distress momentarily forgotten, brushed aside in a rush of excitement. “Oh – did I tell you that he and Nicole might be getting back together?”

“What – no?” Shayne exclaimed.

“Yeah! She’s going to be living at Jon’s three days a week for a while, just to see how it goes. Like a trial.”

“Fuck, Charlie, that’s so cool.” The softening look in Shayne’s eyes was palpable, even through the wall of pixels. That look made Charlie’s insides feel squishy. “I know you worry about Belle’s situation.”

“Yeah – I mean, I’m not saying non-conventional families can never work,” Charlie blurted out, not for the first time since he’d found out he had a niece. The rush of being able to tell Shayne the news about Jon and Nicole was quickly wearing off, and he felt his attention being drawn back to the ache in his stomach. At least he could continue rubbing it a bit while keeping his phone directed at his face and shoulders. “It’d just be nice to know that she’s always got two – ”

Grrllrrr.

“Um – two people around to depend on.” Charlie harshly cleared his throat. He felt the burbling of his stomach under his hand, through his hoodie. “And as – as much as he pisses me off, I want Jon to be happy, too, you know?”

Shayne narrowed his eyes. “Mmhmm. Are you okay? What was that face?”

Charlie blinked and pulled his hand away from his belly, in case Shayne could somehow sense that it was there. He reached for his bottle of water again. “What face?”

“I don’t know, I can’t do your faces.” Shayne rolled his eyes. “The one you make when you’re trying not to complain about something.”

“Oh. Well, my tummy hurts a little bit,” Charlie admitted in between sips.

That soft look didn’t really leave Shayne’s eyes, but he did frown and seem to peer a bit more carefully at Charlie through the screen. “Really?”

Charlie tried to force a half-smile. That look of concern was exactly what he'd been hoping to avoid. He lifted his bottle for another sip. His mouth was still dry, his head still felt a bit fuzzy, but the weight of the water was starting to make his stomach feel like it trying to fold itself in half. The pain was sharper now, in that pinpricked way that felt as though shifting position might relieve it.

"I'm sure it's just the stress leaving..." Charlie's voice faltered.

Ggglllrrrrrrnnngrrrrr.

"Leaving my body," Charlie finished. That last gurgle had built all the way up into a full-fledged growl, pinching the walls of his stomach together. He felt like a deflating balloon that had just lost the last remnants of its air.

“What was that?” Shayne demanded.

Shit. Charlie's head felt like it might explode. “What?”

“You made another face.”

“You – you didn’t hear that?” Charlie swallowed. He really needed to get these alleged faces under control. Their phones must have been good at drowning out background noise, even if it was coming from close-by. “My stomach just made this… huge noise.”

“That's what that was?"

Charlie let his phone drop onto the mattress and curled himself up into a ball, scooping his pillow into his arms and burying his face in it.

“I thought it was, like, a motorbike, or something, passing your apartment,” Shayne said through the phone speaker, even though he was talking to the ceiling again.

“Hey, that’s… rude,” Charlie whispered. He pulled the phone closer and kept most of his face hidden behind the pillow.

“How's that rude?” Shayne raised his eyebrows when he realised he could see Charlie again – well, his forehead and eyes, anyway. “It’s not my fault your stomach just screamed at me down the phone.”

Charlie felt like an electric shock had just been administered to both sides of his face, blasting the blood vessels in his cheeks. He could have sworn Shayne’s lips pressed a little tighter together, like he was fighting a smirk.

“Shut up,” Charlie quipped. Oh. Good one.

“What’d you do, forget to eat, or something?”

He didn’t mean to hesitate. He really didn’t. He meant to laugh it off, to pretend he hadn’t neglected his stomach for so long that even half a bottle of water was seemingly too much for it to handle right now.

“Wait. Fuck. Really?” Shayne propped an elbow on his desk and dropped his chin into his hand, like this conversation was a weight that had just manifested on his shoulders. “Charlie.”

“Shayne,” Charlie groaned.

"Is it possible you're actually having hunger pains right now? What’d you eat today?”

“I had a –”

“And I swear to fuck, Charlie, if you say the words ‘iced coffee’, I will leave this house, get on a bus, come to your apartment, punch you in the fucking arm, and then leave again,” Shayne said. “Madelyn be damned.”

Charlie gulped. “It wasn’t iced, it was normal.”

Shayne lifted his head from his palm so that he could rub at his jaw. A clear-cut sign of frustration.

"I'm sorry," Charlie sighed.

"What? You're sorry to me?"

"Yeah, I'm... I'm always giving you a hard time about food." Charlie tugged the pillow down a little lower, revealing more of his face. It also meant that he was hugging the pillow to his stomach now, which, admittedly, wasn't as good as when he'd been physically kneading it with his hand. "I feel like a hypocrite."

“Charlie, love – you – you give me a hard time because… someone probably should.” Shayne scoffed, probably trying to hide the slight tremble in his voice. "I’m… I’m worried about you now.”

“I know, I can tell,” Charlie grimaced. “You’re stretching your jaw.”

“No, I’m not. Shut up. You’re going to hang up –”

Charlie winced and hugged himself harder. The very last thing he wanted was to be left alone with his misery. “I wanna keep talking to you.”

Shayne glared as if to say, let me fucking finish. “You’re going to hang up, order something on your… food app thing, and then call me back while you’re waiting for it to arrive.”

The thought of food was confusing to Charlie's stomach as he tried to envision it. On the one hand, the last thing it wanted to do in its abused state was to be put to work, digesting something heavy and/or greasy. But on the other, it'd been stewing in acid and coffee for so long that it'd probably feel like a relief to be lined with something different.

Creamy chicken korma, maybe, and fluffy basmati rice...

"Fine," Charlie sighed. "I'll order something."

"Good."

"I don't need to hang up, though. I can just minimize the chat window."

"Right. Minimize the thing."

"Stop stretching your jaw, lovely," Charlie repeated as he started to scroll through a list of nearby restaurants.

"Hey," Shayne murmured. "You're supposed to be ordering food. You're supposed to have me minimized."

"Yeah, you're in my top corner. Stop flexing your jaw."

"You're so fucking annoying..." Shayne lowered his voice to a mumble. "I miss you."

A pang of longing clenched Charlie's stomach. His eyes were briefly pulled away from the brightly-coloured digital menu so that he could watch the tiny, dimly-lit version of his boyfriend gaze back at him through the screen.

"I miss you, too, lovely."

"Shut up. Did you order something yet?"

[bandedbulbussnarfblat]

Remembrance Chapter 11

here on ao3 or read in below

Armand looks between Daniel and Louis, then back to Louis. It's obvious they're having some sort of mental communication. After a few seconds, he drops his hand. “I'll let you get back to it. Call if you need me.”

Daniel watches him go, though he suspects he doesn't go far. There's a moment of heavy silence. Then Louis begins to speak as if nothing happened.

And so the story continues.

Daniel listens without interruption as Louis talks about his life, Lestat, his sister, Claudia. Louis reads aloud how Claudia follows Louis and Lestat without knowing why, other than that she can't find meaning without them.

And doesn't that sound familiar? Daniel hadn't been able to find meaning in his life without Armand. But Claudia thinks she was made to be Louis' sister. Daniel wonders if Louis ever knew that was what she thought. Wonders if maybe it isn't partly true.

Of course, Claudia eventually returns. How could she not?

But that's when things fall apart. Because she doesn't come back to stay, no, she comes back for Louis. And Lestat can't have that. Her exact words to Louis were “I thought I could live without you, but I was wrong.”

Daniel had said the same words to Armand once. And what had Armand said? “There is nothing for you now, Daniel, except for me. Madness waits out there.”

Madness would be better than what happened next. Daniel knows it's going to turn violent even before Louis says anything. Things were at a boiling point, and violence was inevitable.

Had he and Armand ever truly been violent? Daniel remembers love-making that had been vicious, remembers fights that had been volatile, but true violence? No, that had never happened. Even when provoked Armand.

Once, during one of their arguments—and it was always the same argument, really—Daniel had accused Armand of being a liar and struck him. He had been packing his bags during the fight, ready to bolt. Armand had grabbed him by the arm to stop him and Daniel slapped him.

He can still remember the look on his face, the anger flashing in his eyes as he hissed “How dare you!”

Armand had looked truly monstrous and it was frightening and exciting and infuriating.

So Daniel had said, “Don't hit me. You might kill me. You're very strong.” Except he had been trying to provoke Armand to do just that. He wanted Armand to strike him, was the sick thing. Wanted it so he'd have something to hang over his head during their next fight.

Jesus, he was fucked up.

The next part is difficult to listen to. Daniel thinks if he didn't remember Louis, remember caring for Louis, he might be able to be objective. What Lestat does to him, in front of their daughter, no less, is sickening. Hell, it makes Daniel want to find the bastard and drive a stake through his heart. If that could even kill him.

Daniel wants to say something comforting, but what comes out is “And you don't consider yourself abused.”

Louis' face shutters and he draws back. “I think that's enough for tonight.”

Daniel sighs. “Wait, I didn't mean-”

“You did,” Louis cuts in, then looks off in the distance. Daniel can guess that Armand is telepathically checking in on him. Good. At least one of them isn't sticking their foot in their mouth.

Louis stands. “Good night, Daniel.”

Daniel watches him walk out without protest. Once he's out of sight, he rubs a hand over his face. This interview is proving harder than he imagined. He sits and tries not to think of Louis beaten and bloody. It's insane that he still cares. He shouldn't. He shouldn't be here.

He's not left to his thoughts long. Only a few moments pass before Armand enters and places a steaming mug in front of him. Daniel lifts it and takes a sip. It's tea, that ridiculously expensive kind made from leaves that only grow in a specific rainforest. It had been Daniel's favorite in the seventies. Armand still remembers just the way he takes it.

Armand sits across from him and doesn't speak. Daniel takes another swallow of tea and thinks of what to say. “Thanks,” he says and lifts the tea. He looks toward where Louis exited. “He going to be alright?”

“Speaking of the past is difficult for Louis,” says Armand. “But yes, he will be fine. I'll take care of him.”

“Why aren't you now?” Daniel asks. Why is Armand out here with him instead of with Louis?

“Then who would care for you, my boy?”

Daniel feels a flare of anger surge through him. What right does Armand have to call him his boy, after all this time? “Not your boy, and I don't need taken care of.”

Once, after a particularly vicious fight, Daniel had told Armand he'd always been his. They'd been wrapped around each other in bed, just finished fucking. Make up sex with Armand was always especially intense. Armand's fingers had been stroking through his hair and Daniel had his face buried in Armand's chest. “You know, I'm still yours, right? Even when I leave. I'll always be yours. I don't know what else to be.” Then Armand had made love to him again and things were good for awhile.

The memory makes him burn red with shame. He wonders if Armand is poking around in his head, hearing him think of it.

“Perhaps I want to take care you, whether you need it or not.”

“Well, don't,” Daniel snaps. He pulls off his glasses and rubs his eyes. “Shit. I slapped an abuse victim.”

Armand's mouth twitches at the corner. “Louis wouldn't like being called a victim.”

Doesn't mean he isn't one, but Daniel's not going to push it. “I'd feel worse if he didn't deserve it.”

Armand glances towards Daniel's hands. “How is your hand?”

It's a little sore, but that's par for course these days. Everything aches all the time. The joys of old age and disease. “Fine.”

“May I?” Armand says, and reaches towards him. He doesn't wait for an answer before taking Daniel's hand in his. He massages it, rubbing his thumbs over his tired muscles with just the right amount of pressure. It feels pretty nice, actually.

Armand is focused on his hand while he does it, so Daniel takes the opportunity to drink in the sight of him. He's a damn fool, but he's missed him. Even without remembering him, he missed him. There always was that something lacking that he could never find, that ephemeral feeling he kept chasing.

Daniel hates him so much he can't stand it; he wants him so much it hurts.

Armand kneads his thumb over a tender spot and Daniel lets his eyes fall closed. He sucks in a breath and pulls back his hand. “I'm going to bed. Go take care of Louis.”

He rises to his feet and Armand lets him leave. Part of him wishes he hadn't.

When he crawls into bed, it's hard to sleep. His brain won't shut off, won't stop bringing up memories. So much of his life is wrapped up in these two vampires. Being with them had been the best and worst time of his life.

After an hour, he's ready to give up. He goes to the bathroom—no one told him how often you have to pee when you get old—and washes his hands. He's sees a flicker in the mirror, something behind him. It's there and gone too quickly to make out. Then cold seeps down to his pores, sliding down the back of his neck and filling his body with an icy chill.

The image behind him flickers again. A girl in a yellow dress, her face twisted in anger. Claudia.

Daniel turns around and sees nothing. His heart is pounding in his chest. “Claudia?”

No answer. Whatever he saw is gone, and the chill fades with it.

A ghost. He just saw a ghost. Claudia's ghost.

Daniel casts his eyes around, but there's no sign of her. “Don't worry, I'm going to find out what happened to you.”

And he will. Then just maybe, by the time this is over, she can have some peace.