#rare to find someone like that in a corporate setting

[90th1k1k0m0r1]

adderall making me angy

[sidekick-hero]

we were meant to be (we live happily in my fantasy)

(steddie | explicit | wc: 5672 | written for @steddiemas Smutty Sunday prompt needing to be quiet | tags/cw: public sex in a bathroom, Rockstar Eddie Munson, Escort Steve Harrington, Modern Setting, Multiple Orgasms, Happy Ending

Eddie Munson has it all.

The big mansion with more bathrooms than anyone could ever need, five platinum albums in as many years, countless awards to show the world that the trailer trash from a shithole town in Indiana had made it, and enough money to buy said shithole town if he ever wanted to. Which he certainly didn't, thank you very much. The only good thing about this hellhole is his uncle, who still refuses to live anywhere else.

Eddie Munson also has the most gorgeous date of all the Grammy attendees on his arm, smiling charmingly at the flashing cameras and winning the hearts of everyone he so much as looks at.

God, Eddie wishes Steve Harrington was his, too, in all the ways that really matter. But just like his house and his cars and his wardrobe, which is worth more than his uncle made in a year at the plant, Steve is only as much his as money can make you. Sure, he owns his time and his attention and his devastatingly handsome smile for the agreed upon amount of time, but not his heart. Never his heart.

Eddie Munson has it all, except the love he so desperately wants. That's what you get, he guesses, when you fall in love with your escort.

When Chrissy first suggested it, hiring an escort seemed like a great idea. It would solve most of his problems, especially because it would keep people off his back by making them think Eddie was seeing someone. It stopped most of the stupid questions about his love life in interviews that were supposed to be about his and his band's music. It stopped all the rumors about him dating some random celebrity or one of his friends. It gave him someone to take to all the boring as fuck events he had to attend without getting anyone's hopes up only to have Eddie walk away from them the next day, already bored.

When he opened the door to his hotel room almost a year ago to find the most beautiful man he'd ever seen standing in front of him, he already had a feeling that he might regret ever saying yes to Chrissy's idea. That feeling only got worse when Steve, the name of the apparition in front of him, turned out to not only be kind and caring, but also funny as hell. The more comfortable he got around Eddie, the more Eddie got to know his bitchy side, and it had Eddie in stitches every time Steve unleashed it on some annoying redneck or corporate suit they encountered.

Spending time with Steve soon became something Eddie looked forward to weeks in advance. Because it meant he had a reason to tell Chrissy to book Steve for a few precious hours, he found himself saying yes to more requests than ever before. At first, Eddie told himself it was because it was so rare for him to meet new people he enjoyed being around. All of his friends he's known since high school and the people he hooks up with usually don't stay long enough to have a real conversation. So, Eddie tells himself, it's just the novelty of having someone who hasn't heard (or lived through) all of his stories, and who, in turn, broadens Eddie's horizons with funny anecdotes and surprisingly clever analyses of movies and shows they've both seen.

Eddie knows he's been fooling himself since the first time their lips touched and a kaleidoscope of butterflies took flight in his stomach.

Steve had kissed him for the first time about three months after Eddie had hired him. They had been at a party in the Hollywood Hills after another award show. Eddie's band had won six awards and he wanted to go out and celebrate. Returning from the restroom, he had found someone talking to Steve, hands on his shoulders, slowly sliding them down to his waist and crowding closer to him. The sight had hurt more than Eddie had expected, especially when the guy leaned in to put his mouth on Steve. But the kiss never happened because Steve had pushed him away forcefully.

Eddie didn't even realize he'd gotten close enough to the couple to hear the man's next words.

"Come on, you fucking slut. You spread them for Munson but not for me? Afraid of a real man giving it to you, is that it?" Hargrove spat, and Eddie finally recognized the backup singer from some wanna be rock band that always talked shit about Corroded Coffin, obviously jealous of their success.

"You disgusting pig," Eddie heard himself say from afar, and before either man could say anything, Eddie drew back his fist and connected with Hargrove's sneering face. The sound of it hitting his jaw was extremely satisfying, but Eddie had never hit anyone before and the pain in his hand came as a surprise.

Worst of all, Hargrove didn't go down like Eddie had hoped. Instead, he looked at Eddie with murder in his eyes, the muscles in his body tense, and Eddie knew what was coming next, so he closed his eyes and waited for the pain to come.

Only it never came.

He peeked one eye open to find Steve with his hand fisted in Hargrove's shirt, their faces inches apart as Steve hissed at him. "If you so much as look at him the wrong way, I'll go to the press and tell them all about your charming words to me for not giving you the time of day. Maybe talk a little bit about what a sad and pathetic loser you are, clamoring for my attention because you wish you could be half the man Eddie is."

Eddie has never seen anything hotter than Steve Harrington threatening someone and he doesn't care how wrong that sounds. He dares anyone to look at his blazing eyes and the flexing muscles in his toned forearms and tell him it's not the hottest thing they've ever seen.

"Are we clear?" Steve growled, waiting for Hargrove's answer. For a moment it looked like fists were going to fly anyway, but then Eddie saw Hargrove nod almost imperceptibly and he let out the breath he'd been holding.

They left soon after and Steve insisted on going home with Eddie to look at his hand, which was starting to swell. "I've been there a few times, this is going to hurt like a bitch if you don't treat it right," he told Eddie and that was that. He took Steve home.

As he opened the front door of his house he expected some sort of reaction from Steve but none came. No looking around, no whistling, no remarks about his wealth or choice of decor. Just a warm hand on his shoulder and Steve asking where he keeps his first aid kit. Eddie wished he'd asked Steve over sooner, even though there was never a good reason.

In the master bathroom, Steve sat him down on the closed toilet seat before gracefully sinking to his knees in front of Eddie. Heat rushed to his cheeks at the sight, the movement conjuring up images he usually only indulged in the safety of his bedroom.

There was a thick tension between them as Steve tenderly reached for his swollen hand and began to put ointment on it. Eyes fixed on what he needed to do, Steve broke the silence that had fallen over them and began to speak in a low voice. "I'm not your damsel in distress, Eddie. I can take care of myself and I don't need anybody to save me, okay? This is not Pretty Woman, and if you want to keep asking for my services, you have to accept that."

Despite the calm in his voice, Eddie could tell that Steve was worked up, probably nervous about how Eddie would react to this. He had no idea where this speech was coming from, but the thought of Steve needing Eddie to save him sounded utterly ridiculous. He had only known Steve for a few months, but he was already well aware that Steve Harrington was a certified badass.

When he told Steve this, he was met with hazel eyes looking at him questioningly. "But why did you hit that guy if not because you thought I needed saving?"

Something in Steve's voice tugged at his heart, a vulnerability shining through the confident way he usually held himself, and Eddie responded instinctively, cupping Steve's neck with the hand not currently wrapped in Steve's.

"Because he deserved it? Steve, I know you could kick anyone's ass and probably look hot as hell doing it. Hearing that asshole talk like that about someone who is... I dunno, like you, I just couldn't help myself."

"Like me?"

With anyone else, Eddie would think they were fishing for compliments, but he knows Steve isn't. He really has no idea how maddeningly exceptional he is.

"Yeah, like you. Someone who talks all the time about a bunch of kids that he used to babysit because he's obviously so proud of them and he cares about them so much. Someone who makes our limo stop so he can give a homeless family the contents of our mini-fridge, who always makes himself seem a little smaller than he is around people who are shy and easily intimidated. Someone who gives the best verbal dressing-down I've ever heard, but also makes me feel like I'm funny and interesting every time I spend time with him. Someone who sees the world differently and isn't afraid to ask questions and speak his mind, even if people think they're stupid for it. Because they're not, they just don't fit into their dumb little boxes. You don't fit in those stupid boxes and a disgusting pig like Hargrove doesn't get to talk to you like that."

Eddie has no idea what came over him at that moment, the words pouring out of his mouth like water from a burst pipe, but they seemed to be the right ones. At least judging by the way Steve lunged forward to capture his lips in a surprisingly sweet kiss.

It was then that Eddie realized his grave mistake. He never expected it to happen, so he had left his heart unguarded around Steve, not realizing it had been stolen until it was too late. Running away was no longer an option, so instead he surrendered to the intoxicating feeling of Steve's plush lips against his, giving his body to the man who already owned his heart.

Not surprisingly, they ended the night with Steve buried deep inside of him, his hand still wrapped around Eddie's bandaged one.

Eddie doesn't know how much more sleeping with him would add to Steve's rate, but he doesn't care. He felt a little sleazy at first, paying for sex, but every time he looks at Steve he knows it's worth every penny in his bank account, along with his dignity.

Knowing he was royally screwed the second Steve's lips touched his, Eddie shoveled his grave deeper and deeper, finding more and more reasons to go out with Steve on his arm, only to bring him home and get lost in his body.

Eddie always wakes up alone, though, and it starts to eat away at him, this longing for more. He wants to wake up with Steve's bed hair tickling his nose where it is tucked against Steve's neck, to feel his sleep-warm skin against his own, to hear Steve grumble as he inevitably begins to explore the tantalizing body in his arms, only to have the sound turn into a wanton moan. He wants breakfast in bed and morning showers together, fighting over who gets to read the editorial cartoons first.

When he accepts his first Grammy, he wants to tell the world that as incredible as it is to stand here and see a lifelong dream come true, it's not the most important thing in his life anymore. It's not the award in his hands, but the man sitting in the third row, next to his manager and best friend Chrissy, beaming at him with pride.

But he doesn't, he just thanks their crew, their fans and of course his friends and his uncle before he hands the microphone to Jeff to do the same.

Later, at the reception, he drowns his heartache in the expensive champagne being handed to him left and right. Steve is plastered to his side and when Eddie reaches for the fourth glass, he stops him with his lips against his ear. "I have plans for you and they don't involve you passing out drunk." His deep voice whispers and Eddie feels goosebumps rise all over his body.

He lets the waiter pass and eyes Steve hungrily. "Stevie, you naughty boy. Not in front of the kids," Eddie giggles, waving to his bandmates and Chrissy, who all roll their eyes indulgently. They know he pays Steve, but they never act like it, and Eddie is grateful for that. They're probably aware of his feelings because Eddie has never been subtle and they've known him most of his life. If they feel sorry for him, they don't show it, but Eddie sees their worried looks sometimes.

Steve snorts inelegantly and Eddie thinks they're both a little high on champagne and endorphins.

When he leans in close again and Eddie wraps a possessive arm around his waist, Steve purrs in his ear, low enough that only Eddie can hear him. "Meet me in the restroom in the back. I have a surprise for you, Mr. Big-Shot-Rockstar." With that, Steve plants a wet kiss on his cheek and tells the group he'll be right back.

Eddie counts to 83 before he can't wait any longer and follows Steve, not even bothering with an excuse. They all know what they are up to anyway. He thinks he hears Gareth muttering "Unbelievable" and Chrissy whistling behind him, but he's already on his way to the restroom Steve mentioned at the back of the venue.

When he gets there, however, he can't find any trace of Steve.

"Steve?" he calls, his voice echoing off the tiles. Even his breathing sounds loud, so he holds his breath, listening for any sign of life. Then he hears it, the slick sound of slippery skin sliding against skin and ragged breathing. It comes from somewhere around the corner and Eddie follows it slowly. When he turns the corner he sees another row of stalls and feet peeking out of the last one. The door is open.

The closer he gets, the louder the sounds coming from the stall, and his cock stiffens in his pants at the thought of what he'll find.

He's still not prepared for the sight of Steve standing inside, naked as the day he was born, his clothes neatly folded on the closed toilet lid. His big, veiny hand is wrapped around his hard cock, already gleaming from the pre-cum smeared along its length. He's pumping it almost lazily, his eyes lustful and bright as they blink back at Eddie. His other hand plays with his stiff nipple and Eddie can feel his own cock leaking at the sight.

"Steve," he breathes out in wonder, "fuck, look at you. What are you doing to me?"

"Not enough, so you have to come here and let me get my hands on you." Steve's voice sounds strained, like he's already keyed up from the way he's touching himself, and Eddie has half a mind to just keep watching Steve getting himself off. But then he moans Eddie's name, and it's high and needy, luring Eddie over with its siren call.

Following it, Eddie squeezes into the narrow stall and wraps his own hand around the hard length of Steve's cock. The flesh is hot in his palm, its girth already familiar, and Eddie thinks he'll never touch another dick, not even his own, as long as he can have this. Steve has ruined him, completely and utterly, and it's that thought that finally breaks the tenacious control he's had over his emotions all these months.

His lips crash against Steve's without any finesse, there's just hunger and love and an urgency he can't explain as his arm wraps around Steve's waist while his other hand remains wrapped around his cock. They're pressed together from head to toe, Eddie still fully dressed in his expensive designer pants and burgundy shirt and Steve gloriously naked. He's probably smearing Pre all over his pants, which are rented and which he probably has to pay for now. But what are a few thousand dollars more when he can have Steve moaning brokenly against his already swollen lips at the feel of the smooth material rubbing against the sensitive head of his cock.

"You're killing me, baby. So sexy, knowing exactly what you're doing to me," Eddie pants as he pulls his hungry mouth away from Steve's, kissing along his blushing cheeks and down the sharp line of his jaw to take it between his teeth. Steve's hips keep twitching, desperate to rub against Eddie's hand, Eddie's pants, anything that will give him some friction, shameless and so fucking hot that Eddie can barely think.

He soothes his bite marks with his tongue and picks up the pace of his hand on Steve, reveling in the slick sounds that fill the empty restroom. "This is what you want, huh? For me to get you off in a public restroom, for you to come all over me, for you to mark me with your cum so that everyone can see how gone I am for you?"

Steve moans brokenly at his words, his hips stuttering and Eddie can feel the telltale twitch of his cock so he quickly sinks to his knees, the movement eerily similar to the night of their first kiss all those months ago when their roles had been reversed.

Twisting his fingers in Eddie's hair, their grip painfully tight and arousing at the same time, Steve comes in Eddie's mouth, his hot cum shooting down his throat, making him cough and splutter, but still eagerly drinking down every drop. He keeps milking Steve's cock until the overstimulation becomes painful and only then does he pull off of Steve to look up at him.

What he sees takes his breath away.

The hands in his hair have loosened their death grip and are instead tenderly combing through his messy locks. Steve's eyes are liquid amber, the color high in his cheeks as dark as the red of his lips, and the expression on his face is unbearably soft. One of his hands slides from Eddie's hair to his face, gently cupping his cheek and wiping away a few stray drops from the corner of his mouth. Their eyes lock and Eddie couldn't look away even if he wanted to, lost in Steve, in his smell, the feel of his hairy thighs under his palms, his taste on his tongue and the sight of his beloved face filled with warmth and affection.

He's not sure he'll be able to come back from this.

"Eddie," Steve begins in a soft voice and he knows what Steve is going to say and he just can't bear to hear it right now. Steve will tell him that they need to get dressed, to go back, to continue their charade until Eddie has to go home to his empty house and his empty bed and his empty life.

"Quite a surprise you had there, Stevie. Totally worth paying for those pants," he jokes, trying for some levity.

Steve gives him a crooked smile and says, "That wasn't my surprise, actually. Well, not all of it. But you... I wasn't expecting... um, this," he finishes lamely, shrugging, and Eddie feels his face heat up. Steve did not expect Eddie to lose it so much at the sight of him.

"Oops," Eddie jokes, obviously embarrassed but trying not to show it. "What surprise have I ruined?"

The hand still cupping his cheek pulls Eddie back to his feet and he winces a little as his knees crack. Smiling at him, Steve uses his hand on Eddie to draw him in for a sweet, almost chaste kiss, were it not for the fact that Steve is still naked and can probably taste himself on Eddie's lips and tongue, which he playfully teases with his own.

As they kiss, Steve blindly reaches for Eddie's hand and guides it to his ass and between his cheeks. Following Steve's lead, he teases his fingers along the crack down to his hole and gasps against Steve's mouth when he feels the hard stopper of a plug there. "Fuck," he hisses, "you are trying to kill me."

"I take it you like your surprise?" Steve sounds smug, his eyes twinkling with satisfaction at the wrecked look on Eddie's face.

"Sweetheart, you have no idea. No idea."

Palming Eddie's hard cock straining against the fly of his pants, Steve smirks. "I might have at least some idea. How about we do something about it, huh?" He adds, giving his cock a squeeze that causes his eyes to almost roll back in his head.

"Please," he practically begs, eagerly playing with the plug, pulling it out and pushing it back in before twisting it on the next pull.

Steve's arms wrap around him, pressing against Eddie and suddenly turning them both around so that Steve's back is to the open door. He pulls away from their embrace and Eddie whines at the loss of Steve in his arms. "One second, baby, just lemme close the door real quick," he coos.

Making good on his words, he grabs the door handle and pulls the door shut before locking it. Eddie reaches for him again as soon as it's done, but Steve seems to have a different idea. He turns and rests his forearms against the closed door, his forehead between them. Arching his broad back, covered with moles and beauty marks, he pushes his round ass out at Eddie and shakes it for good measure.

Looking over his shoulder and giving Eddie a cheeky grin, he asks, "What are you waiting for, lover boy? A written invitation?"

Smack.

The sound of Eddie's hand connecting with Steve's cheek is loud, echoing off the tiles and ringing through the empty restroom. A red handprint is already forming on the pale skin and the sight makes something primal inside him purr with satisfaction.

"Fuckfuckfuckfuck," Steve curses and for a moment Eddie is afraid he has really hurt him, but then he sees Steve's hips buck. He moves closer and drapes himself over Steve's back, reaching around to find his cock more than half hard again.

"Every time I think you can't get any hotter," Eddie mutters to himself and Steve chuckles.

"Yeah? Right back at you," he replies with a smile in his voice. Then, more quietly, he asks, "Do it again?"

There's nothing Eddie would like more, but first he wants to see how far this newfound dynamic will go. "Only if you ask real nice, baby. Only good boys get what they want."

The cock he's still holding fills out even more, growing fully hard in his hand, and Eddie has never been in love like this. It's a weird moment to realize, but they didn't call him a freak for nothing, he supposes.

"Fuck, okay, okay. Can you -" Steve begins, already breathing hard, almost panting. "Can you please spank me again?"

Smack.

Smack.

The moan that bursts from Steve's throat is loud and guttural, and the redness on his cheeks looks perfect. There's only one thing missing, his cum decorating it, the white a beautiful contrast to the angry red.

"Yes, please, Eddie, please, come on me, paint me with your cum, rub it into my skin, anything you want," Steve babbles, his cock as hard as it was just before he shot down Eddie's throat. Eddie must have said his thoughts out loud, too far gone to realize it, but he doesn't care. They clearly want the same thing and he suddenly can't wait any longer.

"Please baby, tell me you brought lube and a condom?"

"Jacket. Right pocket. Hurry, I need you, Eddie."

"You got me, baby," he whispers, taking the time to plant a soft kiss on the back of Steve's neck. Then he fishes what they need out of Steve's jacket and is back on him in seconds. He reaches for the plug that keeps Steve stretched and open and gently pulls it out, watching in rapture as Steve's rim stretches around it, trying to suck it back in, thinking of how it will feel around his cock in a minute.

When it pops free, he sets it on the floor and pushes Steve's legs further apart before coating two of his fingers with lube. "I'm just checking to see if you're ready for me, okay?" Eddie tells Steve as he pushes his fingers inside. They sink in easily, no resistance as Eddie smears the lube around the rim. He can feel Steve's heartbeat against his fingers and thinks he'll never get tired of this.

"I'm ready, I'm ready, I'm ready, c'mon Eddie, please," Steve begs and Eddie doesn't even think about denying him. Instead, he shushes Steve with another kiss, this time between his shoulder blades, before resting his forehead against the skin there as he pulls down his fly, finally freeing his cock. It's an angry red, leaking copious amounts of pre-cum, and Eddie knows he won't last long.

He rolls the condom down his length and coats it with more lube before guiding the head to Steve's waiting hole and slowly pushing in, wanting to give Steve time to adjust. Steve is having none of it though, just pushing back until Eddie sinks in all the way, making them both groan.

"The. Death. Of. Me," Eddie pants against Steve's back and Steve chuckles. Then, once again showing no mercy, he tightens around Eddie's cock before relaxing again, but before Eddie can catch his breath, Steve slides almost all the way off him before pushing back, effectively fucking himself on Eddie's length.

"Fuck, baby, I won't last long like this," he whimpers, already feeling himself getting closer, his orgasm pulled from him by the tight grip of Steve's ass around him.

"Good."

Steve breathes hard, moans and high-pitched whimpers falling from his lips as he manages to fuck Eddie's cock against his prostate, and Eddie holds on for dear life, his hands wrapping around Steve's and pulling them up to the top of the door, both of them clutching it just to hold on to something.

Just as Eddie feels his balls tighten against his body, he hears the door to the venue creak.

Acting on pure instinct, adrenaline flooding his system, he slaps a hand over Steve's mouth, his other hand grabbing his hip to halt his movements.

Someone enters the restroom, the man's footsteps clearly audible as he walks over to one of the stalls, and Eddie is shocked to find a giggle rising in his throat. Here he is, in a public restroom at the goddamn Grammy Awards, balls deep in the man he's paying to be with him and who he's in love with, while another man is probably about to take a dump. Everything about it is so fucking ridiculous that he has to fight the laughter that is about to burst out of his mouth.

Steve, on the other hand, doesn't seem to suffer from the same fate. Instead, he clamps down on Eddie's cock inside of him, silently urging him to get over himself and let Steve fuck himself on his cock again.

"Steve," Eddie warns in a low voice, nothing more than a breath against the shell of Steve's ear. They can hear the other man's zipper coming down and then the sound of a stream hitting the bowl. Eddie uses the sound to speak as quickly and quietly as he can. "We have to be quiet."

Steve nods against his hand, but doesn't stop clenching rhythmically around him, moving his hips as much as he can with Eddie's hand still wrapped around him.

The flush of the toilet startles them both but only seems to spur Steve on, his movements becoming faster, more erratic and Eddie surrenders to him, no longer trying to hold him still but reaching around him and grasping his hard cock in his hand, thumbing at the slit and smearing the pre-cum around the head. A whimper escapes against his palm and he hastily stuffs Steve's mouth with his fingers to starve out any more sounds. He's glad it happened while the man on the other side of their stall turns on the faucet to wash his hands.

Steve comes all over the door with the sound of the dry blower drowning out his stifled moans around Eddie's fingers, and Eddie has to bite down on Steve's shoulder to muffle his own scream as he follows him over the edge and fills the condom.

They both catch their breath as they hear the restroom door close again.

The giggles finally break free and this time Steve joins in. "Fuck my life, that was hands down one of the weirdest moments that has ever happened to me," he laughs as he pulls out and ties off the condom.

"But also kind of hot," Steve adds, and Eddie isn't sure he agrees. It had been hot to have Steve squirm on his cock, so drunk on pleasure that he didn't care if someone overheard them. The way he had somehow used Eddie for his own pleasure, that had been hot too. But someone taking a piss while he was fucking didn't really do much for him.

He kind of liked the pressure of having to keep quiet, though. Definitely something he'd like to explore.

" Sort of, yeah," he allows, turning Steve over to give him a deep kiss. When they part, he helps Steve get dressed again, aching all the while with how much he wants to take Steve home now, to curl up in bed together and fall asleep in each other's arms. He's suddenly tired, not just physically, but mentally. Emotionally.

He's not sure he can do this anymore.

As they leave the bathroom to find his bandmates and Chrissy, Eddie thinks maybe it's time to accept the facts and try to get over Steve. He can't keep chasing a dream that will never come true. Steve won't do this forever, and when he decides it's time to do something else with his life, Eddie will be left behind, on his own, to put the pieces of his heart back together again.

He'd rather start now, while he still has a chance to maybe find something real someday. Because one thing Steve has shown him is that he wants that. Something real. Someone to stay.

Eddie wants that someone to be Steve, but even if he has it all, he won't have that.

When they say their goodbyes, Steve asks if they're going to Eddie's, and it hurts to see his face fall when Eddie tells him no, but it's for the best. Steve will still get paid handsomely for tonight and Eddie has the memory of their little adventure today stored away for bad days.

The next morning, he calls Chrissy to tell her that they will no longer need Steve's services.

"But why?" Chrissy asks, clearly surprised after having to book Steve at least once a week for the past few months.

"Because I need to find someone who wants to be with me, Chris. Really wants to be with me. Steve's great, but I need to stop living a lie."

"So you're telling me you're not hopelessly in love with him, Munson?" That's his best friend, cutting to the chase and getting right to the point. He loves and hates that about her in equal measure.

"You know I do, or you wouldn't ask, but I don't see what that has to do with me needing to find someone to love me."

Chrissy sighs deeply. "Oh, Eddie." And that's her "You're an idiot, Eddie Munson" voice.

"I don't know why you're 'Oh Eddie'-ing me here, Chris. I'm trying to be -"

"He hasn't accepted payment in five months." Chrissy cuts him off.

What?

"What?"

"He hasn't taken payment for the last five months. He asked me not to tell you, and I figured he'd tell you eventually, but he never did. He always said he would soon, that he was waiting for the right moment, and I promised myself to wait until the new year, and if he didn't tell you by then, I'd tell you. Even someone without eyes could see how much you are gone for him."

"So the last five months, all those hours, all those events, all those nights we had sex, he never got paid for it?" Eddie couldn't believe what he was hearing. They spent so much time together, time he didn't pay for, time Steve could have spent with clients making money.

"Eddie, he never charged you for sleeping with you. That's not part of the services he offered, he told me that when I first hired him. He did it because he wanted to, he's been dating you for almost half a year. Which you'd know if you -"

"I gotta go, Chris."

"Tell Steve I said hi," he hears her say as he ends the call, already throwing on some random clothes before heading down to his car.

He has to talk to Steve, tell him what a fucking idiot he's been before asking him to move in with him, since they've apparently been dating for several months now and it's not too early to ask.

Eddie can't wait to really have it all.

[willowser]

one thousand lonely stars, hiding in the cold—

android!shouto x reader

wc: 2k+

tags: angst, cyberpunk dystopian setting, financial vulnerability, explicit language, minor mention of sex work + sex workers, reader has strong/conflicting feelings about their situation, and — as always — the question of true humanity.

notes: what a great opportunity this was for me to continue exploring this idea !! tysm to @shoto-brainrot for not only giving me the chance, but also for being such a support and helping me to figure out all this commission jazz !! i so appreciate you, and i hope you enjoy it ! 🩷

original post

You’ve yet to find out what caused the damage to Shouto’s faceplate.

By the time you discovered him outside the credit exchange, he had been busted open and left for—whatever the equivalent of dead is for an android. A gaping hole in the left side of his disturbingly human face exposed his inner circuitry to the rain and you think that should have finished him off, truly, but—he's still kicking. 

Technology in the lower district is distinct. The most careful hands could have crafted him down in the best underground salvage yard and he still wouldn't have lasted half an hour with his face submerged in a shallow mud puddle like that. Wiring would have been shot, fuses blown.

Even if the Todoroki Corporation symbol on his wrist wasn't glowing, a blinking light in time with his would-be heart, you'd know what he is. You'd know he didn't belong down here, beneath the smog, in the industrial bones of your dying city.

And yet—

The left side of Shouto's face took the brunt of whatever blow he'd been dealt, and the scarring—if it's even called that?—has extended down over his cheekbone and backward, so violently that his ear had only barely been hanging on. Without the bandage you've wrapped him up in, he's quite a sight: half a tangled mess of wires and pins, a dull cyan light glowing in his orbital socket. With the wrapping, however, he’s almost exactly as he was meant to be: seamless.

The fate of his detached ear had been unknown. Until this morning.

It still works, much to your surprise, learning so only after wondering aloud the whereabouts of your data docket and hearing Shouto answer from across the apartment. Whoever put him together, you realize, took great care to make him durable, adamantine; the carbon nanotubes and polymer arrays that make up his cochlea were hardly affected by the assault.

Someone—or something—meant to harm him, and you know that for certain, now. Such wreckage couldn’t have happened naturally, not to a Skin-Puppet like him.

(When you look at him, you can’t help but consider his creator. How far he is from them and why. If the hands that made him and the hands that ruined him are the same, if he meant to leave or if he was cast out. You haven’t asked, but it’s odd that a machine could keep such information to himself—itself.)

(Given the brutality behind his mutilation, perhaps it’s best you don’t know the answers.)

Working tech from the richer district—KōkyōLuxuria, above the smog, built high into the clouds—could not only earn you enough to eat this week, but also to pay off all your debts to the League. Maybe even finance a decent apartment a few stories up.

And that’s why you’re here: racing through the slums in the rain, doing your damndest to make this sale before time runs out and you’re forced to find another buyer. Coming across a Hack with 1,640,254 credits in their docket is rare; who knows when you’ll find someone from the Trade in Musutafu sector again? You’re likely to sooner perish—either from your empty stomach or that broker that demanded payment two days ago.

Shouto, however, doesn’t see the urgency.

“Hello, handsome! Awful cold out tonight…care to warm me up?”

“Oh, hello.”

At the even, all-too-friendly lilt in his voice, you halt your sprint again, and spin around with a hiss. “Shouto!” You snap—but it comes too late; the Entertainers have struck like lightning, already scrambling his code. 

Out of habit, you’d pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up over his head before leaving the apartment, and now the material separates his image from view—though you can easily imagine the pleasant expression showing on his face, illuminated in pink under the NanotechNymph advertisement.

At his easily captured interest, two women strut from the open doors of the low-lit den, all allure and swaying hips, mirage flickering beneath the heavy rain. They only meet him halfway—too far from the emanator deep within the club—and you dash forward to stop him from wordlessly accepting their offer. You can’t afford to owe anyone any more than you already do.

“Shouto,” you say again, mouth twisting when he looks at you simply. Despite the hood, his bandage grows dark from the rain and—despite his framework, worry fluxes in your stomach at the thought of him getting too wet. “We have to go.”

“Aww,” an Entertainer says to you, girlish pout pulling down her full lips. “You don’t want to come inside and play with us?”

“No,” you try not to look at them any longer, just in case that racks up a charge, too. Rock solid as he is, Shouto allows himself to be steered away, much to your relief. “Buzz off, holo-ham.”

“I’d like to play.” Shouto pipes up, peeking behind his shoulder when the girls squeal in excitement. “Can we come back once we’ve finished?”

“Not for that kind of play.” You put a hand on the back of his head and swivel it, all while shoving him down the sidewalk. You almost remark on how man-like he’s acting, before chasing the thought away.

“What other types of play are there?”

“Just—hush.” 

And he does, finally, when you loop your arm through his: a presumably innocent gesture that draws his attention fully back to you, as physical touch seems to do, with him. Beneath the material of the jacket, he feels natural, all muscle and bone, even leaning into you as if the weather has made him cold. You can feel him tracing your face with his one-eyed gaze—scanning you—and you pretend not to notice.

“Your heart rate has gone up. Have I made you angry?”

“Yes,” you tell him, though he hasn’t, really. “You and your curiosity are gonna make me late, and then we’ll be in some serious shit.”

He looks away then, down to the soaked pavement, a mimicry of disappointment. From the corner of your eye, you can see his manufactured Adam’s apple bob, and the muscle beneath your hand shifts.

“They seemed nice, the holograms.” He says, and you can’t help the soft snort such a comment merits. 

“Yeah, they’re nice, alright, until you can’t pay them.”

Shouto looks at you once again, stride threatening to falter until you tug him along. “Do you know them?”

You already know where he’s going with his question, and the corner of his lips quirk up when you cast him a filthy look. “Well, no, but—”

“Then how do you know—”

“I just do, alright?” You frown at him and he accepts it in full, studying once more. Whatever he finds in your expression amuses enough that he’s placated for the moment, though you know it won’t be long before he’s piping up again.

He does it often—studies you: body language, physiological changes, speech patterns, vocal cues. Human behavior he catalogs and streams to someone back at the Corporation headquarters, finding the miniscule details he can use against you, some day. Whatever the reason behind his damage, he is still a product of his evil overlords, made for reasons you can only imagine. 

This is what you tell yourself. 

As his fingers shift until their smooth pads are brushing the delicate veins in your wrists, as he tightens his arm around yours when another stranger on the streets knocks your shoulder, as he leans into the warmth of your humanness: this is what you tell yourself.

You’re overcome with a sense of loss and you don’t know why, and you clear the strange lump hardening in your throat. “Life lesson number six, Todoroki,” you murmur it closely to him, nearly into the fabric at his shoulder, though he doesn’t react to the name. “Everybody wants something from someone, holo-hams included.”

Shouto seems to process your words, for a moment, and his face is expressionless when you steal a peek up at him. Technicolor rains down on your both, swathing him in a wild array as advertisements dance on the buildings that tower above you, and again you think of his creator. The careful hands that crafted his smooth cheeks, the sharp line of his nose, the leanness of his body. You wonder if he’s ever been deemed precious.

Nearly all of the residents relegated to the lower districts owe the Todoroki Corporation in some way. Be it through credit loans or applied interest rates on subsidized housing or hidden costs and high premiums on mandatory, shit insurance—Enji Todoroki sits in the lap of KōkyōLuxuria, has probably never even stepped down from his pedestal. 

There’s no good reason a product of his could have found its way to you: this is what you tell yourself.

“And you want my ear.” Shouto says, looking back down at you as your shoulders tense. There isn’t a byte of hostility in his voice, but he must understand the sharpness to what he’s saying.

“Yes,” you admit with a nod, and some underlying, rogue streak of guilt has you pressing into him, as if your proximity could make up for your selfishness. “The sensors in your ear are gonna pay for our dinner tonight, handsome.”

His stride falters once more, and despite the time clock ticking in the back of your mind—you let him stop you. Maybe you want him to. Nothing ever goes unnoticed by him and you know that and maybe it’s cruel of you to say such a thing, to offer a comfort you can’t admit to, but Shouto looks down at you in all his ruination and—

Before he can say anything, a fat drop of water hits the tip of his perfectly manufactured nose. It makes him flinch, delayed, and the surprise he wears and the scrunch of his brow seem so—human, there before you. Shouto tilts his face to the dark, smoggy sky, and again that worry bites you, about too much water trickling into his core.

“We’re going to be late,” you repeat, though it’s much weaker than it was earlier. This is one those moments in which he overrides all your defenses, uploads something warm and hopeful and frightening into your chest cavity; you can’t tell if you want to run because you have to, for the sale—or if it’s a result of watching him now, haloed in neon.

He’s not one to ignore you, but he doesn’t respond, instead retracting his arm from your grip in order to push the hood back off his head. Raindrops soak into his bandage and the excess pools, dripping down over the line of his jaw and the column of his throat. So close to him, you can see the goosebumps that break out across his skin.

(You wonder if he’s ever been deemed precious. You wonder if he meant to leave, or if he was cast out. You wonder if he was created for continued corruption—or if someone out there wanted him to experience life, no matter how rusty.)

(You wonder if he feels as human as he looks. If he can blush, or if the soft skin below his ear can bruise.)

A small sound bubbles out of him, like a light laugh of disbelief. 

You found him face down in the rain; you’re not sure why it could cause such a reaction now, but he turns to eye the commercial playing behind him, before watching the path of a man walking by the two of you. Rain collects in his perfect cupid’s bow until he licks it away, and his hair slicks to the side when he pushes it out of his face. 

Shouto turns his attention back to you rather plainly, though the edges of his smile pull up a little higher than they usually do, enough that the apples of his cheeks round. He asks you, “What’s going to be for our dinner?” and the question is oddly worded, but each one is intentional. 

Maybe it’s not the rain that amuses him—and maybe it is. Maybe it really is that simple, that innocent. Maybe it’s the microtremors in your voice and your increased heart rate, all the little details that could never go unnoticed. 

There isn’t a way that this could end well: this is what you tell yourself.

You nod once and turn to face back the way you came, resigned, before looping your arm through his again. You trace the delicate veins on the inside of his wrist, careful not to cover the slow-blinking symbol embedded there, and you decide it doesn’t matter what his creator did or didn’t want. Because he has wants of his own, just like anyone.

“Okay,” you sigh, and when you slosh through the puddles collecting on the sidewalk, Shouto seems happy to follow along, this time. “I can probably sweet talk Toyomitsu into buying us some takoyaki, but you’re gonna have to play it cool.”

“Is this the kind of play you were talking about?”

That lilt has returned to his voice, even and friendly and amused.

“No,” you swat at him to hear his little huff of laughter, “now stop asking about that.”

Of course he doesn’t.

[mysteria157]

Chapter 8

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

Word Count: ~6.8k

CW: Profanity, mentions of mental health (anxiety), pregnancy complications

Summary: You deal with the fallout. An unexpected visitor puts your life in jeopardy. Nanami tries to pick up the pieces.

Notes: Hi! I have a habit of writing long chapters. That’s just what works for me and helps my pacing for this story. Reblogs, likes, or comments are always appreciated but not necessary <3 I hope you enjoy reading!

Divider: @cafekitsune

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It Had To Be You Masterlist

He was livid, body seething with rage as he paced back and forth in his office.

It made sense to reduce workforce and implement layoffs, that much he had known. He also knew you were someone who would take that in stride. It was just business, this happened to corporations all the time.

He never thought you of all people would be part of those layoffs. For what reason? You were marvelous at your job.

Something had happened. The hurt in your eyes was more than enough to show that.

He had an inkling of who it could have been.

Jin Itadori would never. He was truly his son’s father, capable of running a cut-throat business but never harboring a malicious bone in his body. So it had to have been someone else on the board of higherups.

Maybe it was Gakuganji. An old man that always hung in the background during board meetings, face leathery and eyes low and set in stone as he barely communicated but executed the harshest decisions through others. Gojo despised him. Nanami always held a high regard for rules and authority but the board were filled with people that made his skin crawl.

Especially Gakuganji. It could have been him.

Or Mahito. He was new and far too young for the amount of power he had but capable of devious things that would upset you.

The thought of what could have happened, if Mahito was in the room, made his stomach churn.

You weren’t answering his calls or texts as the first hour of you walking out of his office had neared his mark.

He was familiar with your anger, knew the way your eyebrows pinched together in frustration like the back of his hand. It had only taken him that first week when he met you, but he could detect the slight agitation in your voice when it clipped the edges of your sentences. From every glare you had sent his way, every snide remark, every smirk of dominance when you had caught him on his toes, he knew you.

But the look on your face as you tried to yank his door open, eyes filled with tears, voice tight and heavy with disappointment, he felt something he was still trying to put together.

A strange sense of protection, to find whoever was responsible for making you less jovial, less determined, less willing to laugh into the air like he was used to.

Gojo had waltzed into his office only minutes after you stormed out, determined to spend the rest of his day teasing Nanami before he saw the look on his friend’s face. Nanami, while normally not a very outspoken man, had told Gojo the entire conversation, barely containing the rage in his voice.

Gojo had placated him briefly, before disappearing to find Omelia because he knew the minute she got wind of what happened, she would burn the place to the ground with everyone inside.

Still no response from you, his latest message simply left on read. It made him growl softly under his breath as he shoved his phone back into his pocket.

He was trying.

Nanami was rarely wrong, especially when it came to his work and the character of others. But he was wrong about you to a degree that made him nervous to be around you. And a little ashamed. He had belittled you to the point of despair, highlighting your weakness of wanting to prove yourself to others. If it were anyone else, they would have regarded Nanami as a stiff rod that was unwilling to bend and would simply keep their distance, never thinking more about his disagreeing nature and simply moving on to something else that didn’t involve him.

To others, his behavior may have even been a small lesson to not pry where things were doing just fine. To not rock the boat if the waters were already steady.

But not you.

He could tell there was something deeper when it came to you.

You worked hard to make yourself be seen and despite what he may have told you, your work was exemplary. And yet the very company you gave your all for had walked over you and kept you stagnant.

It was your courage, your intelligence, your ability to never stop until others saw reason, always pushing, always challenging. It was maddening to him, but he couldn’t imagine anyone else pushing back against the system and showing people like Yuji to never fall into step with others if there was no need to.

His reasoning for keeping you away had begun to crumble the minute he met you, slipping through the cracks of the wall he had pushed out to others who walked into his office with the same mentality time and time again and always having an ulterior motive.

The moment you snapped at him in his office during the summit, asserting your dominance and sneering at him, he knew that you would be in his mind forever. Pestering, pushing, worming your way into every decision he usually made in the office even when you were 4 hours away in Sendai.

But he caused you all of this pain and for what? Because he was embarrassed, and he had let his kindness with others get the better of him? Allowed just one person to take advantage and steal the hard work of the pink-haired boy that looked up to him? He couldn’t bear to see Yuji so upset again, couldn’t bear to acknowledge the guilt of letting his guard down.

He knew you were different.

Nanami rarely entertained the thoughts of others but you oozed intelligence and beauty in a way that made the entire office incline their heads towards you, always wanting to listen. Back then, he had hated so much of the situation the universe had put him in. He hated how much you challenged him, hated the way the sound of your laugh made his skin prickle when Gojo told you a harmless joke, hated the way your unusual curls escaped the frame of your professional bun when you were walking down a hall. He hated how attracted he was to you. If it were anyone else, he could have thrown an offhand comment about staying in their place and be none the wiser.

But it had to be you. It had to be someone that pulled him in and reciprocated the intense lust he had failed to keep under control with his snide remarks. It had to be you that he fell into bed with. Of all the people he had slept with, double layered with birth control and a condom, youwere the one who got the rotten luck.

It had to be you.

And he had gone too far, said something to you that he didn’t mean and felt the sting of your hand on his face before letting him know sadly that he would be a father.

Haibara had talked some sense in him, made him feel small and pathetic, and he deserved every bit of it. If his mother knew any other details, she would pull him by his ear, drag him to your doorstep and then tear through him with words that would probably make him afraid to leave his own house.

So when he finally swallowed his pride and guilt, when he finally admitted to himself that he had overstepped, he vowed to make it right with you. Especially with a baby on the way.

You were worth it. In every way, were you worth it.

He just needed you to pick up the phone.

The commotion from outside his door made him pause, one voice hushed and the other seething.

“Ome, he’s in a meeting. Come on!” Gojo sounded desperate, his voice serious for once.

“Lie to me again Gojo and I’ll really choke you out. Get out of my way you blue eyed albino fucker, I swear to god I’ll beat the shit out of you.”

She was livid. He should have known it was coming. And the minute his office door opened, and she twisted at Gojo’s hand to make him move, Nanami immediately prayed that someone above was listening.

Gojo whimpered, pulling away from her to grip his hand, his eyes pained even if they held a tinge of lust to them.

Why did he have to be such a freak?

Nanami opened his mouth to speak.

“Omelia, you don’t need to hurt him—”

She whipped her face from Gojo to glare at the source of words. Her silver eyes were shining, an odd contrast against her chocolate skin that made her seem almost alien.

“I’m sorry? I don’t recall saying you could speak.” Nanami tried to protest and her eyes flared again. “Shut. Up.” Her shoulders were moving deeply with her heavy breaths, her body radiating a protective anger that a mother would have for her child.

“I’m not going go into detail and try to placate you and ask ‘oh my what happened?’ or ‘I wonder who could have done this?’ Because none of that matters. Whether you were indirectly responsible or not, you still hold some fault. You disregarded her ideas at every opportunity and in every meeting. Did you honestly not think the higherups wouldn’t be paying attention??”

“I didn’t—”

“I said shut up!”

Her raspy voice cracked on the edges, the timbre making even Gojo widen his eyes slightly in shock.

“Y/n has worked so fucking hard. She’s spent years at this company doing what she could to make things better and she’s fucking good at it. She’s spent her entire life being told that she holds no value unless she’s the best at what she does. But she adored you, thought that if anyone could see just how hard she was working…if anyone could give her the experience she needed to make something of herself, it would be you. To her, you were the best at what you did. Asked the best questions, fostered the most intense conversations, compiled the most detailed reports. She always had a little crush on you. Clearly, I don’t see it, but go off I guess.”

She pulled in a large breath, her anger slowly receding, giving way to exhaustion.

“Gojo told me why you act the way you do. He told me about what happened to Yuji and I understand your response, truly I do. But y/n was different, and even you can’t deny that.”

Nanami swallowed, a large bulge of bile sliding back down his throat and sitting uncomfortably in his belly.

“She may not directly blame you, but she might realize that even your actions put her on the radar of the higherups. And they used her skills one last time, took what they needed, and then tossed her away. That’s going to hurt her, and she’s going to blame you and everyone for a very long time. That last time you hurt her; I gave you a chance because I knew it was the right thing to do. But not this time.”

She pointed a finger in his direction, her relaxed gaze beginning to boil over with rage again, silver eyes gleaming.

“Do you want to be in her life?”

“I do.” He answered it before she could even finish, his tone resolute and without question. She studied him sternly, picking at his skin with her gaze, tearing through the cracks and staring right into the guts. “Please understand that I do.”

“I don’t need to understand shit. She does. She has one parent in her life and that person could hardly be called a mother. I don’t want her child to only have one parent as well. That’s the only reason I’m talking to you. I’m not interfering anymore. You’re going to work for it Nanami. In every sense of the word. I don’t care how long it takes. I don’t care who you need to call, what you have to do or say. Grovel if you have to. Get down on your hands and knees and show her that you’re worth it. Fix. This. Now.”

Even Gojo swallowed loudly, his tall body glued in the crevices of his chair. Nanami hadn’t given away any other expression, but internally his blood was ice cold. Omelia was a force to be reckoned with.

“I will. I promise, I will.”

Omelia lowered her finger, her face still angry but her eyes seeming to accept his response.

“And if you ever. Ever. Hurt her again, there won’t be a place you’ll be able to hide. It wont take me long to find you. I’ll do whatever I can to protect her and I’ll make sure that you will have wished you never spoken to her in the first place.”

Nanami didn’t respond, his shoulders stiff, stomach coiling in unease and a slight twinge of fear through the overwhelming mass of respect that he held for the woman in front of him. You seemed to only attract people around you who radiated confidence, intelligence, and protection without even knowing it. A kind and hard working person surrounded by equally hard working people who saw your worth and personality and would do anything to keep it from being damaged.

His actions only made him feel more and more like a fool.

Omelia didn’t offer anything else, choosing instead to smooth down her grey dress before turning around and walking briskly from the room, the office door shutting closed behind her.

Everything was quiet for a few moments, Nanami still rooted to the floor, head throbbing in guilt and despair.

Gojo was still in his chair, hands on the armrests and clutching the wood before he sighed (forlornly?) and sagged into the seat.

“God she’s fucking amazing isn’t she Nanamin?”

“Get out.”

It took two weeks and hitting your 14th week to finally grow tired of Ome’s hovering. She was the best of course, in every sense of the word. But she was constantly doting; making sure you were eating, going on walks to get you out of the house, staying late with you so you wouldn’t feel so alone.

But after a while, you needed some peace and going to Yoyogi to be with Rory who was quiet and unimposing was the best choice.

It wasn’t as if you were unhappy with the attention. If anything, it made you feel warm to see messages from everyone.

Satoru Gojo: Is Ome there? Show her this meme and describe her face in detail as she reads it. Oh and yes, hello. I miss you, how is my godchild?

1 New Voicemail: Yuji Itadori

Yuji Itadori: Y/n! I left you a voicemail to tell you all about my day so you can rest! I miss you! Nanamin is more quiet than usual but he swears I don’t notice.

Geto Suguru: Hope you’re doing well. I mailed you some goodies that I hope you’ll like :)

Ieiri Shoko: Hi sweetie! I miss you! Nanami wont stop moping, would you like me to key his car? I need something to do.

Kento Nanami: My messages are going through so I know you have yet to block me. Please call me. 

Kento Nanami: At least make sure you’re eating enough protein. And monitor your calcium, its low in the second trimester. 

“It may be best if you just answer him, honey.”

It was the second time Rory had muttered the sentence in your ear that afternoon as he hovered over you in the studio.

“My hands are a little busy actually.”

And they were, helping a child smooth the edges of clay on her small pottery wheel. It wasn’t as fast as a more ideal piece of equipment. But it was still a wheel built for children and beginners. The girl held her wet hands beneath yours, using them as a guide to fashion what should have been a cup but may just be a bowl at this point. She had to have been no older than three, maybe even four, but her personality made her years older. Dark brown hair pulled up in a high ponytail, hazel eyes filled with wonder and curiosity, and never ending with questions.

Being in Rory’s studio took your mind off things, made you feel just a little more important to someone. You had offered to help him with a few classes just to keep your mind busy.

And if that was in the eyes of children in their beginners throwing class then you would take it. Being able to watch them use their imagination gave you a pry into their minds just a little, made you feel like you could see your own child doing the same.

“You never let me do it on my own!” She protested softly even though her eyes were focused on the clay in front of her, eyebrows pinched.

“You smushed the last one when I left you alone, Aiko. If you want this to be a cup then you should let me help you.”

She grumbled beneath her breath, a small but serious noise that made you chuckle against her back.

“At least let me control one side.”

You conceded quietly, removing one of your hands from hers and watching with a small amount of joy as she smiled.

Your phone buzzed again, pushing a grimace on your face.

“You should answer that.” Her voice was matter of fact, face still focused on your work. “Is it your boyfriend?”

“Absolutely not.”

“You guys fighting? When Mommy is mad at Daddy, he gets really sad. Uncle Ken always teases him about it.” You hummed against her, content to let her ramble as you brought a wooden rib to the side of her cup (bowl?). “Daddy always teases Uncle Ken though, he’s got a crush on someone. Wont tell me who it is but I guess she’s pretty. Uncle Ken is always talking about her, its pretty funny—”

“Aiko, please let Miss l/n rest.” The familiar voice of Yu Haibara echoed over your shoulder before he walked to sit in an empty chair across from you both. He was a familiar face the past week of bringing his daughter to lessons. He smiled up at you softly, bright eyes slightly weary from a long day of work. “I apologize. She loves her Uncle Ken far more than me. Though I cant blame her.”

“That’s not true, Daddy. I love you both. But Uncle Ken tells the best jokes.”

She pulled her hands away, letting you run a wet sponge along the sides to remoisten before moving her hands back. Your phone buzzed again and Aiko chuckled.

“Nanami usually isn’t persistent in anyone unless they are important to him.”

Your gaze darted up to his, eyes wide and surprised. He only reflected a small sense of mirth, eyes happy if a little concerned. Even though he was playing along, his gaze held a firm sense of seriousness that even his daughter couldn’t detect. You offered him a small smile to placate him before looking back down at your current task.

“You know him?”

“I do. Little over 15 years. He tells me everything, if you can believe that.”

You couldn’t.

“And I suppose you’re here to defend his honor?” You guided Aiko’s hand along the curve of the clay, smiling at her amazement as it gave under the pressure.

“Not really. He knows what he needs to do. He deserves your wrath more than anything.”

You took a slow breath, the anxiety spiking in your body, smoothing along your veins and once again wreaking havoc on your life. You were mad at everyone. Nanami, Jin, the entire company you poured your life to, your fucking self. And it was doing nothing but making you worry more, sweat randomly with the thought of ‘what do I do now?’ You felt worthless, so absolutely worthless and you knew deep down it was your upbringing.

But it didn’t make the thoughts and emotions go away.

It only made everything too intense, too stressful, too fucking loud.

You own mother had yet to know about your recent change in employment and once she found out it would probably be the only conversation you both had with each other in a while.

“Miss l/n, your hands are shaking!”

Her voice pulled you out of your thoughts and back down to your hands that were trembling minutely and cradling Aiko’s. You steadied them, offering a small smile behind her that she couldn’t see.

“He won’t tell me what’s going on, but Gojo has been heavily involved and I barely see him willingly help anyone. Nanami hardly respects him so this speaks volumes. Whatever happened…I hope you forgive him. He asked me to join him for a run this morning and I almost smacked him. He knows that I hate running so I imagine the delirium has set in.”

That pulled a chuckle from you, earning an equally charming smile from Yu as well. He was a kind man, truly incapable of any evil. And to have a child like Aiko, definitely spoke to his character.

“How have you two been friends for this long?” You came to a stop with Aiko’s creation, using a wire to cut along the bottom and slide the cup onto a slab for drying. Aiko hopped up to wash her hands, disappearing from you both.

Yu smiled, watching you idly clean.

“It’s always been hard to explain. But I think we just pushed each other growing up and once his little wall of seriousness fell around me, I saw him for who he really was. And he’s a really good man that not a lot of people deserve. A man that took his own personal ideals too far and hurt you in the process. I’m no person who will rush anyone. But…I think he’d like to talk to you if you let him. Plus I want to see him grovel, it will make great memories.”

Aiko rushed back just in time, prompting her father to pull her into his lap before he kissed her cheek.

In the back of your mind you knew Yu was right and you were talking with Rory about it on the drive home until you fell silent completely, a familiar and unwelcome car parked in your uncle’s driveway.

She never came to visit. Not even for holidays or even her brother’s birthday.

But your mother’s silver Sedan was unmistakable through the car window, her own stiff form leaning against it.

“Do you want to stay in the car?” Rory’s voice was calm even though your heart was soaring in your chest, reawakening anxiety you had been battling since you’d been laid off. You shook your head, choosing to step out with him, the cold air hitting your cheeks as your mother’s icy stare hit you both.

“What are you doing here, Naveah?”

You mother scoffed, short dark curls bouncing in the air as she glared at her brother.

“I’ve come to take my daughter home. Clearly I care more about her wellbeing than you.”

You felt you heart roll in your chest, a sense of unease brushing under your skin, an odd tightening in your lower abdomen.

“Mom, I’m fine here—”

“I heard you were fired. And I won’t let my only child be unemployed and endanger her future and embarrass herself any longer.”

The pain from her words were sharp, biting and cutting at your stomach and pulling an odd lurch of pain that made you startle slightly. Her gaze was cold, distant as always, her words only thinking of herself and coated in a thin layer of false care.

“Mom. That’s enough. I’m a grown woman, I have a baby on the way and I can make my own decisions.”

“Clearly not since you’ve managed to waste years of hard work with nothing more than a lousy severance pay and a baby from a coworker you hardly know.”

The sharp pain returned again, harder and forcing you to cradle your stomach, right beneath the small bump of what was 14 weeks of growing life. You shook out a shaky breath, Rory and your mother’s arguing falling into the background. The anxiety was incessant now, squeezing at your throat. You swallowed harshly and glared at her.

“Mom that’s enough. You need to leave. I’ll make my own decisions. Live the life I want. Do what I want to do.” You shook out another uneasy breath, Rory’s eyes filling with alarm as he studied you. “Please go.”

“And do what? Sit back and watch as the only one in this family who has shown promise will resign herself to playing with mud and paint?!” Another stab, sharp again coupled with an odd pulling sensation along what felt like your uterus making itself known even more. Your heart was racing in your chest, pumping stress and anxiety throughout your body, your neck breaking into a sweat. “Years of disappointment! For once, do something you’re good at and make it worth—”

“Stop it!” The yell was harsh and cruel as it shouted from your throat. Both of your hands cradling the small bump of your baby. Barely enough to raise skin, but enough for you to notice. “You need to—” You doubled over, wincing harshly and pulling into yourself as another sharp stab hit your stomach. Rory was by you in an instant, holding you close and asking questions you couldn’t hear through the pounding in your ears. You opened your mouth to speak again before shaking out a cry instead, the pavement touching your knees as you slouched to the ground.

“I’m right here with her Ome. Yes, she’s awake, breathing, everything I promise. By the time you get here by train she will be discharged so please stay in Sendai. I’ll keep you updated.”

The stale lights of your hospital room only made you feel like a fish out of water.

As soon as Rory cussed out his sister and threatened to call the cops so she could leave, you both made it to the hospital and he guided you inside where you were whisked away to be poked and prodded. People staring too hard at your skin, pulling at your hair as if it were an accident, disregarding your pain level because you looked different and therefore felt pain differently.

You were barely holding on, wanting so bad to go home and cry into your pillows. Rory was doing his best, practically tearing down the door from the waiting room to get back to you and not leaving your side ever since.

But there was something missing that you couldn’t quite place, and not knowing what that was only made you more uneasy.

You had denied painkillers, their treatment of you had completely evaporated your trust and made you overprotective of the baby. But the more the stress rose in you, the more you doubled over in pain, scared and edgy and desperately seeking for someone to just hold you. Rory had done it all night but it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t what you wanted.

“Let me through or I’ll tear this waiting room apart.”

Just the sound of his voice had your heart fluttering to a degree you hadn’t felt in a while. All sense of commotion seemed to stop as you watched him rush into the room. His hair was down again, ungelled and loose around his eyes that were slightly heavy and dark from lack of sleep. The grey hoodie and sweatpants were hastily thrown on, just like the last time he had rushed to you.

“Hi.”

The moment the word left your lips, heavy and cracking, he was by your side immediately, sinking into a chair and pulling it close to you.

“What’s happened?” His hands were hovering, desperately wanting to touch you but afraid of crossing another line. “Tell me. Please.”

You bit your lip, trying so hard to stop the tears from building in your eyes. You wanted so bad to be in control of things. But the constant pain, the fear of not knowing what was happening to your baby, the words from your mother, it was all getting too much and too fast.

“I’m cramping really bad. My mother—well I don’t know but it won’t stop.”

Nanami eyes filled with something you couldn’t place, flickering up to your uncle.

“Have they not given her something for the pain?”

You shook out a sigh, shaking your head and pulling his attention back to you. The stinging in your eyes boiled beneath your skin, your vision blurring against your will.

“I don’t want them to touch me.” He looked confused but didn’t respond. “They keep poking and prodding, telling me that my pain shouldn’t be this high. Pulling at my hair, staring. I cant—I don’t trust them. I’m not a fucking experiment.” You couldn’t stop the tears that spilled over, your last ounce of control slowly beginning to slip from your fingers.

“My baby isn’t an—”

“Hey.” His voice was soft but firm and unrelenting as he took one of your hands in his. They were so much larger than yours but so warm, so very warm and unyielding and grounding you in a moment where you felt like you were drowning. You could feel the slight tremor in his hands from the rage, his eyes filled with a malice that scared even you. He wanted to wreak havoc, find the people responsible and strangle them with his bare hands.

“I won’t let them touch you. I’ll go call Dr. Reynolds and we will go from there okay?” You nodded frantically, uncaring of the tears now as you tried to navigate through your emotions.

Rory interjected, smoothing your curls back before smiling down at you.

“I’ll call her. Stay here with her, Nanami.”

When your uncle was out of the room and the door was closed, the only other sounds were the clock on the wall and the occasional car passing outside the window. Nanami’s hands hadn’t left yours, both clasped around your one, a thumb stroking the outside of your palm. Nanami opened his mouth to speak, full lips hesitating.

“What triggered this?”

You shrugged, taking a small sniff as the tears continued to fall. “I don’t know. My mom just…showed up at my uncle’s house and she—she said from really hurtful things and I think it was the stress. Between her…and being fired…the disappointment in myself…I don’t know. I’m not surprised this is happening to me.”

He squeezed your hand, his eyes flashing with frustration.

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop saying things that do not make sense? I don’t know who your mother is as a person, but she’s made you feel like someone that is not worth anything when that couldn’t be further from the truth. It’s going to take a long time for you to want to let me in. I also have no right to ask this of you but I’m begging, please let me be involved more. I can’t bear to have something like this happen again and I’m not there to help you.”

You sniffed pitifully, wiping away your messy face with your free hand before resting your cheek against your pillow, all anxiety leaving as he looked at you with a leveled gaze.

“You’re more levelheaded than Ome in this situation. The smallest hint of discrimination makes her foam at the mouth. I’m sure they would shoot her with a horse tranquillizer.”

He shook out a small puff of air, a small smile curling his lips fractionally at the joke. He hated being so helpless in this situation, hated seeing the tears on your face from fear and pain. He hated the fact that he wasn’t here to snap the necks of whoever stared too hard at you, pulled at your hair in disbelief of the natural curls, intentionally misread your pain scale from some asinine and prehistoric belief that what you felt was vastly different from others. It made him sick to his stomach. But he was here now, content to keep your hand in his and soothe you in whatever way he could. For as long as you would let him.

When Rory returned, it was with a doctor you didn’t recognize, but she held an air to her that made you feel a little better. She had worked extensively with Dr. Reynolds who had forwarded her your chart and was prepared to do whatever she could to make you at ease. You relaxed instantly, sagging into Nanami’s embrace as she administered medicine fit for your pregnancy and doing basic vitals.

“The pain is your body growing to get accustomed to the baby. You uterus is moving and the ligaments surrounding are stretching to accommodate the new addition. It’s uncomfortable, but the cramps are also exacerbated by stress. Too much of it can lead to your placenta detaching and that’s something we have to avoid.”

Nanami was silent at your side, but his presence was rock solid against you, tethering you to him to remain calm.

“I honestly recommend you rest for the next few weeks. No working, no traveling, maybe small walks here and there but I think until the slight discomfort subsides, we want to make sure you are relaxed as much as possible. However, I think tonight you need someone really watching you. I feel like you won’t listen.”

“She won’t,” Rory interjected in agreement, prompting you to glare at him. He rolled his eyes before smiling. “I need to deal with your mother tonight so—”

“I can watch her.”

The shock in your face was hard to ignore but Nanami simply looked down at you with his indifferent stare, eyes firm and leaving no room for argument.

You knew a man like Nanami had taste, but you never expected his apartment to be so nice. A penthouse suite in Nakameguro, enough bedrooms to never have to worry about space, open floor plans with stainless steel appliances, dark wood floors, and walls decorated with art and photography. Every corner held something that made it all feel cozier. His living room had the longest sofa you had ever seen decorated with neutral floor pillows and a rather large throw blanket that was calling your name. His television was large, the center glass table sleek and sharp and perched atop some faux rug that you would tease him about another time. But the most distinct characteristic of his house were the books. Along the wall of his living room was a large bookshelf that was spilling with them.

Another corner held a small bar, a decanter filled with whiskey, crystal glasses clean and upside down to avoid dust, a few shelves of expensive liquor underneath. A small table next to the bar held a well used record player, a small bookshelf next to it housing different vinyl that you would tell yourself to look at later.

You wandered to his bookshelf, running your fingers through different works that even you were shocked to see. Every genre from crime to romance to science fiction. The pages were well worn, bent at the corners and slightly used.

Your gaze slid over to his television, long and polished, a flash of DVDs peeking from underneath it in the entertainment center. They all were basic movies, something most people watch all the time, but you never would have expected Nanami of all people to have a physical copy.

Your eyes widened as they fell on a few collections.

“Jersey Shore?” You didn’t bother to hold back the incredulous tone, turning to look at him as he poured you a glass of water from his large kitchen. The room was dark but the light from his open fridge cast an odd shadow that highlighted his sharp cheekbones.

“You watched Jersey Shore??”

“I watch Jersey Shore.”

The forwardness to acknowledge such a trivial piece of information had your mouth open and gaping. He lifted an amused eyebrow at you as he walked across the room, set the glass of water on the center table and then placed his warm hands on your upper shoulders before guiding you slowly down to the couch, handling you with care as if you were glass. You rolled your eyes but didn’t tell him to stop.

“You like reality tv?”

He slid off your shoes, silently pulling your legs onto the couch and then reaching over to hand you the glass of water.

“I do. Why do you look shocked?”

“You know why I look shocked.”

You chuckled around the rim of the clear glass cup, sipping silently and letting the cold water sliding down your throat soothe your nerves. The nerves of being in such an odd situation with him; high up in Nakameguro with the father of your child in his very expensive and large apartment.

“I’m sure Jersey Shore was too much for you. There’s much better reality tv.” He lifted an eyebrow in challenge, blonde locks falling in front of his eyes and shooting you a gaze that made your skin tingle. “The Real Housewives?”

“Seen them.”

“Even Salt Lake City?”

“Definitely Salt Lake City.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled from your throat, watching him with a small smile as he brought the throw blanket to you, smoothing it over your legs and casting them in soft warmth.

“What about the Kardashians?”

He hummed, narrowing his eyes to himself as he thought it over.

“Seen that as well. Even the two seasons from their new show.”

“There’s three seasons.” That seemed to catch him off guard, his brown eyes filling with curiosity as he turned his gaze to you. “You wanna watch?”

He reclined against the sofa, letting his head fall back before it lulled over to look at you. His gaze was sharp, intense eyes prying deep inside and seeing something that seemed to make him smile just a little. Such a small action, but enough to make you boil over in emotion.

“Would you like popcorn?”

You watched him silently as he worked in the kitchen, pulling out a box of already opened butter popcorn and then popping it in his microwave. He moved around with an elegance that you saw all the time at the office, eyes sharp and unrelenting and free of his glasses, hands large and fluid as he set the timer and fished for a large bowl. It felt odd, feeling the sense of normalcy wash over you as you observed across the room, suddenly imagining a little girl perched on his marble countertop, dark curls frizzy as he made her a late night snack.

It made your heart pound suddenly, lurching you out of your thoughts and choosing instead to smile at him as he sat back down next to you. He seemed to catch something in your gaze as he placed a warm hand on your blanket covered leg, rubbing softly.

“Are you okay? Comfortable?”

You could only nod in reply, blinking away the wetness in your eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, pausing only for a second.

“I know that you’re upset with what happened. You have every reason to be. But I want you to know that I’m going to fix this. I’ve done enough for the sake of my own pride and I don’t want to hurt you again. I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t show you and our child that you can trust me. I don’t like that you hate me.”

You pursed your lips, running your fingers along the edge of the metal bowl filled with popcorn as you fought back yet another bought of tears. Everything felt too real all of a sudden and even though you wanted to be vulnerable, to maybe let him into your life to show him how things affected you, you were just too tired tonight.

But you could give him a small concession.

“I was mad at you. At everyone really. I don’t feel like talking about it tonight. But I…I don’t hate you Nanami.” That seemed to hold something for him as he relaxed into the sofa, resting his cheek against the cushions as he gazed at you. He would make it up to you. He would do whatever he could to prove you that he was someone worth keeping.

“Besides, I’m so curious to see who your favorite Kardashian is.”

The distraction pulled a small chuckle from him, rare and deep that made his chest shake beneath his hoodie.

“Kourtney.”

“Somehow, that makes sense.”

He shook out another laugh, the sound rumbling through the late night air.

[chocolatepot]

Twitter is rapidly sinking as people are only allowed to look at it for about ten minutes a day, so I thought I would put together a post explaining the best way to get started on Mastodon! It can be an intimidating prospect as it's not as immediately user-friendly as Twitter or other corporate social media sites.

Selecting a server

The main difference between Mastodon and Twitter is that you don't just "sign up for Mastodon". Mastodon is effectively made up of hundreds of small sites (called "instances") that are all interconnected ("federated") and use the same interface. The instance you choose has only a minor effect on your experience. The main one to be aware of is that if an instance is known to be poorly moderated and have users who cause a lot of trouble, other instances may unlink from it ("defederate") and make it more difficult for people on it to interact with you. This is rare. The very big, unthemed instances like mastodon.social are more likely to have this problem than any fannish one, in my experience. (You can also make a personal choice to block an entire instance if you have an issue with it.)

The other effect is that each instance has its own universal feed of all users on it.

The sidebar looks almost exactly like Twitter's, except for "local" and "federated". Your home feed is just the people you follow. "Local" is everyone on your instance, and "federated" is everyone on any instance yours is federated with. The local feed is why it's worthwhile to choose an instance that has some sort of theme you're interested in, like fandom, tech, queer issues, history, etc.

The two main fannish instances I'm aware of are fandom.ink and federatedfandom.net. There's also wandering.shop but that seems to be more for writers, in my experience. If you want a different sort of instance, just google "[topic] mastodon instance" and you should find it.

Applying to your instance

Because instances are more tightly moderated than the rest of social media, you can't always immediately get into the one you want. (Though I suspect that many have opened up slightly as Twitter flails.) You may need to submit some kind of application and wait a few days.

If you know someone on the instance you want to join, they may be able to get you an invite code so you can skip the queue. I have unlimited invites for fandom.ink, hit me up if you want to join.

You can also join an instance that's currently taking new accounts and then transfer into the one you want later. For the impatient souls.

Posting

The mechanics of posting are just like Twitter's.

You type in the box, you hit "toot" (I know), and out it goes. You may notice that you get a 500 character limit! This is nice.

If you add an image, make sure to add alt text. Not including alt text may get you flamed or shamed. You can also make a poll, set privacy levels, and add a content/spoiler/trigger warning that will require people to click through to see the text.

Use of hashtags is strongly encouraged on Mastodon. I've seen some talk praising Tumblr's style of having a separate field for tags and suggesting Mastodon add that, but I don't know if it'll happen. But unlike Twitter, there's an earnest culture of incorporating tags into your text (eg "I just bought a new #fountainpen") and following tags to get posts about different topics. This is the main way to find people with similar interests to follow, outside of your local feed.

It's also Mastodon culture to write an introductory post with your interests, including hashtags, so that people can find you.

Something else to be aware of is that you can edit your posts! If anyone has already rt'd ("boosted") them - they will just get a notification of your edit.

You cannot qrt on Mastodon at this time. It's a hotly debated topic. You will have to settle for boosting and then replying, or making your own post with context and linking to the post you want to qrt.

Following other people

If the person you want to follow is on your instance, that's all well and good. Click on their name, go to their profile, click the "follow" button.

If they are not on your instance, you need to make sure that you're accessing them through your instance. Clicking on their name from your federated feed, or if someone has boosted them onto your home feed, will automatically take you to the version of their profile on your instance. Also all well and good.

If you get to their profile from somewhere else, such as a direct link from another social media platform, that's a problem. If you try to follow, their instance will bleat at you that you don't have an account. There are two ways to get around this.

One is to paste their entire username (eg "@chocolatepot@fandom.ink") into the search bar on your instance, from your home feed. The other is to navigate to "http://[your server address]/[their whole username]" in your address bar. Both will take you to the same place.

[binah-beloved]

Book of You

Binah x Reader Library of Ruina Pronouns: Gender Neutral Warnings: None

~ * ~

The Floor of Philosophy smells like black tea and raindrops, fresh with the dew of evening mist, the kind that only appears at midnight under the light of the moon. Quiet and serene, with shelves filled to the brim with books, the eighth floor of the Library exists as a place of calm silence, stars twinkling against the ceiling. But you’re not here to see any of it. The assistant librarians often speculate how their patron spends her hours outside of observing battles- the few who deliver books to Binah report that they often see her drinking tea, sitting at her usual table with a peaceful, contemplative look on her face- although occasionally, the librarians whisper in hushed tones, they’ll catch her walking along the aisles, staring intently at the title of each book for a moment before moving on to the next. It seems as though she’s looking for something, they all muse, huddled in a circle. But what? Not something, but someone. You. Binah can hear her assistants’ whispers, no matter how quiet they try to be- it’s amusing to her, catching snippets of conversation and theories as she passes by, each more outlandish than the last. But they’re never quite right, always missing the fact that she’s searching for a living, breathing person instead of merely an object, the one assistant librarian who hasn’t awoken from slumber yet. She remembered you even when her mind was hazy from sleeping for so long- your smile, your laugh, the way you made her cold, deadened heart skip a beat. You had toiled away at the Corporation together for cycle after cycle and slowly, surely, she had grown attached, although she had tried to resist. Arbiters cannot form attachments, it’s a danger to their work and occupation.

But mostly, it was a danger to your well-being, and that had worried her the most. Binah recalled looking up at the light as Angela reformed everything and everyone, the Arbiter’s hand curled against your warmer one. She had glanced at you, gauging your reaction, and your exhausted appearance drew a droplet of concern from the well of emptiness within her, the shadows in your eyes more prominent than usual before Angela had snapped her fingers and everything vanished. With how tired you seemed, it’s reasonable that you’d want to stay asleep for as long as you could. Truly, it’s understandable. She tries to be understanding- really, she does- but Binah wants nothing more than to be selfish, to find your book and wake you up again because she misses you, more than she’s ever missed anything in the world. It’s lonely up here, in her floor, the skittish assistants not being much good for conversation- and she tries to be more welcoming! She invites everyone over for tea, for books, for a chat, but rarely does anyone take her up on the offer. They’re all still afraid of the Arbiter she once was. So Binah ends up alone, quietly sipping her tea and thinking, as she always does. And she decides that being lonely is dreadful, that she doesn’t like it much, and her search for you resumes even though the Library is endless, even though she’s looked for days without any luck, even though Angela once flatly told her that she might never find you, not ever. Even if it takes eternity, she’ll find you, and you’ll find her- Binah believes in nothing except for this. It’s late one afternoon, near the end of another day filled with fruitless searching, that her keen eyes spot something familiar. A book just like the others comes into view as she steps closer, except this time it’s scripted with a name she knows well on its spine, the elegant handwriting shining with silver ink as she carefully removes the novel from its shelf.

Your name. You. Her heart warms as she traces her fingers over the letters, holding your book with the lightest touch before setting it down on the ground. With deft movements Binah flips open the first few pages then steps back as light emanates from the book, your form appearing with the crackling snap of a thousand sparks. You yawn and blink tiredly, then turn your eyes towards the woman standing before you, and a small, genuine smile forms on Binah’s lips as you gasp in surprise. She looks a little different, with longer hair and different clothes- but so do you, your uniform crisper and less worn than it’s been in years, courtesy of a certain Library Director- and you look positively in awe over Binah’s new appearance. She lets out a soft chuckle and reaches a hand for you to take, her grip firm as she helps you to your feet, making sure you don’t stumble. Your eyes widen as you admire the Library, such a stark contrast from the cold metal of Lobotomy Corporation, but Binah’s hand gently tilts your chin so you’re facing her instead, needing to see your liveliness after so long with only books. For a moment you swear she hesitates, debating with herself before slowly pulling you into an embrace, arms wrapped securely around your waist, and you hug her back eagerly, mumbling that you missed her. Binah hums in quiet agreement, the stiffness of her shoulders easing away almost imperceptibly, and the Patron Librarian of the Floor of Philosophy is finally at peace.

[braxiatel]

Goodtimeswithscar is a sexyman and I will prove it to you

If you are still on the fence I encourage you to look at the sexypedia - a wikipedia dedicated to tumblr sexymen - and checking out their tropes page. Scar meets 35/62 on a list where recent winner of the tumblr sexyman poll Cecil Palmer of WTNW fame only has 8 listed on his character page!

35!

Scar is Textbook, and if you need proof I have gone through all the tropes and explained why they apply to him!

VOTE SCAR!

4th Wall Blurring: This one is arguable due to the nature of the medium but I’ll include it

Animal Theming: See: animal hybrid headcanons and designs. Cat Scar, panda Scar, hyena Scar, avian Scar - they’re everywhere!

Angst: That cactus ring… magic mountain. need I say more? This boy has angst. 

Bait: *gestures at the shirtless skins*

Capitalist: she sells sea shells on the sea shore but the value of these shells will fall due to the laws of supply and demand no one wants to buy shells cause there’s loads on the sand step one you must create a sense of scarcity 

Chaoslord: HotGuy! [snipes you for no good reason]

Criminal: shells will sell much better if the people think they’re rare you see bear with me take as many shells as you can find and hide them on an island stockpile them high until they’re rarer than the price of diamond

Con Artist: step two gotta make the people think that they want them really fucking want them hit ‘em like Bronson influencers product placement if you haven’t got a shell then you’re just a fucking waste man

Dealmaker: three it’s monopoly invest inside some property start a corporation make a logo do it properly shells must sell that will be your new philosophy swallow all your morals they’re a poor man’s quality

Distinctive Voice: I do not need to make any arguments here. Have you heard him???

Quotable Catchphrase(s): well hello there, scarred for life, “a-ma-zing”, etc.

Distinctive Laugh: I think I autism stole Scar’s laughter (whoops) so I’m giving him this one too, but also that gigle is just very good and we all know it, right?

Dominating: from the trope description: “Characters who assert their power over others. Could be through manipulation, magic, smugness, or force of personality.” Yes. 

Duality: Convex did not put their whole entire vexussies into that possession storyline for us to forget about it. 

Egotistical: This one is arguable and a question of characterisation, but I think that we can all agree that on some levels, yes. 

Eldritch: From the trope description: “Since the typical sexyman is a tall mostly human looking pale twink, in a vast majority of the cases the eldritch is a heavy implication lying just under the surface.” Hello? Vex Scar?? 

Gay: See subsection: 

LGBTQ+ Coded: That cactus ring. Mumbo “eye candy” Jumbo. The season 7 mayoral race. Concorp. His jolly rancher arc. This man has so many boyfriends. 

Girlboss: listen I think a lot of characters who aren’t traditional girlbosses get called so, but with Scar I think it’s accurate okay. Did Scar utilize girl power effectively when he and Cub were blatant war profetiers during the season 6 civil war? yes. Absolutely. Girlboss. 

Glowing Neon: vex blue anyone?

Hot-headed: Don’t let his calm exterior fool you. Remember. Scar when someone steals his horse: *sets their whole entire house on fire*. 

Intelligence: yes but also see subsection

Smartdumb: Okay listen. Scar is Smart. Scar is very smart. And I specifically have to make sure you know I am talking character only here because cc!Scar seems to me to be a Very intelligent person with a wide field of knowledge. But uhm. c!Scar dies so much and so often in ways that are completely unavoidable. He does silly things without thinking of the consequences. I have seen enough people calling him a himbo (beloathed term) enough times that I do not need to argue this point. He is smart but also babygirl Why are you like this.

Johnlocked: “When two characters are shipped extensively by fans despite the pairing not necessarily being canon (or even present) in the original work.” it started out with a cactus ring how did it end up like this, it was only a cactus ring, it was only a cactus ring

Knifemurder: Hotguy! [snipes you a second time] 

Magnificent Bastard: This Is The Whole Point. Scar oozes charisma even when he is the villain and that’s why he is so beloved. He is smart, he is stylish, he is charming, even while he is killng you. This is the point. 

Marked Canon/Fanon Divergence: “Sexymen with a large gap between how they are in the original work (Canon) and how they are commonly portrayed in fanworks (Fanon)” see : the fake crystals vs Scar actually having magic, the abs being painted on vs shirtless Scar everywhere, etc.

Monster Features: vex scar vex scar vex scar

Nonhuman: like the vex thing is literally canon it’s not fanon those cons sure did vex 

Pale Twink: We could have done many things with this collection of blocks people, and yet my dash is full of shirtless twinks/twunks every day ending with a y. Curious. 

Perpetual Smiler: Okay listen this is partially the nature of the medium but also 1) that is a distinctive smile and 2) have you see the fanworks? 

Power: This man tried to sell fake magic crystals and we all just decided he can do magic. He was an elf once and now fae/elf Scar headcanons are everywhere. 

Scars: I- I’m not explaining myself here. yes??? 

Tall: I can think of one, maybe two portrayals of Scar that have made him short. 

Theme Song: four expand, expand, expand clear forest make land fresh blood on hands five why just shells why limit yourself she sells seashells sell oil as well six guns sell stocks sell diamonds sell rocks sell water to a fish sell the time to a clock seven press on the gas take your foot off the brakes then run to be the president of the united states eight big smile mate big wave that's great now the truth is overrated tell lies out the gate nine polarise the people controversy is the game it don't matter if they hate you if they all say your name ten the world is yours step out on a stage to a round of applause uou're a liar a cheat a devil a whore and you sell seashells on the seashore

Unkempt: so those rugged life series Scars, huh? 

Villain: Scar has been the villain several times and has a Long list of crimes to his name

Technically Antagonist: see 3rd life

Villain Protagonist: unreliable narrator Scar my beloved. I love how he just *does terrible things edited to make him look like he’s just a silly little guy having some harmless fun*

Well-Dressed: Hmmm I wonder why waggon/tycoon Scar routinely wins every Scar skin poll. Also he has enough outfits to include these sub categories too: 

Suitguy: “Characters who typically wear formalwear, specifically suits. Often includes waistcoats, top hats, bowties, and pinstripes. Other neckwear may also be worn.” Again. The tycoon skin really lives rent free in all out minds, huh?

Long Coat/Cape/Robe/Etc: bathrobe wizard Scar my beloved but also do you know how many thirst trap last life Scars I’ve seen?? 

White Twink Humanization: He is made out of blocks in canon. We did not need to make him like this and yet we did. 

White Hair: last life Scar beloved by many <3

VOTE SCAR!

[calder]

is there any particular reason you use the fandom.com wiki instead of the fallout independent wiki?

i actually use both & plan to host my various works in the IFW community pagespace. but yes, there are reasons i am of rank at nukapedia and rarely contribute to IFW

first of all, i find the visual editor vastly more appealing than the raw wiki text editor. and the dark theme more appealing than the light theme

but mainly, the fandom wiki lets me develop articles and share what i know about the setting, whereas almost every time i try to contribute to ifw, someone in the edit chat suggests i should be punished. to their credit ifw as an organization has not mistreated me. but i have been told by a prominent member that i should avoid insulting the reader by Describing things, because description is interpretive

by contrast nukapedia lets me fly my freak flag literally as much as i want & encourages me to be an evil wizard. i invite you to compare

.https://fallout.wiki/wiki/Smiling_Man .https://fallout.fandom.com/wiki/Smiling_Man

.https://fallout.wiki/wiki/LGBTQ_Representation_in_Fallout .https://fallout.fandom.com/wiki/LGBT_representation_in_the_Fallout_series#Themes

.https://fallout.wiki/wiki/Pylon_V-13 .https://fallout.fandom.com/wiki/Pylon_V-13

.https://fallout.wiki/wiki/The_Cathedral .https://fallout.fandom.com/wiki/The_Cathedral

.https://fallout.wiki/wiki/Children_of_Atom .https://fallout.fandom.com/wiki/Church_of_the_Children_of_Atom

.https://fallout.wiki/wiki/The_Buried_City .https://fallout.fandom.com/wiki/The_Buried_City

--interpretive nuka pages i made, with no IFW equivalent: .https://fallout.fandom.com/wiki/Conspiracy_theory .https://fallout.fandom.com/wiki/Disability_representation_in_the_Fallout_series .https://fallout.fandom.com/wiki/Pre-War_ghouls .https://fallout.fandom.com/wiki/Art_deco_sculptures

the differences here are a product of their respective cultures. of course, you can learn the most by perusing both. but you'll notice one of these is brazenly fiction-oriented, and the other far more interested in expediently conveying the primary texts in plain prose.

the fandom community is the one interested in cutting me loose on the primary pagespace. despite IFW's ostensible inclusion of popular mods and fan works, their standards for objectivity and notability are immeasurably more strict, and i would quickly be banned if i tried to use it the way I use nukapedia.

and that's fine! they have their own priorities. they produce their own distinctive results, some of which outclass nukapedia. they are nice when i try to work with them directly & accept some of my contributions. but it's simply not an environment in which i thrive

if a third wiki were to arise which was non-corporate and setting-oriented, i would probably use that site most actively. but currently, i am able to do whatever i want on nukapedia, and the website informs the setting enough that the ip has directly plagiarized me through my writings there. for now nukapedia sets the tone for the fandom so i also just don't want to let it fall into disrepair

i know corporations are bad and fandom is a bad corporation. i don't like it either.

[rouf-4]

Placements that are later bloomers in relationships

Uranus in the 5th house: As much as a lot of astrologers like to talk about Uranus unpredictability to find multiple partners, I honestly think it is more a hard to pin placement, Uranus unpredictability can be a great factor in a native life to stay single or avoiding having a normal process with potential fliers, this native tend to feel lonely and take this as something to be proud for, so even when they can get a great deal of attention, they end up putting themselves aside because they fear rejection.

Saturn aspecting 7th house ruler: Especially tense aspects can make a native being dominated by the saturnian structures and walls, this can be in detriment of the native's love/social life, their intense almost obsessive necessity of reassurance in relationships is overwhelming to most suiters, being courted by such an impenetrable force of human is like being examined exhaustly. Later in life they learn to be more comprehensive of others and most important of themselves. Saturn fearful side make rules this natives love life until later in life.

Leo Sun: I've seen this specially in women, I've personally noticed that the loyalty of this sign to their personal boundaries and their ego is really in detriment of their relationships, because of such a hard standard to reach this natives tend to entertain multiple options to validate their ego, but problems arise when they try to form a really deep bound, cause they don't know what they want neither what they need, these natives (specially women) tend to look for a really specific kind of relationship and they go for it, but when the relationship is set up, they are already tired of the long chasing and doesn't feel value enough in this type of bound, later in life these people tend to learn to wait and let others do the chase and finally get someone who is able to make any effort to be with them and treat them.

Uranus/ Saturn aspecting Mars: This is kinda obvious, with any aspect to Saturn there's certain amount of effort you have to put in; and with Uranus you could have difficulties delimitating your wants and needs in relationships, that's why you'll find yourself struggling to adapt yourself to socially acceptable relationships, most of the time this is a lot of trial and error until you find your own concept of love, where you can truly experience your freedom (not avoiding). Mars is our assertion, we feel restriction (Saturn) everytime we desire someone, these self structures and fears make the native deny themselves the opportunity to go for someone they really like, we don't trust ourselves or our capacities to act and get what we want. With Uranus we do act, but somehow we can't figure out how we can follow normal structures or start something without feeling aliened by the rest of people, we start acting just to got others shock like a vendetta, or we just stop doing whatever makes us feel weird.

Uranus/ Saturn aspecting Venus: The passive Venusian influence is folded by the saturnian and uranian energy, the pleasure is held back and the native can have a hard time connecting with their own value, such a difficult relationship with pleasure and self-worth can make these people deeply insecure and can create an obsession with beauty standards (generally saturnian are beautiful people, but they lack confidence to acknowledge this), later in life they learn to cultivate an internal self-worth and to let others appreciate them for this. Uranian energy can create a discomfort fitting what pleasure and beauty means to society, also some of them could feel attraction to rare or taboo stuff that can be really disruptive in a traditional setting, some uranian don't feel exited with the idea of corporal side of Venusian energy (Taurus), so they try to create a perfect and idealistic (sometimes a unrealistic) perception of what a relationship should be, sadly their lack of a good foundation makes their relationships fragile and ephemeral.

Neptunians: I know we shouldn't generalize, but, nothing more real than Neptunians tendencies to idealize and put such an impossible standards to almost anything in their lives, unfortunately for most of them their fabulous visions stay as fantasy most of the time, because, as much as they neglect reality and themselves to build this visions, they are incapable of ground their visions to real world (unless there's an strong Saturn in their chart). Honestly the worst part of not being able to fullfil their fantasies is they rather live delusional than accept situations just as they are, so most of the time we see neptunians giving themselves to others, helping kids, animal, plants or just recurring to victimizing behavior, and neglecting their own dreams because they can't adjust to reality; if they choose to face what it's in front of them, it may not be as magical or fantastic but rather real and warm. Some neptunians should try to understand that we live in this reality to learn from all kind of experience, the best and the worst. Also all this magical feeling they bring to every connection turn sour when confusion and lies arise, neptunians rather die that let anyone (even partner and family) destroy their fantasies.

[camillemontespan]

the best mistake he never had [drake x Camille AU] [part four]

Lily burst into the house, trying her best not to cry. It was rare that Camille shouted at her and it had been a shock to the system for the five year old.

Camille preferred disciplining by talking. No corporal punishment, no shouting. She wanted to take the time to understand her daughter and explain why certain behaviour wasn't acceptable.

But seeing Lily with Drake had filled her with so much anxiety that she couldn't help it. She had shouted at Lily.

Lily went upstairs to find her grandma. She wanted comfort.

‘Grandma?’ she called.

‘I’m in bed, sweetheart!’ Gisele replied. ‘Come through.’

Lily entered the room. As soon as her grandma set eyes on her, her face fell. ‘Ohhh mon petit Fleur..’ she whispered. She reached out for her granddaughter. ‘Come here.’

Lily sniffled and climbed onto the bed, careful not to disturb her grandma too much as she looked so delicate. She gently laid her head on her chest and inhaled Gisele's scent of jasmine perfume and instantly felt her mind quieten.

‘What’s happened?’ Gisele asked quietly.

Lily sniffed. ‘Mommy shouted at me because I was brushing Lone Star and talking to Drake.’

She felt Gisele stiffen but she didn't question it.

‘And she said I shouldn't speak to strangers,’ Lily continued. ‘Because strangers are bad but Drake was nice.’

Gisele cleared her throat and cuddled Lily deeper. ‘It’s just you and your mommy,’ she said softly. ‘She wants you to be safe and since you don't know Drake, he is a stranger to you. Yes, he can be a nice man but that doesn't mean you should speak to him unless your mommy or I are there.’

Lily bit her lip. ‘That’s unfair on him and Lone Star.’

Gisele chuckled despite herself. ‘Lily, are you just mad because you want the horse?’

Lily turned and pouted. ‘No!’ she protested.

Gisele smiled and pressed a kiss on Lily's head. ‘You don't speak to someone you don't know unless you have your mommy or me there, okay? That's not just a rule for you, that's a rule for all children.’

Lily sighed. She knew she couldn't protest against that if the rule applied to all children.

She was a child who obeyed rules and liked everything to be just right. She rarely strayed from the safe path.

Lily also felt things deeply and that often meant she didn't want to upset anyone. She especially didn't want to upset Camille because Camille was her entire world.

She didn't want to upset her mommy, ever.

If that meant no more Lone Star or talking to Drake, then she wouldn't go near them again.

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

That evening, Drake was back in his local bar, where he tended to spend most evenings.

Yes, he had work at the ranch in the early mornings but Drake had since admitted to himself that he was basically a high functioning alcoholic and he could deal with a sore head and dry mouth if it meant he could drink whisky and forget about all this shit for a while.

This shit being meeting his daughter for the first time today and Camille's anger about it.

Fuck.

Drake downed his whisky and gestured to Leo, the bartender and friend, for another.

‘You alright man?’ Leo asked, frowning as he began to pour Drake another. ‘You’re quieter than usual.’

Drake smirked. ‘I’m fine, Leo.’

Leo raised his eyebrows and passed Drake the glass. He studied him for a moment, his green eyes roaming Drake's face.

‘So I heard Camille is back,’ he said bluntly. ‘And a mini Camille too.’

Drake gripped the glass. ‘Leo. Shut up.’

Leo proceeded to dry the wet glasses, not once taking his eyes off Drake. He didn't understand him. Sure, Leo was not a family man, he was allergic to commitment. If a woman he slept with had gotten pregnant with his baby, he would have run a mile.

But Drake wasn't like Leo. Drake, although a bit of a loner and hardly a womaniser, was the kind of guy who looked like he would want a relationship and a kid. The women he had dated in the past had always been long term.

Plus she was Camille Montespan. She was in Leo’s spank bank.

He loved her name. Fucking sexy and French.

Anyway, who in their right mind would reject Camille Montespan? She was the town sweetheart. Always friendly, always up for a laugh, drop dead gorgeous.

Pretty much every guy in Applewood had had a crush on her at some point, Leo included.

You sleep with girls. You marry women like Camille Montespan.

If Camille had slept with him and had his baby, Leo would gone against all of his instincts and settled down with her. Because you don't give up the chance to be with a woman like her. Even Leo knew that.

So why the fuck did Drake fuck it up?

He didn't know what had happened five years ago with Drake and Camille. Drake never spoke about it. Had it been a drunken fling? A secret romance?

All Leo knew was that Camille and his daughter were Drake's sore spots. You could insult him about anything and he would shrug it off, acting like he didn't care. But if you mentioned Camille and his daughter, Drake would turn defensive.

Before Leo could respond to Drake, the door opened and in walked Maxwell Beaumont.

‘Hey Leo!’ he greeted him as if Leo was the best thing in the world at that moment.

Leo smiled. ‘Hey Max. What can I get you?’

‘Ooohh.. a pina colada please.’

‘Coming right up, good sir!’ Leo said. Maxwell always ordered a fancy cocktail and it was always interesting to see what he would order his time.

Drake sipped his whisky and cast a glance over at Maxwell who was studiously scrolling through his phone and making a point not to speak to Drake.

‘How are ya doing, Max?’ Drake finally said, breaking the horrible silence.

‘Fine,’ Maxwell replied, his voice montone.

Leo eyed the two of them as he shook the cocktail shaker, wishing Drake would just stop trying.

Ever since Camille left town, Maxwell swore never to talk to Drake again. He was Camille’s best friend and incredibly loyal to her. If you hurt Camille, you hurt Maxwell.

He was like sunshine personified with everyone except Drake. Even though Drake understood, it didn't mean that he liked it.

‘So I saw Camille and Lily today -’

‘Don’t even say their names,’ Maxwell interrupted, his voice like ice. ‘Don’t you dare.’

Drake's jaw set. He picked up his glass of whisky and downed it before gesturing to Leo for another.

However, Leo was staring at Maxwell with his mouth open, cocktail shaker gripped tightly in his hands. He knew Maxwell hated Drake but Jesus Christ, he was quick to the punch.

‘Sorry..’ Drake muttered, taking a sip of his drink.

‘No, you don't say sorry to me,’ Maxwell said, his voice starting to rise, ‘you say sorry to Camille. But you won't because you really don't give a shit about her.’

Drake exhaled. ‘Leo, can I have another drink?’

Leo coughed and picked up the whisky bottle, pouring him another. He then served Maxwell his Pina colada, hoping the two of them wouldn't fight right here at his bar.

Drake downed the whisky.

‘Yup, get drunk like you always do…’ Maxwell muttered, his lips brushing the straw in his glass. ‘Classic Walker.’

Drake was up on his feet in an instant. ‘Right man, you got something to say? Fucking say it.’

‘Woah, calm down!’ Leo panicked. ‘You’re going to upset my other patrons…’

‘Who, Bill at the back? Drake hissed. ‘He doesn't give a shit.’

Maxwell sipped his Pina colada, cool as a cucumber. He looked away from Drake , not bothering to give him any eye contact. Drake stared at the side of his face.

‘You know it's none of your business what happened between me and Camille right?’ he asked, keeping his voice neutral. Unfortunately , his voice was slurring now thanks to the whisky he had downed.

‘I know you're her fucking guard dog who needs any excuse to jump but you don't know the ins and outs of this. You weren't there.’

Maxwell turned to look at Drake. His eyes were narrowed. ‘Excuse me?’ he whispered.

‘So guys, you watch the Texans game on Sunday?’ Leo asked, his voice high. ‘Great game -’

‘I get she's your friend and you are sticking by her but you don't know the full story so you can't exactly make your mind up about me,’ Drake continued. ‘You’re judging me without actually talking to me about it.’

Drake had a secret. Despite acting like he didn't give a shit about anything, he hated it when people judged him. All he wanted was to be accepted but people rarely did.

Maxwell rose so he stood over Drake, which wasn't hard as Drake was sitting on the bar stool. The tables would turn if Drake stood up because he had a clear five inches over Maxwell.

So he stood up.

Maxwell stared up at him, his eyes flashing. ‘I was there to pick up the pieces after you took her heart and ripped it into two,’ he said quietly, his tone dangerous. ‘I was there to listen to her as she told me how cruel you were, how you said it had been a drunken mistake, that it should never have happened. She was broken up, Drake. She felt like shit, like nothing-’

‘I didn't mean to make her feel like that!’ Drake burst out. ‘I didn't word it correctly-’

‘She told you that she was pregnant with your baby and you told her you didn't want anything to do with her!’

‘It wasn't meant to come out like that!’

‘Guys, please, can we stop?’ Leo interrupted, desperate for peace.

‘She always stuck up for you!’ Maxwell shouted, pushing Drake in the chest. Drake stumbled back, catching himself on the bar. ‘When everyone in school took the piss out of you, called you names, ignored you, she was there to defend you! She thought you were a good guy!’

‘I am a good guy!’ Drake shouted back. ‘I made a crappy decision but I am a good-’

‘No, you're a selfish asshole,’ Maxwell cut in. ‘You could have stood by her. You didn't have to say you'd step up and be a dad but for fucks sake, you could have at least paid her child support!’

There was a horrible, thick silence.

Leo looked between the two of them and exhaled. ‘Guys. Get out of my bar.’

Drake swallowed. ‘I.. I offered to pay her child support and she said she didn't want anything from me.’

Maxwell stared at him. ‘You should have ignored her and done it anyway. But instead you wiped your hands clean of them. Happy to stay in Texas working on that ranch and drinking yourself stupid at night. That's what you chose, Drake.’

Drake shook his head and raised his hands. ‘I can't take this anymore -’

‘Good,’ Leo interrupted, his voice sharp. ‘Both of you are done. Get out. I won't ask again.’

Drake grabbed his denim jacket and pushed some dollars at Leo. ‘Sorry Leo.’

Leo nodded mutely and took the cash. ‘Sober up, Drake. And you, Maxwell,’ he eyed Maxwell who was downing the last of his pina colada. ‘Don’t talk shit about something you don't know about.’

‘But I do!’ Maxwell protested.

Leo pointed at Drake who was now leaving the bar with his shoulders heavy and head low.

‘You clearly don't.’

[thescholarlystrumpet]

Tagged by @tawnyontumblr Thank you, luv! This is fun!

How many works do you have on ao3?

166 formatting is being weird without a sentence here

What's your total ao3 word count?

910,348 - ahhh approaching 1M!!

What fandoms do you write for?

Good Omens and (to a lesser extent) Hazbin Hotel right now. Past fandoms included Rumbelle, Whouffaldi, Buffy, and Avenue 5

Top five fics by kudos:

To Tell the Truth (Doctor Who) Whouffaldi moments woven between episodes. Mostly canon-compliant.

Lending a Hand (Good Omens) In his heavenly form he wouldn’t have had this dilemma at all because there was no corporeality with which to struggle. And on the other, much less ephemeral and much more literal hand, he currently had a very noticeable (and increasingly painful) erection.

Personal Assistance (The Thick of It/Doctor Who) Clara Oswald leaves behind teaching to enter the world of British politics. What better way to make a splash than by working for the infamous Malcolm Tucker? And if discovering a (mutual) attraction happens to catch them both off-guard.... well, that's just life, right?

The Babysitter (Once Upon a Time) Tumblr prompt: Mr. Gold forgets something at his house & goes back to go get it. When he arrives he hears his son's babysitter moaning and thinks she has a boy over. When he goes into his bedroom he finds her touching herself on his bed alone moaning his name.

None of Your Business (Once Upon a Time) “Well, it’s very nice to meet you at last, Angus.” She rolled his name around in her mouth as though she hadn’t been screaming it the night before. Mr. Gold tries to balance lust and trust with less finesse than he'd like to admit. Luckily, Belle can give as good as she gets.

Do you respond to comments?

I've made it a goal to try and reply to almost every comment. I'm grateful someone took the time!

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Oh undoubtedly Silence is Golden. I made my self tear up writing that one...

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Almost all of them? But I will take this chance to pimp my Canon-based Buffy Season Six Fix-it! (Everyone lives!): Making the Pieces Fit

Only totally non-shippy fic in my repertoire and one of my proudest achievements.

Do you get hate on fics?

rarely if ever?

Do you write smut?

Bwahahahahahaha. Oh. Yes.

Craziest crossover:

Not Just Watching Anymore - Buffy/Good Omens excuse to write an M/M/M threesome between Aziraphale, Crowley, and Giles :D

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yes, back in the rumbelle days, someone linked me to a site trying to sell my fic as theirs and we reported it.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

If they did, no one ever linked back to me :(

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Working on one with @hakunahistata tho we've both been sidetracked by Bang fics, hehe. It's gonna be great to get back!

All time favorite ship?

Oof. I love all my OTPs but I'm definitely *deep* in Aziracrow right now and hope not to emerge any time soon.

What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

SO. MANY.

What are your writing strengths?

I get good feedback on my dialogue and characterization. I think I write pretty kickass smut most the time.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Background. What color are the walls? Where is the furniture? I have no fucking clue unless its relevant to the story. That table only existed when I needed the character to lean against it. It wasn't raining until that helped set the mood. Some people write exquisite scene setting and I am envious but writing it bores me to tears.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

One of my IRL besties can read a bunch of ancient languages and WILL side eye improper grammatical structure in fiction so I picture them giving me that look unless I do the really proper research (or ask them directly).

First fandom you wrote in?

unofficially HP but per my AO3, Once Upon a Time

Favorite fic you've written?

Ask me to cut my baby in half while you're at it, geez! But right now, I am proudest of For Loving One 

No pressure tagging: @voluptatiscausa, @naromoreau, @fishey-me @ineffabildaddy @she-makes-things @hakunahistata @nosferatini @zin-lynn-c and anyone from the @goodomensafterdark crew!

[cheese-ducks]

TWRP ORIGINS

Chapter 5: Insanity Wears High Tops

Main master list

Previous chapter Next chapter

(Warnings: light swearing)

"Greetings, human. In my band's ongoing campaign to end boredom the universe over, we seek to unite all children of the cosmos to join our cause, one planet at a time." The cone boy said. "This is what brings me to you. It shattered my perception of reality to learn recently that fifth dimensional beings, such as myself, cannot materialize on your planet."

"I'm sorry, fifth dimensional?" Jack interjected. 

"Again, human, you need not apologize for what happened. The fault is all mine." 

His confidence was a bit overwhelming, so Jack didn't correct him.

 "So I needed a stable host with a corporeal form, which in this case is you, to continue my work. Earth continues to amaze me, but I digress. Allow me to introduce myself and my intentions,"

A strange feeling of relief came over Jack. He wasn't going crazy, he was actually possessed. A whole new set of problems came with that knowledge, but he didn't need to think about the implications right now.

"I am Doctor Sung; intergalactic groove crusader; ageless meta-being of the cosmos; and frontman of the band TWRP. Aside from keytar and synthesexory manipulation, my role within the band lies in interdimensional diplomacy, communications, and female seduction, and as such I am the band's primary representative here on Earth." Jack nodded like he understood any of that.

"Despite our fairly recent crash land and the fact that we're basically stranded here, I'm certain that TWRP's dominance of Earth draws one step nearer. It is our intention to oust the forces that would hinder the advancement of fun and joy and replace them with tools of entertainment..." 

Sung went on and on, as if he liked hearing the sound of his own voice. This was unbelievable. It was like something out of a movie. Jack didn't really know how to feel about this revelation. What would he tell his family? Was this even real? It had to be, he saw the spaceship himself and the alien sightings started after that night. This was definitely real. He felt strangely flattered by Sung's explanation so far. Out of all the people in Halifax this interdimensional superhero could've picked, he chose Jack. His weirdness led him to this surreal situation, no normal person would have approached a burning spaceship in the middle of the woods. Maybe being weird was actually going to pay off.

"And of course, frenzied dance parties will continue to erupt in our wake, replacing human sadness with cosmic elation. But we can't do this alone. I need your help."

"Why me, specifically?" Jack was almost scared of knowing the answer. 

"The unlikelihood of finding a host that has such a striking resemblance to me cannot be denied. If we're going to complete our mission I would still need you as a vessel." Sung's voice had a rare twinge of shame. 

"I would be willing to discuss with you how you'd like to go about doing that. It's truly the least I could do after today." 

Jack heard the sound of pounding footsteps racing up the stairs and darting past his bedroom. 

"I would like to discuss a game plan for this, among other things, but can you wait until everyone falls asleep?"  

Sung could sense the stark shift in Jack's emotions. Before it was mostly confusion with some admiration sprinkled in, who could blame him, but his whispered plea was practically made of pure stress. An immense amount of fear for someone not in immediate danger. It perplexed him, but he honored the request. 

"I shall return when everyone is asleep, and until then I wish you fewer negative emotions." 

Before Jack could figure out if that was meant to be an insult or not there was a knock at his door. He immediately climbed into bed and pretended to sleep.

"You're being too loud! Your brother's not feeling well!" His mom shouted at the band of lightly buzzed children. She opened the door a crack and went back downstairs. 

"How about you sleep over at your friend's house tonight, Stan?"

.........................................................................

Jack sat on the couch eating a small plate of nachos. They somehow tasted better at two in the morning. He looked over at Sung, who was staring in bewilderment at the midnight snack. 

"Did you want some?" Jack held out a chip.

"I doubt I could eat in this form, plus I'm not even certain what that is." Sung didn't need to eat as frequently as his band mates, so he really only ate out of necessity. He couldn't fathom the idea that someone would eat out of boredom or for enjoyment. 

"Ok then, more for me." He patted the cushion next to him but Sung declined.

"I have so many questions, could we cover some of those before the game plan?" 

"First, I must ask you something." 

Jack set the nachos to the side nervously. Sung sensed that same fear and stress from earlier. Why was he doing that? It was probably a question for later considering his first question was overdue. 

"What is your name, human?" 

The tension instantaneously left his body as he answered. How was he doing that? 

"Oh, it's Jack." He was back to his original position on the couch, nachos in hand. 

"Simple, efficient, I like that name." His pleased nod being amplified by the pylon helmet. "You may proceed with your questions." 

Jack took a pause remembering all the crazy shit he'd been through. For the first time in a while his mind felt clear.

"What's with the cone hat?"

"A pylon can be worn for many reasons; fashion, power, dominance." He paced the living room floor, cape flowing behind him.

"It sounds like you're compensating for something." Jack snickered.

"Well, when you're as cool and tall and handsome and heroic and tall as I am you don't need to. May we move on?" 

"Sure, man." He stifled his laughter. Maybe that was the key to Sung's infinite confidence: straight up denial. 

"Why was I blacking out so often, and what are you doing to my memories?"

"I figured if I took control of the vessel while you were unconscious you wouldn't have noticed. I had no idea that I was causing you to go unconscious. Again, I deeply apologize." He stopped in front of Jack and crossed his arms. "And as for your memory I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Seriously?" Jack stood up, almost angry Sung was treating that so casually. "Random flashbacks, almost daily amnesia, forgetting how to do basic shit? I would randomly forget how to read! You've got no explanation for that?"

Sung paused as he processed this completely new information. "Do human memories not do that?"

'How clueless is this guy?' Jack thought to himself. 

"No they do not, and I would like it to stop."

"You have my word."

He sat back down, nearly choking on a chip from laugter. He needed to know if Joe was fucking with him.

"Were you fighting a lion and robot in the parking lot of a guitar center?" 

Sung's smile instantly changed to an annoyed frown. 

"Believe me when I tell you they deserved it." 

"And with that I think I'm ready to discuss the game plan." Jack answered quickly as he put down the nachos.

"I'm gonna preface this with I have no idea how this could work but the fact that I'm even going through with this is nuts! Is this as surreal for you as it is for me?" 

"Considering this is the first time I've ever taken a host and I'm completely fucking it up, I would say yes." Sung sat down next to Jack. "In case you couldn't tell I'm not used to fucking up. You can't exactly afford to when saving the universe. It's just not an option when the stakes are that high, so I don't." 

"You think you have to save the universe all by yourself?" 

"I'm used to handling things by myself." 

Jack couldn't tell if he was downplaying his emotions or it legitimately didn't bother him.

"I mean, I would say that's kinda sad if I didn't get it." There was a key difference, however. Jack kind of liked to be alone, he didn't think he had to be. "Maybe your voice was in the back of my mind before the crash." He joked. 

Sung jumped off the couch and pointed at him.

"My voice in the back of your mind, you may have something there, Jack."

[audiofictionuk]

New Fiction Podcasts - 30th September

Norfolk Wizard Game New Audio RPG! A Mage: The Ascension actual-play taking place in the same universe as Hunter: The Parenting, following a group of Mages in Norfolk, Virginia, discovering the truth of reality and their ability to bend it at their whims. https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/norfolkwizardgame https://anchor.fm/s/e930593c/podcast/rss

The Redline New Audio Book! Racing for his life, Kal is like any other Ghoul with a life debt, but when a rare opportunity comes his way, Kal finds himself running the deadliest race so that he might win a life worth living. Pop in your earbuds, the world of the future awaits... https://www.izaicyorks.com/ https://feeds.captivate.fm/theredline/

Unwholesome New Audio Drama! Fiction horror stories in a cinematic soundscape. https://shows.acast.com/unwholesome https://feeds.acast.com/public/shows/unwholesomehttps://deow9bq0xqvbj.cloudfront.net/image-logo/15940456/Oneiric-General-Cover_k4wd7p.jpg Oneiric New Audio Book! Oneiric, or The Hatch Pilgrim, is a dream quest, a grail quest, a fever dream... quest. https://oneiricpodcast.podbean.com https://feed.podbean.com/oneiricpodcast/feed.xml

A Void in Reality New Audio RPG! A Fate Core TTRPG built using The Quiet Year set in a world built around a giant chasm and run by an eldritch corporation. Where the only way to do magic is to drain your own life force or someone else’s. Join our ragtag group where everyone is the quirky one and our most normal member is the five foot tall ferret. https://redcircle.com/shows/avoidpod https://feeds.redcircle.com/7692d527-f88c-49f6-9b6b-be676bf54360

Voyagers of the Jump - An Original Traveller Campaign New Audio RPG! On the frontier of charted space, a ragtag crew of spacefarers gets the chance to start over and fix their lives, but only if they accept a dangerous mission that could avert a war—or start one. First published in 1977, Traveller is a science fiction RPG in the vein of The Expanse or Battlestar Galactica. Most who played the original game back in the day remember the robust character creation system where if you push too far and get unlucky with the dice, you can die before you even start playing. Voyagers of the Jump is an original adventure using the 2022 2nd Edition update to the Traveller RPG rules set by Mongoose Publishing. https://www.glasscannonnetwork.com/shows/voyagers-of-the-jump https://feeds.acast.com/public/shows/voyagersofthejump

Haunted City - A Blades in the Dark Campaign New Audio RPG! A city bathed in perpetual darkness, and a history not yet written. On the streets of Doskvol, it's kill or be killed as crews vie for power by any means necessary. Haunted City is a dark, twisted romp through a Victorian dystopia, using the rules of arguably the greatest RPG system of the modern era — Blades in the Dark. https://www.glasscannonnetwork.com/shows/haunted-city https://feeds.acast.com/public/shows/hauntedcity

Get in the Trunk - A Delta Green Anthology Series New Audio RPG! Cosmic and supernatural horrors await the agents of Delta Green, a secret organization committed to protecting an unaware society—whatever the cost. This formerly exclusive anthology series with a rotating cast of players and handlers has quickly become the most sought-after show on the Network. https://www.glasscannonnetwork.com/shows/get-in-the-trunk https://feeds.acast.com/public/shows/getinthetrunk

Long Con New Audio Drama! Two brothers, Seth and Eric, as they stumble into the world of entrepreneurship with a mission that's as outrageous as it is heartwarming. When their father falls into a mysterious coma, they're left with a peculiar last wish: start a successful business. Armed with boundless enthusiasm, questionable ideas, and a flair for accidental chaos, these brothers will stop at nothing to fulfill their comatose dad's dreams. https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/who-let-you-in4 https://anchor.fm/s/e9cc28bc/podcast/rss

New Audio Drama! When a new lead prompts a fresh look at a cold case, Special Agent Nicole Baumer is tasked with finding out what really happened to sixteen year old Erin Michaels. But as parallels surface between her past and Erin’s, Nicole must finally confront her own trauma in order to save her. https://cms.megaphone.fm/channel/SBP2836325918 https://feeds.megaphone.fm/SBP2836325918

Lonely Boy New Audio Drama! Get to know Lonely Boy, a 10-episode fictional coming-of-age audio drama about pop sensation Frederick Julius as he takes a musical rewind through the defining moments of his youth. Each Friday we drop a new 25-30 minute episode including a fresh indie pop track inspired by the story. From grappling with his dad's misdeeds to mastering middle school melodrama to finding first love in the most unexpected places, you'll root for this legendary artist as he ultimately deciphers what kind of man he wants to be. https://lonely-boy.captivate.fm https://feeds.captivate.fm/lonely-boy/

The World According To Bards New Audio RPG! A D&D actual play podcast following three bards. The main rule here is “yes, and…” Join us on our thrilling adventure full of lighthearted comedy and general wackiness! https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/theworldaccordingtobards https://anchor.fm/s/e96bc558/podcast/rss

Chronicles Of Pangea Ultima New Audio Book! The year is 250,000,000 AD. Meet Tyver α, descendant of Lloviant, who travelled to Pangea Ultima. This is not his home - he had not went here before. https://rss.com/podcasts/chroniclesofpangeaultima https://media.rss.com/chroniclesofpangeaultima/feed.xml

Acey Reads New Audio Book! Reading of original works by Acey Smith, and Sunflower Star Creative works. https://aceyreads.podbean.com/ https://feed.podbean.com/aceyreads/feed.xml

Autumn Tales New Audio Book! Enter a brave, new world where the move of a single letter in a turn of phrase creates the unlikeliest of protagonists. With their own dreams and goals to pursue, each must navigate an ever-shifting landscape by working together. https://autumntales.podbean.com/ https://feed.podbean.com/autumntales/feed.xml

[satansapostle6]

The Best of the Worst | Charlie Kelly

Charlie Kelly noticed the pretty blonde girl just as Dennis Reynolds tried to make her into another one of his conquests.

Warnings: Mature themes/language. Violence. Sexual content.

Part One

Part Two: Juliette Loses Her Job

Juliette Grant was late for work. She hated her job waitressing at Guigino’s. It was one of the most boring and irritating jobs she’d worked. The only reason she’d stayed this long was for the decent pay. Otherwise, she probably would’ve quit a year ago.

But for some reason, she’d decided the almost good money was enough for her to deal with the frustrating hours and irritating customers. The day before, when she had met a guy named Charlie Kelly, she had had a rare experience of a customer willing to acknowledge his friend’s poor treatment of her, and an even rarer experience of a guy who liked her who was actually nice.

“Juliette?”

Juliette turned as she finished setting down a plate of spaghetti for a customer to find one of the waiters, Danny, was standing behind her.

“Yeah?” she asked.

“John wants to talk to you,” her coworker informed her.

The manager at Guigino’s.

“What does he want?” Juliette questioned.

Danny just shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Juliette rested her hands on her back, sighing as she walked off to the back office to speak with her manager. She walked out of the office about ten minutes later, a thousand yard stare on her face.

“Hey,” Lexi, one of the other waitresses that she’d made casual work friends with, said as she approached her. “What happened?”

Juliette slowly turned to look at her, unable to zone back in.

“I just got fired.”

*****

An hour later, Juliette was still outside of Guigino’s, sitting in the back alley and smoking. No one approached her for the entire hour that she was outside. She hardly even saw anyone pass by, until she heard someone clear their throat.

“Hey…”

Juliette slowly looked up, face stained with mascara-coated tears.

“Hey!” Charlie Kelly exclaimed, immediately flopping on his butt to sit next to her in the dirty alleyway. “What’s wrong?!”

Juliette looked at him as she sniffled tearfully, barely able to speak.

“I—”

Charlie waited patiently as she cried, choking on her words.

“I got fired!” Juliette sobbed, still holding the lit cigarette.

“Why would they do that?!” Charlie cried out automatically.

”I don’t know!” she wailed. “They just… got mad at how many smoke breaks I was taking! And then this other waitress started a rumor that I do heroin…!”

“Oh my God, that’s horrible!” Charlie exclaimed. “What a bitch!”

“I know!” Juliette sighed, looking down at herself shamefully.

Charlie frowned empathetically, trying to help clean her up as his way of being helpful. He reached for the lit cigarette in her hand, which was still suspended in midair.

“Do you mind?”

“Yeah,” Juliette nodded, still sniffling as Charlie took the cigarette.

But instead of taking a drag like she thought he was going to, Charlie took the cigarette from her and lightly ashed it, so that he could save it for her. He held the half-smoked cigarette in his hand as he looked at her, saddened by the way the tears stained her face.

“Can I…?”

“Yeah,” Juliette nodded somewhat pathetically.

Charlie sighed, licking his thumb as he gently rubbed at her face, trying to wipe away the tears. Normally, Juliette would’ve found this behavior from a stranger to be a bit disgusting, but in this case, she found it was endearing and reminded her of her grandmother.

“I gotta get this off,” Charlie mumbled to himself, “You’re so pretty…”

Juliette looked at him, smiling slightly at the genuine compliment.

“Sorry,” he said immediately, feeling guilty.

“It’s okay,” she murmured.

Charlie cleared his throat again, stopping as he tried to think of the right thing to say.

“Did your manager yell at you when he fired you?” he asked her.

“No. He’s a good guy… He said he didn’t really wanna fire me, but the other waitress threatened to get corporate involved,” she told him.

“Oh. Well, at least he didn’t yell at you,” Charlie offered with a certain naïveté. “Dennis yells at me all the time. So does Dee. And Mac. Almost everyone,” he concluded, still sounding oddly chipper.

“That sucks,” Juliette said sadly.

“Yeah. It’s whatever, though. They’re my friends,” he shrugged it off.

He sat silent for a while, trying to think of something good to say. Charlie never knew what to say to people, especially more normal people; it seemed he was always saying the wrong thing. It had never really bothered him before, but just this once, he wanted to say the right thing and sweep the girl off her feet. Or at least comfort her in the moment. That, he figured, was the most important thing.

“Are…”

Charlie tried to come up with the right way to say what he wanted to say as Juliette waited patiently.

“Are you my friend?” he asked her.

She nodded, finding herself more than willing to be friends with him.

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

*****

Juliette unlocked the door to her apartment, letting Charlie in before her.

“This is your place?” he asked, looking around in awe.

“Yeah,” she nodded, shutting the door behind her.

Charlie wandered into her small living room, full of framed movie posters and leather furniture.

“It’s… really nice,” he stared at every individual thing in the room. “Are you rich?”

“No,” Juliette chuckled, “Far from it.”

“Your place is pretty nice,” Charlie told her, “Way nicer than mine. I’m surprised you let me come here.”

“Why?” Juliette wondered. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Charlie smiled, liking hearing her say it.

“Yeah. Yeah, we are,” he nodded enthusiastically, a wide smile on his face.

“Normally, I don’t let men I just met into my home the day after I meet them, but… You seem cool,” she said finally.

“Huh,” Charlie remarked, seeming surprised.

“What?” Juliette questioned.

“No, nothing, it’s just… People don’t usually think I’m cool,” he explained.

“Well, I do,” she promised him, setting her purse down. “But, I’ll admit, I do have one question.”

“What is it?” he asked.

“Why… were you outside Guigino’s today?” she wondered, looking into his kind brown eyes.

Surprisingly, Charlie was quick to answer.

“To see you,” he concluded, as if it wasn’t so hard to understand.

Juliette found herself wanting to smile.

“Why?”

“Because… I like you?” he thought, hoping it was the right answer.

“You do?”

“Well, yeah,” he nodded. “You’re cool, and you’re nice, and I just… I wanna, like, get to know you and stuff.”

“‘Get to know me’ like how?” she asked quietly.

Most guys would have said something sleazy or not true by this point, but not Charlie.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Like… know your birthday, or your favorite food, or your favorite game to play.”

Juliette couldn’t hide the look of pure joy on her face, laughing involuntarily. Charlie had to have been the most pure person she had ever know.

“What?” Charlie asked nervously.

Everything about this had seemed unfamiliar to him, until he heard someone laughing at him.

“What?” he questioned. “What did I say?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing,” Juliette promised him in a hurry, trying to reassure him. “Just…”

She sighed after a moment.

“October thirteenth, french fries, and poker.”

Charlie was confused for a moment, until he realized what she was responding to.

“Okay,” he nodded excitedly, “Okay! Cool!”

“So…” Juliette began, giving Charlie her final test as a potential male friend or love interest. “What do you wanna do?” she asked him.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged innocently. “Watch a movie, or something?” he suggested.

Juliette nodded willingly. “Yeah, sure. Anything specific in mind?”

“I don’t really know that many movies,” Charlie admitted sheepishly.

“Have you ever seen Donnie Darko?” Juliette asked him.

“No,” he told her, “But I want to.”

“You’ve heard of it?” she asked.

“No,” he responded truthfully. “But you like it, right?”

“Yeah, it’s one of my favorites,” she nodded.

“Then I wanna watch it.”

-

Chapter Three

[nytehavyn-circle]

RaDean "Dean" Harriman

FC: Can Yaman Sexuality: Heterosexual but bi-curious Species: Human Height: 6'2" Age: Late 30's Occupation: Photographer

Dean was born into a life of struggle. His parents lived a meager life, but always managed to put food on the table, sometimes at the detriment of other bills.

His mother died of cancer when he was 10. It horrified him for the rest of his life because whenever someone mentions cancer, he has to talk himself down from a possible panic attack. That said, he is caring and kind to cancer patients or people with family and/or friends of loved ones. Because he's went through it.

Along with his other photography, he takes amazingly beautiful and sometimes heart-wrenching pictures of cancer patients. These particular pictures, he sells them to cancer wards, medical magazines, etc. He gives back that particular money to help cancer research and to St. Jude's especially.

His father tried to raise Dean correctly. He loved his son, but he struggled with alcohol constantly after his wife died, and quite often found himself falling asleep in his recliner after hitting the bottom of one. Dean's father never went to bars, just liquor stores, because he didn't want to leave Dean all alone. He tried. He desperately tried. Dean couldn't be bitter and hateful toward his father, because he saw the struggle. His father died when Dean was in his 20s.

When his mother died, she left Dean and his father with quite a sum of money. When Dean's father died, he left Dean with quite a sum of money. He's able to live off of this quote comfortably.

Before all of this, before his mother's death, Dean became fascinated with photography. He started taking pictures of almost everything; anything that looked special, or 'cool', or interesting, Dean was there to snap a photo. At first, he was using his parent's Polaroid camera. Then, on his 11th birthday, he was gifted with a digital camera. He was excited because it meant higher-quality pictures. He continued to take pictures of almost everything, sometimes distance pictures of people. Yet, he had a modicum of decency. Before he took close-ups of people, he'd always ask permission but told them to continue doing what they were doing before he bothered them, telling them to pretend he wasn't there. Then he'd find the Perfect Moment™. He didn't always know what it would be, but he'd recognize it when it happened. Sometimes he'd wait for hours before finally snapping a photo.

He became better and better at finding the Perfect Moment™ for pictures. Even with intimate objects, he'd manage to find that moment.

He managed to start selling his pictures to major magazines like National Geographic, Science, Popular Mechanics, and Entertainment Weekly. He became an international name in the world of photography because he didn't photograph just one type of theme, he took pictures of everything; from a picture of a crack in the sidewalk to pictures of war. He became a multiple-award winner for photography, which led to corporate entities hiring him to take specific photographs. He was paid handsomely for his work.

This money, along with the life insurance his mother and father left him, has just allowed Dean to keep up his lavish lifestyle.

Dean is non-monogamous. He's afraid of commitment. He rarely opens up about his emotions. He's been in a couple of relationships that turned abusive and toxic, with himself as the victim, and sometimes the perpetrator. It was enough for him to swear off actual relationships because he didn't believe they worked out. He believed people in relationships were fooling themselves and each other.

He participates in one-night stands, threesomes, and multiple dating partners, where sometimes he makes the 'mistake' of setting up dates at the same time on the same day. Which has led to some not-so-surprising moments. If he hears the word "love," he panics and ghosts the person.

He's also quite a dick. It's speculated that his poor life growing up, his father's alcoholism, the cancer, his mother dying from it, and a few other unnamed reasons, have turned him into an asshole.

But he has managed to make some friends and have them become friends with benefits. That's the height of his emotional commitment. But even the few friends he has don't know much, because he never opens up. He has built a wall around him out of tempered steel which is six inches thick, which would take a pair of metal clippers, a jackhammer, an ice pick, and a blowtorch to even crack it open.

No one has ever stuck around long enough to try to break through. (And why would they? He's a jerk.) They give up before they've even gotten started. It would take the patience of a saint to break through his barrier.

The only people who know the most about him are the higher-ups at NyteHavyn Castle. And that's about it.

Dean is a dick, but it seems to be a defense mechanism, to keep him from getting emotionally involved with anybody, although he can be quite romantic. But he has difficulty showing his romantic side to anybody because he doesn't want to be seen as weak. He wants to believe in love, but he's scared to. If and when he feels himself becoming emotionally attached to someone, he will distance himself, pushing down his emotions into the holes left in his heart from before. The truth of the matter is that Dean doesn't believe he deserves love or is worthy of it.

But how he would find so much joy to have someone or someones, actually love him for him, who have the patience to break through. He has yet to find those people.

He's easygoing, and snarky, but hides his kind nature. He can be manipulative and calculating. He hates himself, but no one knows. He hates being vulnerable because he believes this also makes him weak.

Dean has all but lost hope that he'll ever actually find love. So, Dean is emotionally unavailable. You want a hookup? A friend with benefits? Non-commital booty call relationship? Dean's your guy.

But don't tell him you love him, you'll send him running off in the opposite direction.

Also, Dean has a sister he was never told about and doesn't know about.

[sovaghoul]

Gender/genital ramblings bc idk it's Pride ig

I recently learned the word Salmacian, which means someone who desires to have a mixed set of genitals (usually, but not always, both a penis and a vagina). And that's me tbh. I have a supernumerary/phantom dick that has and does provide pleasure sensations, and at times I have wished it was corporeal/physical. I would love to have both the ability to fuck and be fucked (anal is a very rare desire for me for penetrative purposes), especially as I find my sexuality much more Sapphic-leaning as of late. And yes I know there are toys, but the already established presence of my astral cock feels like something a step above. I very much feel I am a woman. I just want a dick too.

Anyway have a flag and a link:

Salmacian.org