#so there's nothing to reminisce over really

[stark-ironman]

Dancing in the Rain

18+ No Minors

A/N: no really many warnings, mentions of smut but that's it mainly fluff. I wanted to write a little something for my fellow Americans who are upset this past week. It's not much but it's something! Love you all.

Hugh knew the moment the rain started pouring, that your mood was fixing to go from bad to worse. You had a bad week at work and have been arguing with your family a little more than usual so Hugh suggested he grill out for dinner and it cheered you up, right up until now when the rain decided to ruin that.

"Perfect ending to a perfect week." You grumbled as you walked past the kitchen window. "It's not that bad, darling. I can still cook something if you want." Hugh suggests, trying to cheer you up. "It's fine. I think there's some soup in the freezer we can heat up." You say as you walk over to the fridge.

Hugh sighs, knowing that you're not being cold on purpose but it still hurts his feelings when you act like this towards him, especially when he's done nothing wrong. "C'mon. I have an idea." He says holding his hand out for you. "Hugh, I just want to eat and go to bed." You tell him.

"Darling, please." His voice stays soft but you can tell by his tone he's getting annoyed. You grab his hand and he opens the sliding door, pulling you outside. "Hugh!" You exclaim as the rain soaks you both immediately.

His hands wrap around your waist and pull you to him as he starts swaying side to side. "Remember our first date when we danced in the rain?" He asks, feeling you start to relax at the memory. "After the restaurant messed up our reservation and the picnic you tried to take me out to later on." You reminisce, smiling softly as he twirls you.

"Everybody said that it was a sign this wasn't meant to be but baby," Hugh dips you, holding onto tightly while he stars in your eyes, "That day only made me want more of you." You push the hair out from his forehead, kissing him deeply.

He stands you up again and you both start dancing more, giggling as he lifts you up and spins the two of you around. His chin sits on your stomach as you look down at him with a big smile.

You wrap your legs around his waist, holding his face in your hands as you admire each little wrinkle you've fallen in love with. "I'm sorry that I've been such a pain lately. I don't deserve the patience you've given me.' You softly say, hoping he can hear over the sound of the rain.

"You have every right to be mad, darling. All that matters to me is that you feel safe enough with me to let your emotions out. I will do anything to make you feel better." He tells you while your hands attempt to comb his hair back. "How about we go back in the house and I make it up to you?" You ask with a small smirk. "I think I would love that. And after you do that, I will help you out with remembering nothing but my name." His voice quickly turns deep, causing a blush to spread across your face as he carries you inside.

[tinfinn101]

GUYS. I just had a devastating realization.

So. You know how 3rd life Grian is frequently drawn with that poncho thingy? Because of the desert, right?

What if Scar made his poncho from Secret Life to match his. What if he'd made it right after the first game, green to match Grian's Red. What if he began sewing sunflowers onto it, the sun was always so strong in that desert now that he remembers it, how Scar never got sunburnt was a mystery to him.

Grian notices. Of course he does. He notices everything. Nothing gets past those Watchful eyes of his.

He comments on it. Scar fumbles. He lies, saying he hadn't known it was the same design as Grian's from the desert. Grian sees right through it. He calls him out and Scar relents.

They never really left the desert, did they? Even when they were soulmates. Gods... even their base during that game looked similar. The colours, reminiscent of their old home. Neither of them were particularly subtle about it, about missing each other's embrace.

Then Scar became red. The poncho became stained, dirty, it grew to be black. The flowers changed, morphed into poppies. Red. That colour had always complimented Grian.

it was funny, really. How he was always the one to become red first out of the two of them.

Scar had told Grian he loved him. It was his last dying breath back in the desert.

Then suddenly the game was over. He barely even noticed he killed Pearl. He was so distracted by the mobs. He was alone again. In the poncho he made to match with him.

And he wondered if this is how Grian felt in the desert.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

okayyyyy!!! bad week politically but it's chapter five! and Tash is my uwu babygirl forever.

The following morning Tash Taylor woke up in a strange bed and promptly had a panic attack.

The time and place were terrible, as these things went, but Tash had figured out a while ago that there was really no such thing as a convenient moment to completely fall apart. Her heart was beating so hard that it felt like her chest was going to cave in, breath was coming in strained and strangled gasps, and her consciousness was shrinking rapidly away from her body. God, this was fucking mortifying. 

Focus. Focus. She’d found things that helped, hadn’t she? She’d done all the research she could, trying to figure out how you put your brain back together when you would probably never be able to see a real doctor again in your life. Why had she never bothered to check out the free therapy on campus? She might have learned something, anything, that would help her now.

Think, Tash.

Breathe. Long breath in, hold that until it hurts, let it out slow. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Not all of the breaths work, sometimes it hitches and leaves her sputtering, paralyzed body jerking and twitching. Christ, she’s so cold. No, she can do this. One breath after the other. Tie everything to that, pull her mind back into her body even though it feels like an awful, shambolic place to be, like standing in a house getting ripped apart in an earthquake. Hold it together.

The five senses. That’s something, right? You’re supposed to check in, pay attention to things around you and focus on that so that your brain has something to do other than circle the drain. She can do that. All she has to do is open her eyes. Now. Now. Okay, now. 

No. Not yet. Too overwhelming, too much unknown. Start smaller. What about smell?

She buries her face deep in the pillow and inhales deeply, surprised when she’s greeted by a vanilla-ish scent that’s not unpleasant. It’s a little too sweet, reminiscent of the glittery body spray every girl used in middle school. But there are worse things to smell like than a store in the mall where shoddy ear piercings get done.

The pillowcase is nice, too, and Tash rubs it between her fingers. That feels like silk, unless she’s very much mistaken, and so do the sheets. Her hair is already a disaster, badly damaged and sorely in need of a trip to the salon that’s probably never going to come, but it’s nice to imagine that at least she won’t regret sleeping with it unwrapped last night. 

Okay. Okay. That’s two senses. What else is there? Taste?

No, that’s a mistake. The only thing to taste right now is the inside of her own mouth and that’s a bad place to be. That one’s always seemed like a mistake to her, anyway, really relying on the assumption that you happened to have something edible on hand when you started freaking out. Or maybe the point is to get you really tasting the back of your own teeth, catching a whiff of your last meal so you can ground yourself in how gross that is. It does seem to be working.

Tash rubs a little circle in the sheet, presses her face harder into the pillowcase. Her heart is slowing down, if nothing else. She thought she understood anxiety once, might have even blithely said she’d had a panic attack or two, but it turns out that all she ever had was a case of the social jitters. Oh, baby Tash, you get stressed out sometimes? You can’t handle a room full of strangers without a buddy to cling to or a drink in your hand? That’s cute. Wait until you find out what it’s like to have your own heart trying to kill you, beating so hard that it aches in your sternum. What then?

No. No, that’s not helping. Deep breath, deep breath. What can she hear, over the sound of her own mutinous body?

Movement. Not in this room, probably, but not so far away. And the sounds are right out of a commercial trying to sell you something breakfasty, somebody bustling around opening up rattling drawers and moving tinkling dishes. Fleetwood Mac is playing and whoever’s cooking is singing along with an incredible lack of self-consciousness considering that they are no Stevie Nicks. Something sizzles, and the smell of a greasy breakfast hits Tash with enough force to make her mouth water. She’s flirted with going vegetarian and even vegan in the past, opposed as is she to factory farming and the way cows fart out greenhouse gasses en masse and all that, but in this exact moment she’ll take the meat no questions asked. There’s a cold pit in her belly that doesn’t exactly hurt but never feels good; Tash can’t remember the last time she didn’t feel a little hungry. 

She’s calming down now, which is crazy because Tash is pretty sure she knows where she is and it’s not somewhere she wanted to be. Later she’s going to have a meeting with her self-loathing that’s not going to go well for her, but for the time being at least she can be functional. The state of immediate crisis has passed.

Tash sat up, slow and achy, her body sore in ways that she’d forgotten. She’d slept pressed close to a wall, not far from a window whose blinds were hanging askew. She looked away sharply from that, before she could get any ideas; the last thing she needed was to suddenly be standing out on the sidewalk in her underwear. It had come to her attention that she wasn’t wearing much of anything, just her own boy shorts and a T-shirt that she could have been swaddled in. Upon closer inspection it bore a shitty cartoon of Ricochet and the words SUPERHERO APPRECIATION DAY, which made Tash want to hurl.

The rest of the room wasn’t much better on that front. This was a drag queen’s boudoir smashed together with a nerd convention; tucked among the sequins and stacks of magazines and an actual dress form there were countless action figures, plushies, art prints, and stickers depicting a whole host of costumed creeps that Tash didn’t know. But the ones that she did recognize were there over and over: Ricochet and Sub-Zero and Frostbite herself, rendered in every medium imaginable. It was ghoulish, to be sure, but it also brought Tash’s racing mind to a clunky, graceless stop through the power of sheer disgust.

“Jesus Christ,” she said out loud. “What is wrong with you?”

Which was when Frostbite, as if waiting for her cue, announced herself from the doorway.

“Hey! You’re awake!”

***

Tash flinched when Jessie spoke, which was fair because she had been drinking like a dog the night before and was probably hungover to hell and back, but she also jerked her head hard to stare down into her own blanket-covered lap, as if she was afraid that Jessie might be indecent. Which actually wasn’t an unreasonable concern either, on second glance.

“Whoa there, no worries,” Jessie said, hovering in the doorway of her own bedroom. “I just thought you might want some water and aspirin before breakfast. I didn’t know what you like, so there’s some of everything. Pancakes, eggs, bacon, hash browns, coffee. I even chopped up some fruit. And I could make you some toast or a bagel, if you want.”

Tash was ignoring her, instead looking with suspicion at the glass of water and the pills Jessie had left on the nightstand. 

“What? It’s just knock-off brand painkillers, it’s safe,” Jessie said. “I think I have ibuprofen too if you prefer that, and it’s only a little expired.”

“Why would I trust fucking anything you give me?” Tash asked, rough-voiced. “I take this and then what, you sell me to S.C.R.U. or the next highest bidder?”

“Jesus Christ, you think I work for the government? Seriously?” Jessie shoved down the urge to be annoyed by that. Now that Tash was sobered up and hungover she was evidently skittish all over again, which was an irritating step back but not insurmountable. “Babe, listen, you can take it or leave it. If I wanted to bag you up and raffle you off, I wouldn’t have waited for you to wake up. I’d just chloroform you while you were sleeping, you know? Work smarter, not harder.”

Which Tash looked disgusted by, but she evidently agreed with the logic since she shrugged and downed both aspirins with the entire glass of water anyway.

“Atta girl,” Jessie said. “Bathroom’s over here, if you need it. And your yoga pants are on the vanity, if you want ‘em. No worries if not, though. We encourage nudity here.”

But nudity wasn’t on the docket anymore. Tash returned from the bathroom dressed in last night’s squashed clothes, hiding in the protective hugeness of her sweatshirt as she skulked into the kitchen. Jessie was getting everything plated up at the small, rickety table by then, happy to present the heaps of food she’d made for both of them. Thank god she had bothered to get groceries yesterday; this would have been mortifying if she hadn’t had anything to offer but her freezer burned breakfast burritos. 

“Jesus Christ,” Tash said, looking over the spread. “Did you invite more people over?”

“Nope. I just like to cook, and I haven’t had an excuse to go all out in a while. Grab as much as you want.”

Tash sank into her seat slowly, moving so gingerly you’d think she expected the chair to blow up, then stared at the food like she didn’t remember how to feed herself. 

“Coffee?” Jessie asked brightly. “Orange juice?”

“Orange juice,” Tash mumbled. She blinked hard, keeping her eyes shut too long, then opened them and seemed more calm. “And coffee, black. Did we have sex last night?”

“What? No.” Jessie passed her the juice, which she’d gone to the trouble of squeezing herself because boredom and horniness were a powerful combination. “I mean, almost. You were really going for it. Didn’t quite shake out, though.”

“Jesus Christ.” Tash buried her face in her hands, shaking her head in slow despair.

“We didn’t actually get anywhere,” Jessie said. “If that helps at all. You got a little nervous.”

That was putting it mildly. By the time they had walked back to Jessie’s—not a short walk, mind you, made longer by the two of them getting into a couple fights on the way—Jessie was pretty well sobered up and feeling fine aside from a mild headache. She’d more or less abandoned the idea that anything sexy was going to happen between them; this was going to be a purely professional situation in which two colleagues shared a bed out of deeply unsensual necessity. 

Then they’d hit the apartment and Tash, who’d been drinking like the world was ending and was very much still feeling it, had pounced with an astonishing lack of subtlety or ambiguity. One moment Jessie was fighting for her life trying to fumble her earrings out, the next Tash was kissing her furiously on the mouth. Jessie’s initial reaction to that was, admittedly, horror rather than excitement, because she’d thrown up in the gutter on the way home and god only knew what was happening in her mouth by that point. But on the other hand, Tash had held her hair back for her while she yarfed, which was the sweetest thing anyone who wasn’t Jonas had ever done for her. The feeling of Tash’s hands in her hair had been shockingly intimate, and those same hands cradling her face had her heart hammering.

She mumbled something embarrassing into Tash’s mouth, something like “Aren’t you tired?” but Tash had shoved that question aside rather forcefully with her tongue. Evidently she was as awake as she needed to be, tugging Jessie down into bed. 

That lasted for all of a couple minutes, and that was a generous estimate. The point being that Tash very suddenly went still under Jessie, limp and unresponsive as a dead fish and squeezing her eyes shut tight while her breathing got all jerky.

Jessie had rolled away immediately. “Hey. Hey hey hey, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I’m,” Tash said, and then took a long, shaky wet breath that very much indicated that the rest of that sentence ought to be not okay even a little bit jesus christ. What she actually said was, “I’m fine. I just need a second.”

She was curling up towards the wall, holding her own head tightly in her hands. There was not much about this that suggested she was going to be fine in a second, or any time soon.

“It’s okay,” Jessie said quietly. “It’s fine, no rush. Maybe we just call it a night, okay? Do you want some water or anything?”

Tash whimpered. “No. I’m, no, I’m fine. I just think this was a mistake. Sorry. I’m really sorry, this is stupid. I’ll just sleep on the couch.”

“No,” Jessie said, too quickly, and then backpedaled, not wanting to scare her. “I mean, you shouldn’t do that. My couch is bad, and you said you’re already fucking up your back sleeping in your cousin’s living room, right? You take the bed, you’re a guest. I can sleep in the living room for one night.”

“That’s stupid,” Tash said weakly. Any trace of the confidence she’d rediscovered through the night was gone; she was curled in on herself whimpering and absolutely wretched now. “Just let me go, alright? I’m sorry, I fucked up.”

“Shut the fuck up. Sorry, but Jesus. You’re allowed to change your mind or whatever, okay? I’m not mad about it. Just hunker down and try to get some sleep.” 

Jessie rearranged herself, smoothing out her pajamas and wiggling herself under the comforter. Tash was laying with her face towards the wall, her back to Jessie. Her side was rising and falling in a way that suggested she was breathing hard, trembling silently. Jessie wanted badly to reach out and touch her, give her a totally sexless squeeze of reassurance, but she worried that would make Tash jump out of her skin right now. She wrapped her arms around her own body instead, holding herself back. 

She said, quietly, “I didn’t invite you over because I wanted you to fuck me. You don’t owe me anything.”

“What?” 

“I wasn’t scheming or whatever. I just thought this would be fun. So actually I should be sorry, I guess.”

There was a silence so long that she thought Tash had decided to completely ignore her, or had mercifully fallen asleep. 

Then her voice, quiet and croaky: “Can I ask you something stupid?”

“It’s probably not stupid, but sure.”

“Will you leave that light on?” Tash asked, meaning the small lamp with the sequined lampshade that sat on Jessie’s bedside table. “I can’t sleep when it’s too dark. Sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry. I’ve got a little sleep mask anyway, okay? It’s fine.” Jessie pulled on the mask, powder blue silk snug on her face with Princess spelled out in rhinestones. It had been a joke once, a thing that she bought because as a child she’d thought it was the most luxurious thing to have a little mask that you put on just to protect your delicate eyes while you slept. And then it turned out it was actually perfectly comfortable, and now it would let her keep the light on for Tash, which was evidently important even if Tash wasn’t going to tell her why. So it was fine, everything was working out. Like they were meant to be together.

She’d crawled out of bed earlier than she would under any other circumstances, more motivated to be awake than she had been in weeks. Ordinarily she’d beeline to the bathroom, pee, and then fling herself back beneath the covers for another hour or six. Today she was so overjoyed to find that Tash hadn’t sprinted away in the middle of the night that she immediately got to work on providing a stronger incentive to stay.

It was too much, right? All of the food, and and going so far as to leave her water and painkillers. What did Jessie think she was, some kind of 50s housewife? A little domestic debutante? Fat chance. But the whole morning while she’d been bustling around the kitchen she’d been thinking about how glad she was that Tash was sleeping in, getting the rest she so obviously needed. Jessie felt soft! Squishy and soft and it was weird, but she’d moved so far beyond wanting Tash to be her one night stand or even her partner in crime. Jessie wanted to wrap Tash up in a blanket and feed her a home-cooked meal, which was an abstract level of horniness that she hadn’t previously known existed.

Well, one out of two wasn’t bad. Tash was tight-lipped but staying, had popped a few blueberries in her mouth and nodded to herself when it turned they really hadn’t been laced with arsenic. 

“Thanks,” she said. “For all this, and for being cool last night.”

“What, for not committing fucking date rape? Yeah, no problem. Low bar.” Jessie shook herself, startled all over again at just how low her reputation had sunk. She nodded to the food, because she knew she at least had to get some credit for making a damn nice breakfast spread. “Eat up already, will you? You look like a skeleton.”

Which Tash didn’t argue with, possibly because she had no actual rebuttal. She ate with a voracious efficiency, taking some of everything and chewing through it with a stoic focus that was, frankly, a little hot. When she’d finished everything on her plate she loaded up immediately on seconds and got to work eating with the exact same force, pausing only for alternating sips of juice and coffee. Any attempt at smalltalk by Jessie was rebuffed, not harshly but with a determinedly full mouth that prevented any responses more involved than grunts of affirmation or disapproval. 

Near the end of her second serving Tash started slowing down, finally reduced to toying around with her fork on her syrup-smeared plate. She cleared her throat, awkward. “Well, it’s been real. Let’s never do this again.”

“I can give you a ride,” Jessie said immediately. “Maudie and the girls dropped my brother’s van off this morning while we were both asleep. And you said your cousin’s place is practically out in the ‘burbs, right? It’ll be way faster than taking the bus.”

Tash’s left eye was twitching, very slightly. “I told you where my cousin’s house is?”

“Not, like, the address, but you know. Approximate. You said it’s a pain in the ass getting to work, that’s the main thing. Do you seriously not remember?”

That was evidently the wrong thing to say, because it sent Tash’s lip curling up in response. “No, jackass. I’m a fucking alcoholic, okay? I don’t just do a couple drinks and then have a silly night, I binge drink until I black out and try to fuck people I don’t like. No offense.”

“None taken,” Jessie said, but it was one of the less convincing lies she’d tell that morning.

Tash groaned and turned her face downward, avoiding Jessie’s eyes. “No, that was a dick thing to say. It’s not that I don’t—I mean, no. I don’t, okay? I’m not into you like that. Last night was stupid, I shouldn’t have done it. And I shouldn’t have done the other time, either. But you’re not… you’re way cooler than I thought you were. I don’t respect the whole costumed domestic terrorist thing, but you’re not, like, you know. Somebody could do worse than you.”

“Stop, I’m blushing.”

“This is so stupid,” Tash said, in such a way that all of her frustration was obviously aimed inwards. “I mean that you’re fine, okay? You’re fine and I don’t hate you and I’m not mad at you because we almost hooked up, I’m mad at me for getting drunk and spiraling when I cannot fucking afford to do that. Okay? It’s not you and I’m sorry for acting like it was.”

“So last night, when you told me that I ruined your life…?”

Tash rolled her eyes, hard, at this interruption of her devastatingly sincere apology. “Yeah, okay, that was also a shithead move. I ruined my own life. Happy?”

“Well, I don’t think that’s true,” Jessie said. Externally, she was casually spearing a strawberry on a fork to give it a nibble, totally at ease. Internally, she was poised on the edge of a tall, tall building getting ready to take a leap. To extend that metaphor, she was hoping to sprout wings on the way down, but there was an admittedly enormous chance that she would simply splatter on the sidewalk or get shot in the head instead. The move she was about to make was risky, and there would be absolutely no going back once she started, and if she was wrong then she was going to look like a huge asshole and Tash was probably never going to speak to her again.

And in the best case scenario, where she was right, she was also going to look like a huge asshole and, come to think of it, Tash might still never want to speak to her ever again. But she had to take the chance. She took a breath, toppled the first domino.

“It’s not really your fault, right? It’s Mothwoman.”

It was instantaneous: Tash, wide-eyed and bloodless, her little hands balled up into tight fists, staring at Jessie like a kicked dog winding up to bite. She hadn’t been at ease before, exactly, but she’d been relaxed enough, probably as calm as she ever got these days. God, it hurt to do that to her. Jessie inhaled through her nose, forcing her expression to stay extremely neutral.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Tash demanded. “I don’t care how drunk I got, I know I didn’t tell you anything about the Moth.”

Jessie resisted the urge to roll out that old cliche, pointing out that someone had turned guesswork into certainty by the force of their own reaction. She was, admittedly, trying to break Tash a little bit, but falling back on cliches was a level of pettiness that felt excessive even to her. Restraining herself was a sign of respect for Tash, one villain to another.

Instead she was going to, respectfully, tear Tash’s entire life apart. 

“Listen,” Jessie said, her voice sliding ever so slightly towards the icy tones of Frostbite so as to convey that she was done playing. “I know what people think about me, but I’m not dumb. And I’m kind of obsessed with you, so when you talk I fucking listen. And even when you don’t, I’m paying attention. Alright? And here’s what I’ve got: you’re supposed to be back in Crown City going to grad school, not tending bar in a shithole like Polly’s, especially if you really do want to be done with the whole crime thing. And sidebar about that real quick: there’s no way. You were good. You were brilliant. And you goddamn loved doing it. I know you did, no matter what you say about it now. You don’t just walk away from a career like that unless something catastrophic happens to you.”

“It wasn’t a career,” Tash said. She was rigid now, voice a hoarse whisper. Once again her gaze was directed forcibly down, eyes locked on her own bruised knuckles. “I was running around playing dress-up like an idiot pretending that I was accomplishing something impressive, making any kind of real difference by stealing from people I didn’t like. You don’t know anything about it.”

“Wrong. I know exactly what it’s like. The rush when you realize that you can get away with anything, as long as you’re too cool to fuck with? That feeling when you always knew the world was a little bullshit and then it turns out, yeah, you were right? The walls are all just fucking cardboard and the rules are made of tissue paper and you can knock it all over like that if you want to, as long as you have the right attitude. How do you ever go back to being a normal person after that? You don’t. You can’t, unless you don’t have any other options. And how do you lose all your options?”

It was a good thing that rhetorical questions didn’t need answers, because there certainly wouldn’t be one forthcoming from Tash. She’d turned into a furious statue, shaking ever so slightly as her indignation boiled up inside of her. God, Jessie was a monster. She swallowed down hard on the guilt rising in her gorge, reminding herself that this would be best for both of them. She just needed to be able to make her case first.

“You get made,” she said, to Tash and her rapt imaginary audience. “Somebody figured out who you were under the cute little balaclava, so you had to run. Obviously it wasn’t the CCPD; they couldn’t catch you if their moms’ lives depended on it. Gotta be the Moth, right? She’s fast enough, that’s for damn sure. And if she caught your scent, that explains why you dropped out of school and decided to hide out somewhere like Rustbelt. You needed to be around other rogues, right? Seems counterintuitive, if you’re trying to lay low, but everyone knows that good bad guys don’t snitch. So you get to be safe hiding out with Maud, getting paid under the table and knowing that nobody’s going to call the cops even if they figure out who you are.”

Jessie paused here for dramatic effect, something she had learned with years of experience. People needed a moment to plead dramatically and shit themselves while they tried to convince you that they were wrong and you’d made up the whole thing, as if their overwrought reactions weren’t already confirming exactly what you’d said. Sometimes they’d try for defiant, crying or making a speech before ultimately admitting that you were right and they should do whatever the fuck you wanted.

It should have occurred to Jessie that Tash would be nothing like those goons. 

Sure, she was visibly having a terrible time. But she was also furious, and that was radiating off of her as she dragged her gaze up from the floor and straight to Jessie’s core, which she glared through with withering disdain. “Okay, BBC Sherlock. You got me. What the fuck are you gonna do about it?”

Jessie sipped her coffee to let the silence linger a little longer. Here was the thing: she was nearly half a foot taller than Tash and significantly heavier, and none of that would mean anything if it came to a fight. She’d seen Tash make mincemeat of Voltzz with no skin in the game; imagine what she’d do to Jessie if Jessie became a sufficient enough threat. Kind of hot as a hypothetical, but probably best to avoid making it a reality.

She put on her most inoffensive smile and hoped she wasn’t visibly sweating. “I want to offer you a job.”

“Declined and go fuck yourself,” Tash said immediately. “Thanks for breakfast, have a terrible day.” 

Fuck, she was heading for the door. Jessie rushed after her, heart racing.

“Wait wait wait! Listen to me for three seconds, okay? You need money, right? You’re sleeping on a couch, you’re ruining your back! You’re picking up extra shifts at the worst bar in the world! That fucking sucks, you’re better than that! We both know you’re better than this!”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“So work with me! I can protect you!”

“What?”

Got her.

“Ricochet can’t touch me. How do you think me and Sub-Zero get away with everything? We’re good, but nobody’s that good. If we didn’t have something on her, we’d have gotten thrown in the can by now like every other freak of the week.”

Tash considered that. “Honestly? I heard it was because your brother’s hooking up with her.”

“What? No! Ew! What? Why? Who told you that? I want names, I’m going to ice their tongues out. Jesus. He would never, he respects himself too much to even think about it. God. Never say that to me again. Ugh.” Jessie scrubbed at her eyes, like she could wipe that image clean out of her brain. She knew that there was a fandom for that, of course, but she avoided the corners of the internet where it flourished and blocked it out so thoroughly that it had been practically eradicated from her life. Christ. She shook her head, trying to refocus. “What was I even saying? Look, we have dirt on her. Jonas figured out her secret identity years ago, not because he was fucking her, and we’ve had an arrangement ever since.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Jessie flashed her a wide, shit-eating grin, letting the cool facade finally slip a little. “She can’t ever take us in for good, or we’ll tell everyone who she is. She can try to stop us, sure, whatever, fair play; it would look bad if she never went after us at all. It’s like a game, right? Keepaway. She’s allowed to fuck with us, she can try to catch us and take back what we stole, that’s all in good fun. I mean, she hates it, but what’s she gonna do? We could ruin her entire life.”

There was Tash’s eye twitching again. “You have all that sway over her and you bargained with it? You should be having her transfer money straight into your fucking bank account! Why do you bother going through with all of this?”

“Because she’s flat fucking broke, for one. And this is more fun.” Jessie shrugged like it didn’t bother her, but the question didn’t hit quite right. Why did they do it that way? Even if Ric didn’t have a lot of cash herself, N.E.X.T. obviously did. It seemed like something Jonas should have thought of. But she kept up the smile for Tash, easy breezy. Her doubts were for her, not for other people to see. “But the most important thing is that she keeps this city locked down, alright? The director of N.E.X.T. gets really territorial about other heroes coming to Rustbelt, she doesn’t stand for that shit. Ricochet kicked Arrowhead’s ass all the way down Main Street last year when he started snooping around without her permission, it was crazy.”

“Who the fuck is Arrowhead?”

“Jesus Christ, how do you not know any of this? He’s that hotshot archery guy from out in Condor Cove, you must know him. The one with the sidekick who went off the rails and killed like three of their rogues, it was a whole thing.”

“Do you hear yourself?” Tash asked. “That thing you just said about people getting murdered, like it was a completely normal thing to say? That’s why I don’t want anything to do with this anymore. It’s not a fucking game!”

“Well, I’m not playing. I take it dead serious,” Jessie assured her. She’d had her little fangirl moment but she had to calm down, center herself again. Make the case. “But so does Ricochet, and she respects our agreement. She has for years. She’s not going to go back on it now, okay? I’m untouchable, so what do you think happens if you’re part of my crew?”

“Yeah, I get it.” Tash took a deep breath, rocking back on her heels as she weighed her options. “If I say yes, I’m not working for you, okay?”

“Oh, hell no. I’d never ask you to. It’ll be just like me and Sub-Zero, splitting everything 50/50. Partners.”

“And where is Sub-Zero in all of this?”

“Expanding our operation outside of the city. Why do you think I need some fresh blood around the joint?”

Tash squinted at that, like she smelled the bullshit and knew it. But that wasn’t her problem, was it? And she was too smart to ask questions that she didn’t want the answer to. 

“Whatever. I don’t care, as long as he’s not around and you don’t think you’re my boss. Even split from all our jobs, I’m not wearing a costume, and I leave as soon as I have what I need.”

“Which is what, exactly?”

“I’m in debt. Like, unbelievable amounts of debt. I want to pay all of that off, clean my slate, and then go somewhere the people have never even heard of Night Noir. And then I’m going to disappear forever.”

“Sounds good to me, babe,” said Jessie, who thought that sounded fucking horrible, actually. She had, like, one fourth of a friend and even that friend was already trying to make plans to vanish off the face of the earth and never see her again. But it sounded like Tash was going to need a lot of money, right? That meant that Jessie would have time. All she needed to do was make sure that it was enough time to convince Tash to stay. She had a way of growing on people like mildew; she could make it work. She gave Tash another smile that was wide and benevolent, definitely not the face of a woman who was panicking, and held out her hand. “Shake on it?”

“Pass,” Tash said immediately. “But count me in, or whatever. As long as you can keep me safe, I’m there.”

Jessie said something, some vaguely cool bullshit like “Let’s go down to business” or maybe “Welcome aboard” if she was feeling a little piratical, but ultimately that part didn’t really matter. She was running on autopilot now, unable to even enjoy her success. The important thing was that she was lying through her teeth, and she knew that could only last for so long before she got caught. She was going to have to figure out Ricochet’s secret identity the hard way, and she was going to have to do it fucking fast. 

But how hard could it be, right? Jonas had done it, and Jessie was pretty sure she was at least five times as desperate as Jonas had ever been in his life. That had to count for something.

more of jessie lying wetly

chapter one

chapter two

cool art by @hamandeggbun

and brand new shiny chapter three. on god I am not allowed to post another one until I finish writing chapter ten.

The interior decor of One-Eyed Polly’s had changed precious little since the last time Jessie saw it, although the floors were a little more scratched up and the felt on the pool table had acquired some upsetting new stains. The only thing that had changed was the enormous NO SMOKING sign on the back wall, right where everyone could see it. 

The second she stepped inside of the bar the universe conspired to give her the entrance of a stranger blowing into town in an old Western, with the jukebox pausing between songs and conversation hitting a lull just as she stepped on a creaky floorboard, drawing all eyes to herself. She flashed an ice cold Frostbite smile, tossed her hair, and wished desperately that she’d worn her costume. It would make her look like a total douchebag, sure, but it would also remind everyone she was dangerous.  

Jessie strode back to the bar like it was a catwalk anyway, but the whispers and mutters that followed her were not promising.

“Still owes me twenty dollars.”

“Did I tell you she blocked me?”

“I thought she got arrested.”

“What did Sub-Zero say?”

Okay. Okay. Not awesome, but it was fine. They could say anything they wanted about her, but how many of these washouts and wannabes would actually try anything? None of them. They didn’t know that she was unarmed and floundering without her brother. She hadn’t worn her costume because she didn’t need to; her reputation was still strong enough to protect her. Not to mention she wanted all of these dweebs to see her wearing jeans that cost more than their mortgage payments and choke on the jealousy.

Maudie was behind the bar, grayer and butcher than ever. Her face was lined now, enough that it gave Jessie pause. Was her godmother getting old now? When did that happen?

Not that Maud was letting it soften her up at all. She raised a bushy brow at Jessie by way of greeting and launched right into putting her through the wringer. “Well, well. Look at that. A real-deal supervillain graces us with her presence. Thank you for deigning to descend from the gravy train, your highness.” 

“Aww, Maudie, come on. Don’t be like that, it’s my birthday.”

“As if I don’t know. Did you get your card?”

“Did you send one?”

Maud rolled her eyes, hard. “Of course I sent one. What kind of schmuck do you take me for?”

Of course she wouldn’t know; Jessie hadn’t checked her mailbox in at least a week. 

She realized, with despair, that there were tears crowding up around the edges of her eyes, little pinpricks begging to be let loose. When had she gotten so sappy? She wasn’t even most excited about the crisp fifty dollar bill that Maudie always tucked inside of her cards, although that was a relief. It was mostly that someone had even remembered she existed and wanted to do something nice for her that was really turning her into goo. 

“Well, I appreciate it,” she said, choking down her onslaught of emotions. Maudie would hate her making a scene like that; she never knew what to do when people cried. “But, hey, I’m not here to talk about me. How are you doing? Are you feeling alright?”

“The hell do you mean, do I feel alright?”

“Well, you always said that you’d only make people stop smoking in here over your dead body. And now nobody’s smoking, so I figure you must have gotten real close to having a dead body.”

Maudie snorted. “We had a scare last year. Doctor thought he had something, turned out not to be serious. But you know how the dames are. Next thing I know, nobody’s allowed to smoke in here and I’m getting yelled at if I don’t eat vegetables and go for a fuckin’ walking every morning.”

She shook her head, fondly exasperated. The dames were the two iron-tongued femmes Maudie had been in a relationship with for decades, largely considered to be the real masterminds behind One-Eyed Polly’s. According to Maudie, they only kept her around to look pretty and serve the drinks.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jessie demanded. “We could have helped with the bills, or I could have brought over soup. Something.”

“I didn’t want to bother you, kid. Your brother made it pretty clear that you were busy.” And then, before Jessie could apologize or otherwise risk making things sentimental, Maudie cleared her throat sharply. “You want a drink, or what? First round’s free for the birthday girl.”

“Yeah? Let’s do a straight whiskey and a burger,” Jessie said, knowing damn well that she’d be drinking nothing but dirt cheap beer for the rest of the night. “Do the fries still come with that, or is it extra?”

“It’ll be a cold day in hell when I charge people extra for a side of fries. That shit comes with the burger,” Maud said gravely.

There were a lot of things that could stand to be improved about One-Eyed Polly’s, but the food was not one of them. So what if the fry cook telepathically talked with rats? He could work a grill. The basket that arrived in front of Jessie contained a beautifully constructed medium rare burger packing the exact correct amount of grease, surrounded by steak fries that had been seasoned to absolute perfection. Pardon Jessie while she drooled a little bit. 

“Hey, Maudie,” she said, half a burger later. “You still have Joney’s van?”

Her godmother raised an eyebrow a fraction of an inch, which for Maud was an expression of profound skepticism. “I’d love to know how the hell you think I could’ve lost it.”

“No no, that’s not what I meant. I just wanted to see if I could grab it from you.”

“Can’t get your car back from Voltzz, huh?”

“Hmm?” Jessie asked, playing dumb.

“Do not try the bimbo act on me, Jessica Jolene. You know damn well what I’m talking about.”

“God. How did you even hear about that?”

“Are you kidding? I hear about everything in here. We had a bunch of schlubs in here doing shots at noon because they thought Ricochet dragged you off for good.”

“Okay, tacky.” Jessie licked her lips, her mouth suddenly feeling extremely dry despite an abundance of gloss. “Maudie, can I ask you a question? It seems like I’m maybe, um, not very popular around here.”

Maud stared her down with eyes like chisels. “That’s not a question.”

“You know what I mean!”

“I don’t know what to tell you, kiddo. They hate your guts.”

“Maudie!”

Jessie’s complaining was cut short by a sweaty, nervous-looking man appearing from the kitchen and hurrying to Maudie’s side. He shot Jessie a look that could really only be described as distrustful, then leaned in close to deliver his message to Maud. She shrugged him away almost before he finished speaking, peeved by his damp proximity.

“So get her shift covered. Why do you need my permission for that? Call Billy. Or, hell, see if Tash can make it in. She’s always dying for extra shifts. Tell Jordan I’ll come sort her out in a minute and then get your ass back out here to cover the bar. The dishes can wait.”

Maudie sighed and turned back to Jessie as her dishwasher departed, shaking her head. She suddenly looked about a hundred years old. “Kid, I miss the days when the worst I had to deal with was bartenders coming in drunk.”

“What happened?”

“One of my girls, Jordan. She’s got that fucking, what do they call it? Void pox? She kept going see-through when she came in but she swore she’d be fine. Except she’s not fine, she started getting these little cartoon demons popping out of her head. Pretty harmless, only about this big, but if I never have to kill another one with a broom it’ll be too soon. Anyway, I had her sitting down in the back, but now she’s starting to make things levitate and I can’t have that. I need to find her a ride home.”

“Could I come see her?” Jessie asked with, in hindsight, way too much enthusiasm.

Her godmother hit her with a look that was genuinely withering. “You can keep your ass right here and be nice to Nikesh while he tends the bar. And you can leave Jordan alone. It’s a 24-hour bug, she’ll be back to normal tomorrow.”

“I know that!”

“So drop it, then! For once in your life, don’t get so pushy about this superhero shit.”

Maud ducked back into the kitchen on that deeply unencouraging note, sending poor Nikesh back out to hold down the bar in her stead. He studiously avoided Jessie’s gaze when she asked him how his night was going, spitting out single syllable answers until she gave up and asked for a hard cider, which he provided without once actually turning his face in her direction. Jessie dropped a five in the tip jar anyway, because she believed very firmly that you were supposed to tip generously unless the waiter had purposefully set you on fire and maybe even then. Running through the last of your money in the entire world was no excuse to be a lousy customer.

The problem being, of course, that she had hoped this would be a case of spending money to make money. She’d shell out a little for a night at One-Eyed Polly’s, reestablish herself as a villain of the people, and announce that she was hiring to thunderous applause. Henchpeople out the door, heaps of cash secured, the money that she’d pissed away on bottom shelf booze now a worthwhile investment. 

Unfortunately, all of that had depended on there being someone, anyone, left in town who didn’t hate her guts.

“Hey, Nikesh? Do you like working here?”

“It’s a living,” he said, still looking down. 

“If I offered to pay you, like, five times what you’re making right now, would you work for me?”

“Fuck no.”

“Ten times?” 

He actually looked at her for a fleeting second, his gaze touching off hers for just a moment. Jessie was vomitously aware that there was something that looked a lot like pity in his face. “Look, lady. It’s not about the money. It’s about not wanting to get my ass kicked.”

“Jesus Christ. Am I really that bad for business?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Is that why you won’t even look at me?”

“Yeah. You understand. Can’t look like we’re getting friendly.”

“Respect. You gotta look out for number one, Nikesh. I can throw a drink on you, if you want.”

“Yeah? That might be good, actually. We could make people think I said something really nasty to you. That could actually be great for my rep.”

Jessie groaned, resting her face in her hands. This was going to be an absolute non-starter. Polly’s was the biggest rat-hole in town; everyone knew that this was a place where people would turn a blind eye to almost anything. Everyone put aside their beef here, because the place would never function if they didn’t and no one wanted to be the asshole who ruined the only functioning villain bar in town. If a bartender was too scared to even look at her directly, Jessie’s reputation must be worse than dirt.

Why? Because of last night’s embarrassing little tantrum? Couldn’t be it. Nobody complained about the time Voltzz snorted bath salts and went on a rampage, or when Incinerator got drunk and started taking potshots at cop cars. Hell, if anything they’d both gotten more popular after that. Jonas might sneer at the lack of precision and control, but Jessie had tried to tell him a thousand times that people liked to see a supervillain go a little off the rails. It was aspirational, right? It let people imagine what they might do, if they had the power to really cut loose.

Why was she different? Sure, people hated to see a woman having fun, but that couldn’t possibly explain all of it. Maudie could probably explain it, whenever she finished mopping up the poor sap with the void pox. Maudie heard about everything. 

In the meantime, she might as well try to make the most of her evening. If she wasn’t going to be making new friends, she could at least have a little fun. Who cared about her bank account? If she was screwed, she might as well go out with a splash. 

“Nikesh? Open me up a tab. It’s my birthday and I want shots.”

***

Jessie Chilton was not a lightweight. Despite spending most of her early life watching her father get eaten alive by booze she had an exceedingly friendly relationship with alcohol, and could usually hold her drinks pretty well. Jonas had never touched the stuff, erring hard on the side of caution, but Jessie knew that she could stop any time she wanted.

Her miserable 26th birthday was not that time. That night she drank like the world was going to end, because it very possibly was. Her world, at least, and what else was she supposed to worry about? She knew damn well the scope of what she could be held responsible for, and presently it was mostly downing as much tequila as she could.

Which meant she ended up in the bathroom, eventually, because all of that liquid had to go somewhere, and in the time-honored tradition of wasted girls everywhere she got weird about it. While Jessie sat in the cramped and questionably-lit stall she started thinking about how she’d very nearly been born in this very room and what a miserably inauspicious start that was, and how perhaps she should have known that her life was always doomed to go down the toilet despite a decade or so of delusionally believing that she might be meant for something better. She wished that she had some friends to cry to, and briefly regretted the loss of Whirligig. Getting sloppy drunk and crying in club bathrooms together had been about the only thing that friendship was good for, but sometimes that was all she needed it to be. 

In the absence of anywhere else to turn Jessie called the person who had almost always been there for her, until he spectacularly wasn’t.

Hey, Joney. It’s your favorite sister. And I know what you’re thinking: ‘Jessie, you’re my only sister, why are you doing exposition like a lunatic?’ Well, it’s because you haven’t been acting like I’m your favorite sister lately, or like you even know me, so I figured maybe you needed the reminder.

Did you even notice it’s my birthday? You’ve never forgotten it in my entire life. But you know who remembered? Uncle Ray. And Maud. And that’s fucking it. And Ricochet was soooOOOOOOoooo mean to me this morning. Like, you wouldn’t believe. She’s getting way too cocky, if you ask me. You should come back and kick her ass into orbit. Remind her who’s boss around here.

You should come back in general, actually. I miss you. But I’m also mad at you. It’s, like, a real dick move to take off and not even leave me with any money. I mean, I had money. Past-tense. But it’s gone now. I could have, like, I could have definitely spent it better. Smarter? I got these really stupid expensive boots with real crystals on them and then when I tried to return them they said I couldn’t because there was a scuff on the toe, which is like… whatever. I’m wearing them right now even though they’re way too fancy for Polly’s. Might as well get my money’s worth.

But I also just don’t have anything. Like, where’s the bank account? Where is the bank account, Jonas? I earned half that money, so why can’t I… I mean, you literally never told me how to get into it. To my money. Which I guess in hindsight was, like, I should have had a problem with that way sooner, but you made it sound extremely reasonable! And now I’m this close to Uncle Ray throwing me out on my ass, because I couldn’t pay the May rent and I can’t pay the June rent, either, at the rate things are going. I opened a tab at Polly’s and I don’t have enough to pay it, so now Maudie’s going to be mad at me, I think. I don’t know, I’m not even actually sure how a tab works. Isn't that stupid? I'm, like, so mad at myself lately got how much stuff I don't know.

Everybody’s mad at me.

And you won’t even call me back, and I can’t even afford toilet paper, so that’s, like, a lot. And I’m not handling it well. And I’m drank as a skank at Polly’s, in case you couldn’t tell, so go ahead and get your panties twisted up about that. I’m fucking spiraling, buddy. I’m in my fucking up era out here.

So. You should come home.

Or at least tell me where you are or what you’re doing or why you left, okay? Because I hate no knowing that. We’re supposed to tell each other things. And I’m scared about what’s going to happen if you’re gone much longer because, like, everything is going wrong. And I think you might have really left me screwed here, okay? Which is crazy, because it was supposed to be you and me against the world, but I’m not fucking seeing it right now. 

By this point Jessie was crying and snotting pretty hard, absorbed enough in her own agonies that she didn’t realize she wasn’t alone in the bathroom until someone rapped lightly on the door of her stall and almost scared her shitless.

“Hey. You okay in there?”

It was not the voice of someone particularly warm and fuzzy or confident about checking in on a stranger, which actually made it a little sweeter that they’d bothered.

“I’m fine,” Jessie lied, wetly. “I’m just, like, I’m on the phone.”

“Yeah, I can hear that.” Whoever they were, they were sorely tempted to leave it at that and go back to minding their own business. Jessie could tell. Outside the stall, a pair of tennis shoes that had been worn damn near to dust rocked back and forth, weighing the options. “I just wanted to say that they’re not worth it. Whoever’s making you feel this bad, you shouldn't waste your time on them.”

“Okay,” Jessie said. And then, into the message she was still leaving for her brother: “I have to go, a nice girl in this bathroom says you’re not worth it. Please call me, love you, bye.”

“Great,” the stranger said dryly. “Crushed it.” Their beaten-in shoes scuffed away, back over to the sinks. Had Jessie missed an entire other person pissing next to her? God, that was embarrassing.

She wadded up some genuinely horrific single ply toilet paper and dabbed at her face, hoping she didn’t look too atrocious. All of her makeup was waterproof, which had to count for something. “Hey, thank you for that. I really needed someone to snap me out of it. I was being so pathetic.”

“Whatever,” said the voice by the sinks. “Don’t beat yourself up. I’ve been there, I get it.”

Jessie’s heart was getting squeezed around like one of those awful tubes full of goo and glitter and little plastic animals, the kind that everyone used to make jerk off motions. Who was this? Would they still be so nice to her if they knew who she was? What were the odds she could salvage a single actual friend out of this wretched garbage fire of a day? It didn’t even have to be a lifelong bestie, just someone she could have a few drinks with. 

“My name is Jessie,” she said hesitantly.

She heard her new friend sigh. “I’m Tash.”

“Do you come here often? I’m not asking that in the pervert way, I’m just curious if you’re, like, a regular.”

“I work here,” Tash said, with as much contempt as anyone had ever had for their workplace.

“Oh. Do you like it?”

“Sucks shit. But, you know. You do what you’ve got to do.” She cleared her throat awkwardly. “Are you okay in there? I’m gonna get my ass reamed if I let somebody drown in the toilet.”

“No, I’m okay. I’m just, you know.” Which was a fucking nothing explanation, but Jessie’s voice was still damp and wavering enough that it presumably got the point across. “I need a moment to get it together.”

“I hear that,” Tash said. “I usually use the walk-in when I need a second.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s not very big, but it’s quiet. And the cold kind of helps pull me together, I guess. Stay focused.” She cleared her throat again. “Sorry to dump that on you.”

“No, that’s okay. It makes sense,” said Jessie, noted cold enjoyer. “Do you keep anything fun in there? Maud’s never let me see it.”

“You know Maud?”

“Yeah, since I was a kid. Isn’t she the best?”

“She’s a real son of a bitch. But she's the only boss I’ve ever believed when she says she gives a shit about me, though.”

“Sounds like Maudie,” Jessie agreed fondly. “Anyway, what’s in the walk-in?”

“Fucking nothing exciting. Burger patties, mostly. I don’t know. Like I said, not a lot of room.”

“Plenty of room for you.”

“Yeah, every time I have a total breakdown at work.”

“Does that happen a lot? No judgment, obviously. Pot .”

“I don’t know.” Tash sighed. “More often than you’d hope. Which is never, obviously. We don’t have to talk about this.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“What?”

“Your favorite color,” Jessie insisted. “I love asking people that. Nobody ever cares after you turn, like, twelve, right? But I care. And it’s a lot more chill than talking about, you know. Our favorite places to completely freak out in a shithole bar.”

“Okay. Sure,” Tash said. Everything about the strain in her voice suggested she was not naturally inclined towards whimsy, but at least she was making the effort to play along. “Will you assume I have clinical depression if I say gray?”

“Yes.”

“Well, joke’s on me, because I love gray and I do have clinical depression. But purple is also good. I like purple.”

“What shade? Eggplant? Periwinkle?”

“Just a nice, medium purple, I guess. Like, the platonic ideal of purple.”

Jessie had no idea what a platonic ideal was or why anyone would ever need to specify that they weren't trying to have sex with a color, but she was sitting on her stupid little toilet nodding like an idiot anyway because it felt so good to be making a connection with someone. “I dig that. Purple is good.”

“What about you?”

“Oh, cerulean for sure. With sparkles, ideally.”

“That’s blue, right?”

“Yeah. My jacket is actually, like, that exact color, I can show you.” Jessie sniffled tremendously, getting shakily to her feet and pleased to discover that she was feeling much more sober than when she’d wandered into the bathroom some time ago. And now look at her! Practically having a whole meet cute. What a turn around on the evening. “Okay, I’m coming out now. Don’t gag if my makeup’s a mess, I’m going to fix it.”

She tossed her hair and stepped out of the stall, at which point several things happened to her in rapid succession.

Tash was standing underneath one of the humming, flickering lights that barely managed to illuminate the dark cave of the ladies’ room. She struck a slim figure, drowning in a huge hoodie with two skinny black-clad legs sticking out like a cartoon character. She was wiping down the sinks but turned as Jessie emerged, the fuzzy light illuminating her from the back like a bargain bin halo.

The first thing Jessie noticed was that Tash was a lot shorter than she had been expecting.

The second was that Tash had beautiful eyes. 

The third was that those beautiful eyes and indeed her entire face were curdling up in horror as recognition set in.

“What the fuck,” she said. “Frostbite?”

The recognition and reaction alone weren’t surprising, given the colossal combined levels of notoriety and bad PR Jessie was currently enjoying. The part that nearly knocked her on her ass was that recognized Tash back.

“Oh my god!” she exclaimed, overjoyed and utterly failing to read the room. “Night Noir? Holy shit, girlie, I thought you were dead!”

[tunastime]

hiccuping tears into the shoulder + ranchers by chance?

hiccuping tears into their shoulder (1087 words) (x)

For the first time in a good, long portion of his life, Tango despises how silent the night gets. It's not without its natural noise—the balmy, sticky humidity and breeze in the grass, or the crickets, the cicadas quieting down, the sounds of animals rearranging themselves to a comfier sleeping arrangement. He should be doing the same, but he's sitting on the edge of the bed, his spine a rigid line. He can feel the blood in his body, he can feel the spaces where his muscles connect to each other, with every breath he can feel his lungs separate out the oxygen. It's at the very least startling, and at the very most, he feels like he might dissolve on the spot if touched. 

Tango knows how death feels—painless respawn and a few seasons of a life game behind him, but to feel someone else die, too. The echo of death alongside your own. He didn't like that! Not good at all. All his blood and heartbeat-y things are rushing around in his ears. He doesn't even hear Jimmy the first time he speaks up from the other side of the bed, with how his voice scrapes out.

"I didn't know they were aiming for us," Jimmy says.

"Of course not," Tango says, furrowing his eyebrows. "I know you didn't."

He's still looking at his hands, running his thumb over the lines in his palm and pushing into the tiny bones and muscle there. Jimmy flexes his hands like he can feel the pressure and bones moving around. He watches him fold his hand tight around each other and slump, pulling his shoulders to his chest. His breath squeezes in his chest as Jimmy deflates tiredly.

"I just don't want you to think—"

"I'm not gonna think this is your fault, alright?" Tango says, frowning at him. "Why would I?"

Jimmy sighs. His jaw works.

"Cause it usually is," he grits. Tango scrunches his nose on instinct, recoiling out of habit before he manages:

"That's not fair, man."

"This whole game isn't far!" Jimmy huffs, waving a hand about.

"Sure but—"

"But nothing, Tango. I just—I can't lose and drag you with me. That's more than not fair."

"I don't care."

"I care."

Before Tango can argue, though, he tastes the faintest hints of anger and frustration at the back of his mouth fade. He watches Jimmy's face contort as he tries to come up with a better sentence, something he probably thinks Tango deserves. Maybe an apology. 

Tango just looks at him. He kind of feels bad, that little bit of gut wrenching cold that trickles in, but mostly he's just confused. Jimmy's words bat around in his brain like dust particles. Dust bunnies. He definitely assumed they were done with this. That maybe Jimmy made peace like he did—though really he hadn't had that much time to make peace, if he's being honest. He's still bitter. He's sure a lot of people are still bitter. But in terms of Jimmy's whole situation? It's not like it could be helped. They just had to be careful. So Tango was being careful, and Jimmy was taking what Tango thought was a calculated risk, so he was mad, sure, but he couldn't really stay mad for a long time. So he takes a long breath and sighs it out his nose. It still tastes surprisingly reminiscent of smoke.

"So what are we going to do?" he asks softly. Jimmy inhales.

"I don't know," he says. "Go to bed? Wake up and start planning?"

Tango hums plainly. He likes that idea. The small spool of feeling in his chest that must belong to Jimmy gives a little tug, like it wanted to take him down with it. 

"Yeah," Tango says, voice coming hoarse. "Yeah, I think so."

For a moment, Tango runs his tongue over his teeth, runs his thumbs over the seams of his knees. He sighs, and then he leans into Jimmy's shoulder with a definitive huff. He's tired. From the ache in his bones, to the breathlessness of dying, to just taking in Jimmy's stress. Man. He's exhausted. Jimmy snorts quietly. He feels him press his cheek against Tango's head. The hand Jimmy had been fiddling with in his lap ends up at the base of his spine, splayed over the fabric. Tango squeezes his eyes shut.

"Thanks Tango," Jimmy says shakily. He sounds like he's on the knife's edge of crying, so Tango fumbles out a hand and lands it solidly on his knee. It's not a terribly comfortable thing to stretch one of his achy shoulders or biceps that far but he does anyway, and Jimmy huffs out a damp laugh. "Guess I'm just... pissed off."

Tango snorts.

"If you think you're pissed, just wait until they rile me up," he says into the fabric of Jimmy's shirt. Jimmy laughs. Tango tries to hold in a grin that he also smothers into his shoulder, but fails. Jimmy's hand skips over his knuckles and squeezes the hand on his knee.

"Sure thing, Rancher," he teases. Tango makes a half-suppressed noise of indignation, squeaking as he bolts upright. He nearly knocks into Jimmy's jaw as he untangles himself with all the grace of a cat trying to weasel out of someone's arms. 

"I'm just sayin'," he grumbles, crinkling his nose. "You seem like you're in a better mood though."

Jimmy sighs, rounding out his shoulders. 

"Think so," he says, working his cheek between his teeth. Tango feels the sensation of prodding in his mouth. Bleh. "Think so."

"Probably a good idea to make good on that sleeping... thing,” he says, reaching up to scrub at his eyes. He barely stifles a yawn as Jimmy stretches, twisting his tall body around in a way that feels surprisingly pleasant to Tango’s stiff muscles. He can’t imagine, especially with the way Jimmy holds all his emotions in his shoulders, that his upper back is doing him any favors. Jimmy makes a little noise in confirmation as Tango turns, attempting to make ample space for him in the small bed. He knows they’ll end up back to back at some point, but as he lies down, shoulder to shoulder, an easy comfort rolls over him. Sure there’s all the red blood rushing around in his ears, and sure he feels it right up on his skin like a bad rash, but for now, next to Jimmy, he shuts his eyes.

They’ll make this time count for something, at least.

[userautumn]

You are always 100% right and valid btw. Because like buck and Tommy are broken up, but you also have several interviews released today where Ryan calls Buck and Eddie “brothers” and where Oliver explicitly says Eddie is straight so they will most likely continue to be just friends. So if it wasn’t for Buddie, what was the point in throwing away a relationship the audience was actually behind??

Yeah, this has always been my problem with the idea of Buck and Tommy breaking up and, now that it's happened, I can finally unload all my thoughts.

Listen, my Buddie mutuals are very assured that Buck and Eddie will get together and have this lush and beautiful arc where they settle into a relationship and feel out the kinks in their dynamic and really blend together, and I respect that. I would love to see that happen. But I don't have that same confidence. Don't get me wrong, I DO think Buck and Eddie will probably get together, I just don't think it's going to happen until the last episode of the last season in a way that's more reminiscent of Johnlock "canon" (for those who did not watch BBC Sherlock: John and Sherlock continued to live together and raise John's daughter, but this was revealed in a montage without ever actually seeing them get together, or confirm that they were in a romantic relationship) than anything.

Why? Well, because it's easier to tease your audience than it is to follow through.

Don't get me wrong, I don't think Tim is teasing the fandom in a malicious way, and—if nothing else—I know he is very aware of what these boys and the implication of their relationship means to people. 9-1-1 has always handled their relationship with a particular gravitas, and I don't see that changing now. But Tim has been writing Buck and Eddie for years. He knows what gets people going, he knows what this fandom likes to see, and what they'll read into. So why would he rush into making them "endgame," especially if he knows he already wants to take them in that direction? He has no incentive to make it happen Right Now because everyone will lap up what he puts out anyway.

And I get it, because I do love Buck and Eddie's relationship. I love the way they interact with each other and, yes, I will lap up any scene between them. But that's the part I find so draining too. I'm going to be honest, I've never liked a "will-they-won't-they" couple. As a personal preference, I've always liked to have a clear vision of a story's trajectory when I go into it. That's how I write, and that's what I gravitate toward in fiction. So the idea of going through any number of love interests until Buck and Eddie are "ready for each other" (so sick of that phrase. sob.) is literally... exhausting to me, and not in a fun way. Because this is a loop that could theoretically continue on, and on, and on, until whenever the powers that be decide enough is enough.

Sure, Eddie is happy and free now. Great. But he still doesn't know he's Queer. What happens when he does realize that? Does he need to date a guy first in order to be "ready" for Buck? Similarly (because their romantic arcs always run parallel to each other), when Buck fucks and sucks his way through Los Angeles, does he stumble upon a hot girl/guy and date her/him until Eddie's "ready" for him? How many times, exactly, am I going to sit through another love interest until they're on the same page after, by my count, three false starts? You know?

I'm obviously along for the ride. Always have been, always will be, and I fought too hard over the summer to maintain my love for these boys and their relationship to let it waste away now. But I desperately, desperately need Tim to give me something substantial that CLEARLY, and EXPLICITLY indicates IMMEDIATE strides toward ROMANTIC Buddie Canon. And I mean crystal clear. Not "building a thousand words of meta off a single line/moment" clear. Not "this look probably definitely means Eddie was thinking about ripping Buck's clothes off" clear. I mean, I want it so damn clear, a sixty-five year old grandpa with cataracts can see it.

Otherwise I'm just going to get really annoyed.

[tblsomedoodles]

Just a young Rider with his baby dragon. Nothing bad will happen to them. honest.

Rereading Eragon (b/c reading fourth wing and Iron Flame only succeeded in making me want to read something that actually focuses on the dragons/dragon riding aspects. b/c that's why i was there) and thought, hey this would be cute to draw for a speedpaint.

My computer thought otherwise and decided to shut down when i was almost done, corrupting the video.

The doodle got save (thank you csp for your recovery feature!) but yeah, no speedpaint to go with it.

So back to the drawing board. Literally. (and the speedpaint is already late too : / )

[marklikely]

the results of that "is fanfic a book" poll have shown me one thing and its that this site never graduated past that absolutely insufferable phase in 2013 where everyone acted like every book is the single most sacred thing on earth

[sagehaubitze]

I write a lot to deal with my emotions and to process (right now I am processing a lot of anger, still). I don't share a lot of it, but I did write something to post on fetlife yesterday having to do with my friend, Remy's, death. The circles of people I have over there have no real context or frame of reference for any of it though. Since I'm still vaguely furry-adjacent, I figured maybe people (all like.. five of you) would get more mileage out of it here, so I'm crossposting it.

This is a small tidbit of furry history. Before you fly off the handle and send me anon hate, please take a minute to read all of this through. Plus think about what type of person would absolutely fucking loathe both queer people involved in WWII reenacting, and queer people dressing in uniform to do weird kink shit. (it's supposed to be fascists that idealize the era, they would have an aneurysm, but this is a trick question because apparently everybody loathes it)

Anyway. Pushing the Feldpost Envelope (furries and nazis and death in here.)

"History lesson.

I'm at the third year of my home furcon in 2005, attending opening ceremonies, wearing my officer's cap. All day, I've been nervously eyeing someone also in an officer's cap, albeit a different branch, worried that they're either going to be confrontational, or that they're a bad actor and a bigot. We'd unknowingly run in the same circles for a couple years now, but had yet to cross paths in any significant way until today.

"I like your hat" he smiled and piped up after the ceremonies were over. I, a very anxious sixteen year old girl at the time, had a flood of relief wash over me now that the ice had been broken and he didn't seem like a total asshole (joke's on me, Remy was still an asshole, just usually the good kind). "I like yours too..!" I chimed back. And the rest was history. "Living history", actually.

A couple months prior, Remy had created the Nazi Furs community, which I wound up co-running and co-moderating. The goal was to create a space for people with a genuine interest in history and reenacting (which despite the name wasn't limited to the German side of things) and/or for those who get their rocks off in uniform, a little more tucked away from early 2000s internet shock value, and most importantly protected from actual racists, bigots, and all around pieces of shit (which took a hell of a lot of work). Furries tend to cover the whole gamut of kink, and while Remy and I both leaned further towards the leather subculture, we tried to make space for all of the spectrum as long as it was related to that specific time period in some way.

We were not a popular or well liked group. But we were a necessary group. This is the south, if you weren't a cishet good ol boy, it was frankly just not safe to venture into any reenacting groups around here at the time. So, we made our own space for it, to be gay and weird and ourselves while we ran around in the woods. Even in kink, we tried to push the envelope for what was "acceptable" in the eyes of larger communities and carve out a little trench for ourselves, because often in the most accepting places, people would still take issue (and still do). We did our best to push back against people feeling closeted or ashamed for what they were interested in, kink or not. Don't be a shitty person is all we asked. We were young and we stumbled a lot, but we tried our best.

Ultimately, with the shifting perspectives in the fandom, in kink, and in general with online spaces being cleansed to be more palatable and marketable, we lost the fight. Part of it came from the evolving political environment in the US, it did become impossibly hard to weed out bad actors, and not be seen/assumed as a bad actor yourself. But part of it is from lingering social norms on what is "okay" and "acceptable" (even in alternative subcultures), instead of remembering that some interests can be solely academic and not a reflection of your own personal world views. Bleeding over to kink, it's exactly the same, and some people have forgotten that kink should be weird and ugly and not acceptable, it should challenge your emotions and perspective sometimes. It is the opposite of social norms, it's not meant to be sanitized and diluted down for the masses to consume. It's meant for you, and your self expression, self exploration, and your kameraden who share that with you.

Remy died on January 26th. He was one of my very best friends, and there are not many people left on this planet who know me like he did. I rushed to clean his house of things his mother did not want, or need, to see, because I was the only one left to do so. He is survived by communities that did not want him and refuse to see the work he put in for people to have a place they felt accepted.

I have no place in community anymore. But if anyone reading this feels ostracized for their interests or kinks, I feel the same so deeply inside me that it hurts my soul. You shouldn't have to feel that way. I do not have it in me anymore to try and create a space like Remy and I worked on in the past, but do know that you're not alone. I'll be here. I'm still here somehow."

-----

I would also like to add this summarized post that Remy made to the original group, the last post in the group, in 2017.

"In the wake of recent social unrest, we would like to take a moment to make a statement regarding this community.

Nazi_Furs was created by a bunch of nerds. Yes, you read correctly. A bunch of big old nerdy nerds started nazi_furs to post stories, art, historical articles, images from WWII museums, reenacting and living history events, and sometimes little animated gifs of dancing hitlers that we thought were funny.

Most of our members were card carrying homosexuals. Almost all of our moderators were gay, trans, or some other color of "unacceptable" to ACTUAL NEO-NAZIS.

Many of us have well researched and thought out fursonas that inhabit a world set during WWII era Germany. The setting used in many movies like Bed-knobs and Broomsticks, Indiana Jones, Iron Sky, and Dead Snow lends itself well to fantasy. Setting talking animal people into this backdrop did not seem like such a huge clusterfuck at the time.

Nazis are a cliche', relegated to "the bad guys" in popular culture. The sharp uniforms, advanced military weapons and tactics, crackpot schemes, and paranormal ties are used all the time in modern media. They are a caricature of what they were 70+ years ago, much like ninjas (paid assassins) and pirates (murderers and thieves) are today. Once you have been relegated to a children's Halloween costume you no longer have the influence to command respect or fear.

Let us allow nazis to be just that, a cliche condemned to be the "bumbling bad guys". Let us laugh at them and rob them of any authority they feel they may have. There haven't been any "REAL" nazis since the downfall of the NSDAP in 1945, and any members of that movement would be pushing 90 by now.

The "alt-right" are not nazi_furs. They are hateful individuals putting on costumes pretending to be like people they do not understand who have been dead for years. These people WANT you to associate them with nazis, and calling them that only feeds their egos. Lets try not to do that.

If you take anything away from our group, let it be a reminder of our origins as nerdy nerds pouring over history books, saturating ourselves in history to better understand what happened in the 1930s and 40s. Take a look at our current situation we find ourselves in and ask yourselves if we are all doomed to repeat our past mistakes. Then focus your rage and disapproval in a productive manner. Get out there and vote the real racist out of office. Mobilize in peaceful protest, advocate for the oppressed and downtrodden. Make the world a better place than you found it."

I stepped away from the fandom when my home convention, RCFM, ended after a decade. I had been run into the ground, my wallet taken advantage of entirely too much, and I was burnt out beyond belief. Remy stayed more up to date on fandom things, I know there were issues with other "nazi" groups popping up that were inundated with the alt-right. There was no avoiding getting lumped in with them, so we eventually just enjoyed our interests in silence, away from everyone else.

To be completely honest, the majority of our time was spent in museums and hunting down weirdly specific esoteric research topics, which we'd then attempt to discuss while drunk around a fire (this is the academic way). It wasn't to idolize these people or politics, it was to understand an extremely complicated time period and what was born out of it. There are SO MANY absolutely fascinating aspects to study, not just "woo big scary gun death ubermench". What people saw most though, convention-wise at least, were the room parties where we could let our hair down and be WEIRD. Furcon room parties are fucking weird just as a baseline, throw some uniforms and sadomasochism in, sometimes some LSD, and... I mean yeah. And of course that's all that stuck in anybody's mind. Though, tbh, a lot of the time for the majority of the night, it was just a small circle of friends watching war movies and drinking. We came up with this (not) great idea to take a shot every time there was a depth charge in Das Boot, yeah I can't recommend that lmao.

Even from the reenacting standpoint, Remy was putting together a US medic impression (not even German! *clutches pearls*) over the past few years, because he was an EMT by trade. I've always reenacted a very inept Wehrmacht artillery officer who is a touch cowardly, not great at their job, and is usually relegated to office/paperwork. It's far from the edgy internet shock value people associated us with.

Nowadays I am usually running around in the woods alone, or getting the shit kicked out of me in uniform (consensually). I'm just less visible about it. I wish I didn't have to be. It feels very lonely, extremely so now that I've lost Remy. I think there was a good opportunity somewhere in there to push back against the alt-right by being very VERY gay and trans and queer and weird in uniform, destroy the image they were trying to create for themselves, but the current culture of the internet wouldn't have allowed that. I'm still going to keep doing that, just.. y'know, in my own space, on my own time.

I hope other people are out there being weird too. I'll be weird with you in spirit.

[cetoddle-archive]

i miss bvndit so much

[lightgriffinsect]

idk how to explain this but psychic gives me toxic chill male bsf vibes

[guubiiz]

trein...

[3motionally3xhausted]

Redesigning the Fentons!!

Hi yes this is for yet another Danny Phantom AU of mine it has nothing to do with the Apprenticeship AUs but unlike that batch I actually wanna turn this AU into a fic eventually once I get through a few other big projects I have *sobs*

Anyway individual files for each character under the cut along with my obligatory rambling about all the choices I made ;)

Jazz! Honestly, when I was a kid, I always thought she was 18 not 16 so it was kind of a shock when I started rewatching the show about a yr ago and heard that. Anyway, she's 17 in this AU but already moved out to college on a scholarship bc living in FentonWorks is kind of hell and she has that Older Sibling Guilt for leaving Danny there. For her clothes, I wanted it to be a mix of tactical and preppy.

Danny! (Fenton) The effects of FentonWorks hell is much more visible on Danny than Jazz because she got out of there as soon as she could. Because of that though, a lot of the chores in the lab got pushed onto Danny, without passing on many safety tips, like replacing the ecto-filtrator, cleaning contaminated tools, organizing ecto-weapons, etc. And because he doesn't know any better when it comes to safety, he has many symptoms of radiation poisoning: visually, this comes through in the discoloration/scarring on his skin (Jazz has some slight scarring on her face and hands as well), the cataract on his left eye, as well as burst blood vessels in that eye. For his clothes, I wanted them to look a bit ragged and worn through ripped seams, tears in the jeans, & duct tape around his shoe.

Danny! (Phantom) I don't actually have a lot to SAY about my choics, but I am really happy with it. There are still a few things. I wanted his hair as Fenton & Phantom to be different but still reminiscent of the simplistic rendering of the original show: Fenton is kind of timid so his hair falls over his face, & Phantom is more active/aggressive so his hair is pushed upward. The only other thing I want to comment on is his skin: it's kind of about how I usually stylize Phantom (and I mentioned this when I redesigned Dani a while back) but a "healthy" Phantom in my style would have more bright cyan skin and an unhealthy Phantom has a more dull/zombie green. And lastly, as a ghost, the radiation poisoning kind of cleans up into more neat scarring rather than the muddy/bleeding look as Fenton.

Maddie! Now, I'm gonna be honest, real vulnerable here,... I hate Maddie's canon haircut. It's ugly, I'm not sorry. But I can modify it, so it's fine: now it's curlier, a bit darker, and has a few grey streaks bc she's a genius and constantly pulling long working hours. And, it didn't come across as much as I wanted, but she's got some biceps, strong lady. Now, I'm not really sure why, but I wanted to shift the color of her and Jack's jumpsuit, making hers much more desaturated.

Jack! Big guy. I don't have many thoughts about him either, but I did give him glasses and some stubble for a little bit more dad energy (?) I mainly changed the color of his jumpsuit bc Orange is an extremely hard color for me to render for some reason, so now it's the classic Hazard Yellow. Finally, the most notable difference is the coat I put on him for a bit more scientist energy but my main reasoning for it is the potential visual of him being an absolute tank jumping from overhead with the ghost gauntlets and his coat flapping behind him. Also, I generally like the idea of him presenting himself as a big, dumb teddy-bear, always smiling, but completely unhinged below that facade: dropping the smile or not while towering over you in shadow. Wild imagery.

FINAL THOUGHTS: Do not count on any actual steps towards creating this fic in the near future, it's just on my mind right now, but I NEED to finish my other projects first 🙏🙏🙏 That said, I will (eventually) get around to a handful more character redesigns for this AU including: Vlad, Sam, Tucker, Valerie, Paulina, and maybe Lancer & Dash

[secretlovezz]

Whiplash

Eddie Munson x Fem!reader

Summary: you've been avoiding Eddie like the plague and he's desperate to figure out what he's done to deserve it.

Warnings: hurt/comfort?? idk, kissing, fluffy ending, pining, idiots in love, use of y/n, she/her pronouns used for reader, reader is a crybaby ig idk she reacted how I would soooo, lmk if i missed anything!

Wordcount: 2010

A/N: Not really proofread and kind of written in a rush cause I wasn't feeling it about halfway through so sorry if you can tell 😞

You weren't there... again.

Your absence from your usual seat to the left of Eddie leaves him in a deep state of confusion his eyebrows furrowing in thought. This was the fifth day without your presence at his side, almost an entire week without your voice giddily telling him about the book you were reading or a new recipe you've tried, almost an entire week of being deprived of that perfect little gleam in your eyes when you looked at him rambling about something you enjoyed, and his heart ached in deprivation.

And because of this, he could with full confidence say you were avoiding him- but as to why he had no idea.

Eddie's silent at the lunch table staring at nothing in particular, and though the guys -especially the freshman- had finally learned to normalize Eddie's peculiar-ness and oddities this new silence and bleak aura had them surprised. He was stuck in his head racking through everything that's happened in the last week that could have possibly scared you away from him.

He thinks about the time he asked you for help with his math homework, but that couldn't be it considering that definitely was not the first time he'd asked and definitely was not the first time you'd happily agreed to do so. He reminisces about when he'd come to visit you during your shift at the local library in boredom playfully bothering you as you re-placed books onto the shelf.

He thinks and thinks and thinks but nothing comes to mind for your sudden evasion.

"Dude, you think any harder and steam will come out of your ears," Gareth rolls his eyes at Eddie, "What the hell's wrong with you anyway?"

Eddie leans back in his chair and dramatically throws his head back to look at the ceiling, his hair flows behind him and moves as people walk by, "She's avoiding me."

Dustin's head snaps up, still chewing his food he inserts himself into the conversation, "Who? Y/N? I just talked to her last period, she seemed fine," He shrugged.

At that Eddies head pops back up, eyes locking with Dustin's in a way that leaves the younger boy cringing, and the crease between his brows intensifies, "So she's still talking to you guys but not me?" He starts to pout a little by the end of his question.

Everyone sends looks to each other before slowly nodding and Eddie's forehead loudly makes contact with the cafeteria table, the guys wince in response.

"Well... have you tried- I don't know, asking her about it?"

The glare sent in Mikes direction after his question almost makes him apologize. Eddie heatedly scratches his head and groans in irritation; he'd tried more than a handful of times to get ahold of you, tried more than enough times to just hear your voice again but nothing worked. When he waited by your locker you would walk the other way, when he called you, you hung up as soon as you heard his voice, and worst of all you would throw out the little notes he sent you in class as you walked out and away from him once again.

"Duh! Of course I have," Eddies reply is laced with annoyance and frustration, "But I can't ask her anything if she keeps running away- I mean come on! She won't even look at me, man." His voice is soft and emotional when speaking his last sentence, He runs his hand over his face weakly and suddenly he feels like he's being pitied. He doesn't want that.

He hastily moves to pick up his things, thrusting the items into his little lunch box with more force than necessary with a pout on his tired face before standing from his seat and angrily walking away across the cafeteria, from the table and the others. They all sigh when he makes it past the cafeteria doors and after a silent moment Jeff is the first who speaks up, "So- When do you guys think they'll get over themselves and finally get together?"

《----------♡

When the last bell rings after what feels like years to Eddie he's swiftly making his way out of class and out of the building, but now what time would usually be spent merrily walking to his car and making plans to see you during the weekend was spent instead making his way into the woods strolling past trees and going to the little picnic table placed in that clearing he visits every once in awhile.

He stares at the ground and his feet as he treads, kicking rocks, stones, and branches on the way.

Eddies just about there just a few trees away from the clearing before he hears footsteps other than his own a little ways ahead of him he pauses head finally lifting to look in front of him and waits to see who appears.

To his surprise you pop into his vision and his round, brown eyes widen. He goes to take a step forward his body automatically and urgently trying to get to you, desperately needing to be near the drug that is you, but he stops himself to observe.

You sit at the table and pull a book out from the satchel bag at your side and a humorous huff leaves through his nose, his face relaxing and lips curling up at the sight of you doing something you often enthusiastically spoke to him about before realizing that its a book he does not recognize, that you had started a new one, and you hadn't told him like you usually would have. The thought wipes the smile from his face in an instant and his brows furrow for the nth time that day.

He steps forward and does not stop himself this time, sauntering toward you almost as angrily has he had left the cafeteria without your knowledge as you are already too engrossed in whatever new story you were traveling into. When he sits across from you at the table you feel it shift with the added weight and at last realize that you are no longer alone.

When you eventually look up, placing your thumb in-between the pages you were reading to keep your place, your heart drops at the sight of the frustrated man in front of you. You try to move away but he quickly grabs your wrist urging you to sit back down, you look at him again and the anguish written on his face makes you find your seat.

Your gaze moves to your lap and Eddie doesn't let you go too afraid you run away again.

Eddie is the one to break the stifling silence, "Talk to me... please?" The sound of his voice makes your heart ache so guiltily it hurts, "Just- Just tell what I did wrong- tell me so I can fix it."

Though your mouth opens to respond nothing comes out and your eyes gloss over with salty tears. Eddie's hold on your wrist moves to your hand gently cupping it in his calloused palm while his thumb moves to continuously swipe over your warm skin.

Your cheeks warm at the intimate contact and it only makes your eyes well with my tears reminding you of why you were ignoring him in the first place.

"When you-," You struggle to get the words out of your closing throat but Eddie still listens patiently, "Last time... you- you did something. It wasn't a big deal to you- but um... to me it- it meant a lot and that's kind of the problem."

The brunette across from you leans in closer and tilts his head in confusion, "What did I do?"

You glance to the side in embarrassment but Eddie's thumb taps you twice to bring your attention back to the conversation, "Talk to me Princess; Tell me what I did so we can go back to normal, I miss my best friend."

You didn't want to go back to normal.

For the first time in days your eyes connect with Eddie's and you take in a shaky breath at the sight of his enchanting eyes. "You uh- you kissed me..."

Now he's confused. He had kissed you? When? He's sure he would remember finally getting to kiss you.

Your free hand travels to your cheek and it all clicks for him, the pieces falling into place. He can't help but let out a chuckle of amusement; you were right- he had kissed you, kissed you on your cheek, that is, a sweet little peck against your skin. His laughter dies out when you rip your hand from his, the tears in your eyes spilling over.

Eddie stands and rounds the table to you, "Hey hey I- I'm I shouldn't have laughed. Don't cry, sweetheart." His hands place themselves on your elbows as your hands move to cover your face. He starts to feel like that little kiss really did more than he had thought.

"Did it make you uncomfortable? I won't do it again I promise," You shake your head at his words, "Talk to me, baby."

"Don't do that! Don't call me those names if you don't mean it," Eddies eyes go wide at your outburst and his mouth opens to speak but you beat him to it, "you- you kiss me and call me those names and I- It's just too much... I like you too much."

All too quickly Eddie is forcefully removing your hands from your face and cupping your cheeks thumbing the tears from your skin, "I like you too much too."

"Don't be mean Eddie."

He connects his forehand to yours, both of your eyes closing at the closeness, "M'not, would never joke about that." His soft pink lips brush gently against yours as he speaks and your breath hitches. Your lips part slightly and your cold breath fans Eddie's face. "How can I show you I mean it hm? How 'bout... a real kiss?" He mutters. You nod all too briskly for someone who was just crying and it makes Eddie smile.

In the fullness of time Eddie presses his lips to yours and when he finally gets the taste of your lips on his he realizes he's waited entirely too long to do this despite being willing to wait an eternity for you. He's been starving for the absolute goddess that is you, now getting to satisfy that hunger digging in with no resistance and sliding his tongue past your lips flushed against him. The ache he had felt without you there fading once and for all as you kissed him back. Your hands atop his squeeze as a noise escapes the back of your throat and Eddie kisses you deeper at your audible reaction. He wants to consume you, wants to keep you so close you never leave his side, he needs it- needs you and makes sure it shows in the way he kisses you.

When he pulls away your both panting for air, Eddie's grin is smug on the top of your head and your arms are wrapped around him.

"I can't believe you made me feel like shit for an entire week just cause I gave you a lil' kiss on the cheek," Eddie mocked trying to get a quick quip in.

"Shut up! It totally freaked me out."

His loud cackle echoed in your ears and you smiled, pulling him closer and pressing your nose into his skin. Eddie's arms moved to wrap around you as well and his large hands snake around you also trying to squeeze you impossibly closer. He presses a fast peck on your cheek, then your temple, and then the top of your head. Eddie takes a deep breath inhaling the scent of you- memorizing it.

"Promise you won't do that to me again. Don't leave me alone like that again."

"I won't Eds, I promise."

"Besides! What are you going to do without me here being oh so entertaining huh?"

You laugh, "I have no idea."

[lilacgaby]

dunno if you take reqjests but

reader drawing on bakugos hand while theyre studying

PLAGUESMMY DREAMS BRO I WANNA SEE UR TAKE ON IT

katsuki had dragged you to his room to start studying for the practical exams. you groaned and whined the whole way, he was an academic, and so he was really big on being ‘focused’ and ‘committed’ to the work.

as he questioned you on quadratics and gave you a question to solve, as if you'd be able to solve it. you slammed your head against the table in frustration, as he continued solving the problem as if nothing was wrong. you pouted, you chin on the table as you watched him. one of his hands free as the others did all the work.

you were just so bored, your palms were already out of space from when you were doodling earlier so,

you started to draw on his hand, he was startled by the sudden feeling of a pen on his hand, jerking slightly. “don't move you're gonna ruin it!”

“fuck are ya’ doing anyways? we're supposed to be studying?”

“i'm bored. just do it yourself.”

his face scrunched up in annoyance as he finished up his work, doing his best not to move his hand.

you were actually really focused, or maybe you were just taking a long time because you wanted to hold his hand. who knows.

when you finished, clicking your pen again with a satisfied nod, he looked over his hand, eyebrows raised in surprise.

he actually really liked it. it looked like a mosaic almost, you drawing whatever had come to your mind, some of the things invoking his interests. small explosion doodles mixed in with flowers, chibi doodles of the two of you with heart in between, and a little skull reminiscent of his shirt.

he was so distracted by it, he didn't notice you copying down all of his answers.

almost.

he grabbed your face in his other hand, squishing your cheeks and forcing your lips into a pout. he silently looked over you for a second, pecking your lips briefly before resuming his original position.

“draw me some shit on a piece of paper next time, 'don't want it to get ruined.”

with another kiss to your lips, he handed a flustered you a piece of paper,

“but do your own work, baby.”

with a fastened heart and face dusted with pink, you'd never finished an assignment faster.

[writing-fanics]

more than anything

Lucifer Morningstar x F!Reader

chapter i > chapter ii > chapter iii

[summary: Charlie Morningstar arrives in hell and meets someone from her dad's past when he was an angel.]

warning: mentions of depression: angst: seemingly unrequited love: loneliness: charlie might be ooc:

Charlie gasped her eyes widened with joy, clasping her hands together jumping up and down excitedly. "Are you Y/n?!" She asked, and the angel looked at her shocked, "You already know about me?" the angel looked at the princess of hell, in disbelief.

"Of course, I do!" She exclaimed, remembering the stories her father used to tell her about, [Y/n].

"My dad would tell me stories about you when I was little!" She said smiling, at [Y/n] who's body tensed up for a moment and her cheeks darkened a little. "Really?" She mumbled, under her breath looking away from the princess for a moment. "I thought he'd forgotten about me." She mumbled, her smile faltering for a moment. Before shaking her head. Forcing a smile on her face.

Charlie looked around the angel's office curiously, "So, your father?" said [Y/n], looking over at Charlie, smiling as she continued to look around the room. "So what did your father tell you about me?" She asked, and the princess of hell nodded.

"Good things I hope?" She said, and the princess of hell looked at the angel. "Of course, he said you were the only angel that believed in him." said Charlie, and the angel smiled reminiscing on times that have long since passed.

"We shared the same dream even adding some ideas onto each others, expanding on them. " said [Y/n], looking down her angelic wings seemed to go limp at her side as she frowned, "That was eons ago," She said, looking down.

Their conversation went on for what seemed like hours, the angel saw so much of the one she loved in his daughter. [Y/n] talked about Lucifer, and stories that he never told Charlie. Charlie watched as the angel's eyes sparkled as she talked about memories. [Y/n]'s heart seemed to swell, and then to suddenly falter back to sadness as she remembered, that she was to shy too scared to confess her feelings for the man she loved.

“You loved him didn’t you?” asked Charlie, and the angel looked over at her in shock and smiled softly, and chuckled softly. “Loved?” said [Y/n], and she smiled her eyes closed as she turned towards Charlie. “I still love him?” She said, her smile forced.

She said, “I couldn't bring myself to tell him,” She wrapped her arms around herself, taking a deep breath and letting out a sigh. “I was afraid of ruining the friendship we already had.” She said, placing her hand on her head her thumb resting on her cheek, as she turned away from Charlie. Letting out a sigh, “I-If he didn’t accept my feelings, I didn't wanna lose what we already had." She bit her lip nervously, and turned back towards Charlie.

“S-So I didn’t." She said, looking at Charlie. The Princess of Hell, could see the sadness and loneliness in her eyes. Eyes that were filled with so much regret, "So, I watched as he fell in love with another." Her voice cracking slightly, clearing her throat she continued.

She pursed her lips inward, "Did and said nothing as he was banished to Hell," She looked down, "But, I can't take back what happened eons ago." She said, forcing a smile on her face as she looked at Charlie.

"So tell me about this Hazbin Hotel, I've been hearing so much about?" She asked, curiously and Charlie's eyes lit up. "Your father, wouldn't of set up a meeting with Heaven, without a reason." She said, and Charlie nodded.

[Y/n] listened intently about Charlie's plan, even though she was going to hear it again in court. She nodded in response smiling, "Sounds intriguing." the angel said, looking at the girl. "I do agree that everyone deserves a second chance." She said, a smile growing across Charlie's face.

"If those sinners that come to the hotel are willing." She added, placing her hands on her desk and sighed. "But, it isn't me who you are going to have too convince." She added, and Charlie looked at her, "But, I believe in the cause." She said, smiling looking at the princess of hell.

[Y/n] looked at Charlie and saw so much of her father in her, her heart couldn't help but ache. "You remind me of your father." Charlie looked at her and smiled, "Thank you, if it wasn't for him I wouldn't be here right now." said Charlie, “The apple really doesn’t fall far from the tree.” said [Y/n] a hint of sadness in her voice.

Charlie smiled softly, "You really do love my dad don't you?" asked Charlie, and the angel looked away closing her eyes for a moment. Taking a deep breath and with a solemn look on her face, she turned back towards Charlie. "More than anything." said [Y/n] sadly, the room filled with silence. She still loves him even after eons have since passed they've last seen each other, "Sorry, I shouldn't even be saying this to you." She said shaking her head.

She scoffed at herself, "Telling you his daughter that I've got some silly crush on him," She shook her head and placed her head on her desk, "Ugh, I'm so pathetic!" She groaned, into her desk. For eons, after Lucifer was banished to Hell. [Y/n] hasn't been the same since forcing a fake smile on her face, while doing her daily angelic duties. With a fake smile plastered on her face.

One the inside she was hurting. She was lonely. She was depressed. Filled with so much regret being the cause of her own lonely existence. If she wasn't such a coward maybe things would've ended up differently maybe they wouldn't?

Charlie placed a hand on shoulder causing [Y/n], to lift her head and look up at her. "I'm sure he misses you just as you miss him." said Charlie smiling, trying to comfort the angel as much as she could.

"He used to tell me so many amazing and wonderful things about you," She said. [Y/n]'s lower lip started to quiver as tears welled up in her eyes, hiding her head into desk. She glanced over at the clock on the wall; lifting her head up from the desk. She wiped away her tears, "I-It's almost time for the court meeting. You should probably get ready." said [Y/n], as she stood up from her chair.

"Maybe, you can visit once this is all over?" Charlie said, and the angel looked at her and smiled, "I'm sure that would make both his and yours day." The angel really could see so much of the man she loved in his daughter, "That sounds like a dream to me." said [Y/n], as she walked towards the door and placing her hand on the door knob.

She missed him dearly and for many years she stayed in heaven, wallowing in self-pity and regret. Loneliness and heartbreak. Grieving over the lover she was to cowards to confess her feelings towards.

"But, I don't know. Right now you should focus on convincing the angels." She said looking at the young demon, as her gaze drifted towards the ground. "I-I shouldn't of even mentioned what I said today." She said a solemn look on her face.

"You have nothing to apologize for." She said, looking at Charlie and smiling, "I have only myself to blame." She smiled sadly, and Charlie and the princess of hell a gave her a sympathetic smile. As Charlie left the room, "Charlie?" The Princess stopped and turned around, "When you see him again." She said, "L-Let him know." She stammered, nervously biting her lip her wings limp at her side.

"L-Let him know that I miss him more than anything," She said sadly, and Charlie smiled and nodded. [Y/n] watched as she walked away, and closed the door behind her and turned away. Leaning her back against the door, she sank to the ground and brought her knees to her chest and cried. "I really am pathetic," She sniffled, once again wallowing in self-pity.

"E-Even, if I were to go and visit would he even wanna see me?" She mumbled, maybe she should. She didn't expect anything from it but, maybe it would fill the hole in her immortal heart. The thought of seeing him again brought a smile to her face, she really did love him with every fiber of her being. She envied Lilith and was jealous of her not in a hateful or spiteful way.

She just..[Y/n] sighed, wiping away her tears. Standing to her feet and dusting herself off, taking a deep breath in and exhaling. As she placed her hand on the doorknob, sighed, leaving her office and making her way towards the courthouse.

If only she knew how much he truly did miss her, as on his desk. Sat a rubber duck that shared the same angelic features as her, wings and all. If only she knew how is heart would ache, as he would glance at it.

if only she knew

how much she truly means to him

a/n: ngl..i kinda wanna maybe make her charlie's stepmom.. i mean she still loves lilth of course but.. i mean.. like.. come on.. i should..

[luludeluluramblings]

Smalltown!Neglected!Meta!Reader x Yandere!Batfam ☁️ Part Three

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Part One ☁️ Part Two ☁️ Part Four ☁️ Part Five ☁️ Part Six ☁️ Part Seven ☁️ Part Eight

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: I’m realizing I’m struggling to find a good breaking point for reader, cause I want reader to break. I’m terrible at coming up with conflict though. (I’m not much of a writer, but I’m trying.)

A/N: There will be Romantic Yanderes. But, we’ll get to that later when we talk about each yandere. (Most will be platonic or start platonically at least.)

A/N: Hopefully y’all are noticing that Reader is in this constant state of just trying to cope. (If I wrote it correctly, that is.)

Warning(s): Yandere themes, Obsessive behavior

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

So, Reader’s childhood crush shows up looking fine and kind

Alfred informs the others of the unexpected guest.

Bruce isn’t home, Damian is out with Jon. Stephanie and Cass are busy in Gotham, Duke’s out on Patrol, Dick’s in Bludhaven, Jason meeting this guy is a bad idea, and Barbara’s at work.

Tim, being the only one home on a rare break (in reality working cases in the Batcave) is practically ordered to scope this guy out.

Which annoys Tim, because Reader is just fawning over their old crush and the truck.

The truck is surprising, not something he expected Reader to want. But, reader is practically crying over it.

Tim would have just brushed it off, but he notices how this guy keeps touching reader.

Practically clings to Reader. Even sniffing unaware teary eyed reader. (Teary eyed reader is…. Cute.)

Tim makes eye contact with this guy, and he looks… smug. Like he won the grand prize.

And, it pisses Tim off. (Why is he so smug? What does he know that I don’t?)

Childhood crush isn’t staying long, he’s going to catch a flight back to the smalltown.

Reader happily offers to drive him to the airport and Tim just hops in the backseat of the truck. (Why? Oh, I just want to get out of the manor for a bit. Hope you don’t mind.)

Childhood crush is peeved, but hides it from Reader. (Tim can tell. He’s a detective, it’s his job.)

The entire ride is Reader and Childhood crush reminiscing and catching up on smalltown gossip.

Tim is listening in on everything with intrest, realizing he knows practically NOTHING about reader. (Didn’t bother researching cause he was pissed and didn’t consider reader worth the effort when he had more important things to do.)

Now, he’s getting to see a side of Reader that no one in Gotham has really seen yet.

Reader is funny, approachable, a hint of a flirt, apparently sings, loves to spend time with people they care about, and a slight geek.

Tim is a bit entranced/intrigued. But, his biggest concern is Childhood crush.

Why is this guy so possessive of reader? What does he know that Tim doesn’t? Something’s amiss, and he’s going to figure it out.

(And, maybe he should get to know Reader some more. They’re trying to make him feel comfortable in the truck, including him in conversation, sharing happy memories and information with him, willingly. It’s nice. It’s soothing.)

Eventually, Childhood crush is dropped off at the airport. But, not after he tells reader, there will always be a place back home for them and to come home soon. We miss you. I miss you. Come Home.

The ride back to the manor is done in comfortable silence. Or, at least, to Reader.

For Tim, he has a lot to think about.

What does he know about Reader? What more is there to Reader? He wants to know more. He wants to know everything.

He asks questions on the way back, occasionally breaking the silence.

Reader happily answers, expecting this will change things between them.

It does for Tim, but not as much for Reader.

Tim jumps into discovering everything he can as soon as he gets back to the BatComputer, but he’s not ignoring reader anymore. He’s almost friendly. (He’s still busy as mess. Not much time to hangout.)

Which makes reader feel better, because Duke and Cassandra disappear for about two weeks after that. (Mission.)

Reader worries and wonders where they are.

Bruce says the two are taking a ‘small vacation’.

(Reader knows he’s probably lying, but in the off chance he isn’t, Reader feels a bit put out.)

Reader is really leaning on those phone calls to their friends and family. They spend hours talking on the phone while pacing the halls, their room, and the garden.

Everyone back in the town wants them home. They miss Reader soooo much. They just understand reader more than these rich city people.

They can’t wait for reader to come home visit.

Damian and Reader eventually have a confrontation.

Damian finds Reader cooking in the kitchen.

(Alfred lets Reader cook, and Reader helps occasionally with dinner and meals.)

Reader offers food to Damian, a peace offering.

Damian, obviously, rejects it.

Doesn’t matter that he’s vegetarian or if he’s not hungry, he was going to reject it regardless.

And then he verbally tears into reader.

Insulting everything about them, the food, their actions, their attitude, their clothing.

Nothing is off limits. (Damian’s had a bad day and is pent up. He wants an outlet and Reader is right there and the object of most of his doubts.)

Reader shuts down. Going cold and looking startlingly blank. (Eerily reminding Damian of Batman Bruce.)

After this all attempts for Reader to bond with Damian stop.

(Sometimes you just gotta cut your losses.)

It doesn’t help that Damian one day hears Reader on the phone when they’re pacing the halls.

Talking sweetly and softly to someone in such a loving voice. Before hanging up with an ‘I love you.’

Damian initially begins to try to interrogate reader. (Who was that? Are you having relations with someone? Does Bruce know?)

Only for reader to bluntly state that they were talking to their younger brother and it’s none of Damian’s business before brushing past him.

Damian would grab at them, but he’s a bit stunned.

He knew Reader had another brother. Bruce was going to try to bring him to the manor. (Still is trying to bring him to the manor.)

But, now doubts start to creep in.

Because he wants that. That unconditional love Reader so willingly gives to their brother.

He wants that love. He wants someone to say ‘I love you’ to him like it’s as easy as breathing.

Damian brushes it off at the moment, but it sits with him. (He’ll fix things eventually. He’ll apologize. He’ll have that one day. He will.)