#that just do not give a fuck about proper stocking

[hungee-boy]

also just letting you know if like 30% of your supervisors dont give a shit about stocking merchandise in the wrong spot or cramming merchandise into a spot so much the boxes fall apart literally run and find a new job.

[luludeluluramblings]

Neglected!Pregnant!Reader x Yandere!Bat Family Part Three

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Part One ☁️ Part Two ☁️

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A/N: Sorry for the delay. My motivation fled for a bit and exhaustion hit me hard right before thanksgiving. I had to buckle down and just finish this.

A/N: I really wanna answer all my ask, there’s some things in there that y’all have sent me that I want to do for an AU of this. There’s just so many ideas I wanna try.

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Warnings: Yandere themes, possible non-con (I only say possible, because Reader was drunk when consenting), fem!reader, possible violence towards Jason, my own made up headcanons.

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When you told Stephanie you were going to find out the gender of your little bean, you weren’t exactly surprised she wanted to have a gender reveal party. Though you did talk her out of the party aspect. You loved your friends, but you hadn’t told them about your pregnancy. Mostly because you knew they’d either accidentally spill the beans about said bean to someone they shouldn’t or they’d freak out and pester you about the unknown father.

It’s a shame you can only faintly remember dark hair, loving touches, and the heat from that night. You’d like to at least thank the man for giving you such gift. Even if said gift was making you throw up nearly every morning, constantly tired, and craving the oddest things with heartburn to follow.

Overall, things were going.

That was it. Things where just going. You were still looking for an apartment, but you were getting sidetracked a bit by nurseries. You knew you would love your child regardless of what they are or who they are. But, the little swan lake nursery was precious and the air plane nursery was darling. Both made you cry and change your mind on apartments at least six times. Hormones did not help with house hunting.

But, the day came. You went to your ultrasound and had them put the gender in an envelop to give to Stephanie for her to plan your day. You had to fight yourself from peaking at the paper, but, still, you waited the three extra days until you would find out the big reveal.

Unfortunately, Jason fucking ruined it.

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Jason had been poking around the fridge. It was common for him to dig around the manor for food when he was there. Bruce was rich and groceries were expensive. (If he was looking for some of the princess’s cooking? That was his business.) But, he spotted something that stood out from the usual expensive organic fruits and vegetables and occasional meat.

“Hey, Alfred. Why is there a small cake in the fridge?" He could tell from the packaging it was from some fancy bakery. Probably one on the shiny posh side of Gotham. Which meant it would either taste like overpriced shit or absolutely delectable.

"That would be the young Miss's. I believe Miss Brown purchased it as a surprise." Alfred had replied from where he was currently taking inventory of the pantry. Maintaining a well supplied stock of the after mission snacks to proper management after all. Still, he did eye Jason from where he stood with his note pad. Knowing that Jason had a slight habit of causing trouble.

"Those two have been really close lately." Jason muttered suspiciously, mentally debating on if the cake was worth it or not with Alfred watching him.

"Dick is right. You really are starting to sound like Bruce." Duke and Cassandra had been sitting at the counter. Duke, having just gotten off patrol, had been in the kitchen to refill his water. While Cass had been munching on some snacks that she had hidden from the rest of them.

"Can it, light bulb." Came Jason's snarky voice as he silently popped the lid on the much to fancy cake open and pulled it out of the fridge. Alfred to far across the kitchen to stop him. "You know… This is a pretty big cake…"

"Jason, no." Even Duke knew it was a bad idea. If you had just gotten bold enough to through tubberware at Jason, God only knew what you might do if he ate a gift you'd been given. Plus, Steph would be on everyone’s ass for it. She was stingy with her money and everyone could tell she splurged for that cake.

"I would advise against that, Master Jason. Miss Brown already informed the young Miss of the cake and I believe that they wanted to have the first slices when they got back from their outing." Alfred knew you would happily share the cake, but, while he wanted to defend your sugary gift, he knew that that cake had a secret and for once Alfred couldn't restrain himself from wanting to be the first to discover it.

That drew both Cassandra and Duke's attentions away from the crime that was about to be committed. Both curious. The two of you really had gotten close. Cass only slightly tilted her head in curiosity while Duke had been the one to speak.

"Oh, they went out?"

"For pedicures, I was told. They are due to arrive back here shortly. "

"Well, if you wait, they might- Jason! Seriously?!" Duke had looked back to watch Jason slice into the cake with a spare butter-knife. Thankfully with enough finesse to not completely ruin your cake.

"What? The princess can share her damn cake-" He defends himself, about to grab a fork when he notices Cass looking directly at Alfred. "Why are you looking at Alfred like that?"

When she says nothing, Duke and Jason look at the tearful expression of Alfred's face. "Alfie, what's wrong?"

It takes a moment for them to realize that those aren't tears of anger or sadness as Alfred tries to compose himself. It takes Duke a few seconds longer to look at the slice of cake to connect the dots with a swiftness that would put Tim's title as second greatest detective to shame.

However, the only words that stumble out of his mouth in his shock are, "Jason, that cake is blue."

"Yeah, I know. Which is weird, but it taste great. Steph picked something really fancy for princess’s taste." Jason says finally taking a bite. It was good, Steph picked a good bakery. Not as good as Princess's homemade goods, but good enough.

"NO! Jason, why would a cake be blue?" The realization of what exactly Jason just ruined filled Duke with panic. This was going to be so much worse than the tubberware if he was right. So much worse.

Even Cass was a bit confused about the massive deal with the cake. She was more interested in the joy she was reading off of Alfred since that cake had been cut. She'd never seen the man so giddy, despite the only sign of any change in him was the misty look in his eyes.

"I don't know- Oh, great. The princess has returned." The sound of excited footsteps were heard heading towards the kitchen while Duke looked at Jason with anxiousness. Even Alfred seemed to brace himself.

As soon as you and Stephanie walked in the smiles dropped from your faces.

"Jason…. Tell me you didn't…" Stephanie murmured as she glared as Jason. Inwardly, she was excited. She had guessed correctly and won her own personal bet with herself. But, she comfortingly put a hand on your arm as you stared at the blue cake you didn’t get to cut.

Just from your expression, Duke can tell he might have been right and starts looking at Jason with an expression that screams, ‘Plead for mercy, you idiot.’

Alfred, thankfully, had enough sense to come out of his joy the moment he watches you walk up to the counter and look down at the cake with a despondent expression. His words comforting as he tries to ease the budding tension. “I'm so sorry, young miss. But, on the bright side-"

"Oh, come on, princess. You and Steph weren’t going to be able eat it all. You can afford to share. Besides, you’ve been looking a little pudgy lately anyway. Really need to stop acting like you’re eating for two."

Everyone looks directly at Jason in horror at what he just said. Seeing the spark of rage in your eyes makes Alfred take a step back in caution and Cassandra warns an aghast Duke of what she sees about to go down.

“Duke, duck.”

“Where?” He says in terrified confusion before suddenly your cake is slammed directly into Jason’s face with your hands coated in frosting.

"OH SHIT!”

"MISS!"

"Are you fucking crazy?" Jason stumbles back from the velocity of the cake to his face while he tries to wipe the buttercream from his eyes as you start berating him. Throwing everything in reaching distance at him. The bowl of fruit on the counter, the snacks Cass had been eating, even a pot from the stove.

"You ruined it! You ruined it! Alfred, where's the cast iron? I'm about to knock the dumbass outta him.” You start looking for something heavy, moving to dig through the cabinets with sugary fingers that are shaking with anger.

“About time someone did…” Stephanie mutters while she hides behind the counter to hide from the onslaught.

Before you can complete your search, Jason reveals just how well he preforms under pressure. Realizing a little too late what he might have just right when your hands find the cast iron skillet and your taking a swing at him.

"Wait! Wait! I'm sorry!" He barely dodged the hit with the sudden click of the information settling into his brain.

"You about to be sorry! This is the last straw, asshole. You fuckin' ruined it." You go to take another swing at him, nearly slipping in some frosting.

Jason’s eyes go wide before he risk a skillet to the face to catch you.

"You're right! I- Put that down, you're going to hurt yourself." He struggles to pull the pan from your sticky grip, not wanting to hurt you. This isn’t something he imagined having to use all his skills and talents for, but he thanks fuck he has them.

"Don't you tell me what to fuckin' do." You snarl while trying to hit him in the throat with your fist, causing him to almost let you slip.

"Jason!" Duke shouts out, knowing how bad it’ll be if you fall.

Jason tightens his grasp on you to the point your practically immobile, trying to calm you down with apologies and a panicked tone.

"Look, I'm sorry! I didn't realize-"

"That doesn't excuse you acting like a dick." You hiss, causing him to go silent as he tries to figure out how to fix this situation.

"You're right. It doesn't. But…" he trails off, leading to an awkward moment of silence

"Dude, you suck at this." Duke says before popping his head over the counter now that the cake and kitchen utensils have ceased to be airborne. Stephanie popping up next to him to give Jason an icy glare of her own while Cass stares at her ruined snacks. Alfred sighing as he runs the bridge of his nose from the similarities between old memories and the current scenario in the kitchen.

"Shut up, twinkle twinkle." He snarls before looking down a very pissed and most likely very pregnant you with a wince. "I… I know I'm a jackass."

"Astute observation, Master Jason." Alfred mutters while he behind to search for some cleaning supplies for the buttercream incident.

"Damn, Alfred's roasting you." Duke quickly shuts up when Jason gives him a lethal glare despite your futile attempts a wiggling out of his grasp. "Shutting up now."

Eventually you stop struggling, heaving in exhaustion and pitifully fighting back tears at your ruined gender reveal.

"I… Shouldn't be acting like a such an asshole. To you, specifically. You don't deserve that and I'm sorry." Jason tries as soon as he sees your lower lip start to wobble. He knows he’s prickly, but this is a new low that he’s not proud of.

"Now, you wanna apologize?" You’re honestly too emotional to deal with this. But, it’s the fact that he’s actually trying to give a meaningful apology when hardly anyone else does that makes you listen. Even if you’re mentally tearing him to shreds with your teary eyes.

"Yes. Now, I want to apologize." He sighs, putting you down. It’s quite a sit. Him not only apologizing, but him also doing it covered in white frosting and blue cake crumbs. "I'm… I'm not going to give you a bunch of excuses. I'm a jerk. But, I'm not heartless. I took this too far."

"You took it too far when you ate my frickin' fried cornbread." Comes your deadpan tone as you cross your arms. The fabric of your hoodie moving slightly to reveal the faintest of baby bumps.

"You're still mad about- You know what, fair enough. Don't eat the pregnant chick's food. Lesson learned." He starts to say exasperatedly before changing course at your stare and realizing he needed to suck it up.

“But, in my defense, it was really good.” He pipes off quickly, as an appeasing compliment.

Judging from the way your eyes further narrow and the reigning silence, he can tell he missed the mark.

Instead he tries to change course.

"Listen, I know this won't make up for it, but… I did see some vintage baby stuff in the attic when I snooped up there once."

"Oh, you found Master Bruce's old thing." Alfred exclaims with slightly raised brows. Coming back with Clorox wipes and all sorts of other supplies for the mess you had made. (He blames Jason, however. Don’t fret, dear one.)

"Wait, pause. Did you say those were Bruce's old baby clothes?"

"Yes, Master Jason.”

“I thought those were little girl’s baby dress. They looked like something a goth Victorian child mixed with a pilgrim would wear."

“I assure you they are Master Bruce’s.”

Everyone suddenly has a collective thought and a mighty need. Cake forgotten momentarily.

"Alfred, are there pictures of him in those clothes?" You ask with barely contained mischief, all anger and sadness gone as delight fills you. Mood swings could be such a blessing and a curse.

“Why, I do believe so.” There was a hint of knowing in Alfred's tone. One that also was finding delight in the idea he knew was passing through everyone's minds.

Immediately, and with renewed vigor, your head whips to Jason.

"Help me find the pictures and get me some Jokerized fries-."

"And, throw in a foot massage." Stephanie adds before you can finish. The suggestion causing Jason's eyes to widen while Duke shudders.

"What?!"

“Eww.”

"I kinda don't want him touching my feet. Too weird." You say. Even if they do ache often your not sure you really want the guy who had made your life hell before touching you so much. Even if he was apologetic.

“Oh, thank god.” He mutters under his breath before Stephanie speaks up again.

"Then let me have one. I bought the cake and I was looking forward to it. I had to fight the temptation not to spoil the surprise."

"I feel like that was a pun." Duke mutters.

"It wasn't."

A lighter tone settles over the kitchen as Alfred starts to clean. You tried to help, feeling embarrassment at having made such a mess. But, everyone else had stepped in to pick up the slack on account for your condition as Duke called it.

"Did you ever figure it out, Cass?" You asked curiously as you sat at the counter. A bit surprised that she hadn't disappeared as soon as the whole things had started. You both had always been cordial with each other. However, you knew she preferred to be alone at times. Hence, your lack of interaction. You had assumed she would have fled by now.

"Thought you had a stomach bug. Not a baby. This is better." Comes her short response. There's a subtle hint of wonder on her face. She's gotten better at sharing her feelings with other's so it's nice to see such an expression.

"Am I the only one terrified of how calm she is after she just threw an entire cake at Jason and was about to cast iron him?" Duke says while he finishes wiping the frosting from the skillet you had wielded earlier. The question causes Alfred to chuckle when you give Duke a narrowed look yourself.

"I remember Miss Martha throwing a chair at Master Thomas when she was pregnant with Master Bruce, so this, I dare say, is quite tame."

That comment makes more than a few eyebrows to raise and Jason to let out a whistle, while also realizing that is could've been worse for him in the long run.

"Why'd she do that?"

"Bruce decided to grace the world with his presence in the middle of the night."

"Ha!"

"I always knew he had been more in the dark."

Snickers could be heard before Alfred continued to explain. It was rare he got to share such stories.

"And, Thomas made the foolish mistake of asking her if she could hold Bruce in until a more reasonable hour."

"Alfred, he was a doctor." Stephanie points out.

"In his defense. Neither had slept for that entire week from the anticipation of Master Bruce’s arrival. But, really should have kept quiet on the matter. We would still have that lovely cherry wood chair if he had."

A round of laughter could be heard. You had laughed so hard that there were tears in your eyes as you giggled your way up to the attic.

Things had been ruined, but things had gotten better. If only they could stay better.

Down in the Batcave, Tim had gotten a message in between a few of the cases he was currently working on.

"Jon and I will stop by tomorrow, my dude." He read while taking a sip of this third energy drink for that afternoon. He only nodded in acknowledgment before going back to his work.

Elsewhere, on the Kent family farm, Conner grinned excitedly at his phone before tucking it away and stretching. He'd be seeing his favorite person tomorrow. Hopefully when they saw him they'd remember the best night of their life. It was definitely his.

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A/N: As funny it would be to have Conner just be a sweet goof, I want him to be yandere for this. I struggled to include that last part to show it, but hopefully it works.

A/N: Also, this is the calm before the storm. I kinda wanna try to make it angsty next chapter. And, not gonna lie, it might be brutal. But, I wanna challenge myself so when I make an AU I can do a good job on it.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who voted in the poll! I had been planning on a girl for Reader, so I was a bit surprised. Might save that for the AU. Time to name pick, and if y’all want y’all can suggest nurseries. Can’t guarantee we’ll do polls for them, but it’ll still be fun.

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Taglist

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[hotvintagepoll]

Hello! Do you have a favorite winter recipe? I'm looking to expand my repertoire, because I've only lived in a climate that snows for a couple years, and I don't have enough cozy, bone warming foods!

PS - I keep having to feed my cat pumpkin puree because he has some tummy troubles but he will only eat it if I gently hand feed him with a spoon. Just thought you might enjoy that.

YES HERE IS JOYOUS SOUP

(i have never actually called it joyous soup but it's what i feel everytime i make it and i feel like everyone should make it)

This soup does not have a proper recipe because uhh, my mom is bad with recipes but ALSO this soup truly adapts to whatever you have in your fridge, as long as you have 1) some kind of oil or butter to sautee things with and 2) potatoes. this is the sam gamgee make-it-on-the-side-of-a-mountain-winter soup.

Step 1. Take your potatoes—6 is the ideal but 4 works—and chop them up rough. "What kind of potatoes?" Whatever they have on the side of the mountain, Sam. You now have a bunch of 1" potato chunks or discs (I like discs). I assumed you washed them first but if you forgot you can wash them now.

Step 2. Get your oil or butter sizzling. I use about two tablespoons of butter to start and add more as I go if the potatoes don't look fully covered. I am probably cooking the butter on medium.

Step 3. You're putting the potatoes in the butter. You're pretending to fry them. Watch them get all buttery and golden and a little brown and crispy. You're thinking, man, I could eat these as they are right now. You could do that. Don't. Add garlic and onions if you have them. Add lots.

Step 4. Just as you're like oh MAN these potatoes and garlic and onions look really good fried just like this, you're going to swamp them in water. You're going to stare at what you've done and thought you made a mistake. You have not. The water should just be covering the potatoes and now you've turned the water up to high, staring at your weird sad soup pot, that smells deliciously of butter garlic onions and potatoes.

Step 5. In another saucepan, you are melting more butter (or oil, or what have you) and figuring out what else you have in your cupboard. Carrots? Those can go in. Parsnips could too. Spinach works nicely. Any onions or garlic you forgot can be added again now. Mushrooms are fucking fabulous. Leeks? Sublime. The only veg you should be avoiding are the ones that are secretly fruits (no watery tomatoes or squishy cucumbers) or the ones that you think are insipid (celery).

Step 6. You're chopping all of that up as much as you like and browning it up in the butter. You're also adding whatever spices strike your fancy. I love salt, so that's always going in, but I usually add black pepper and cayenne, and then I get fruity with it and start adding in paprikas and cumins and turmerics or corianders and thymes and basils and parsleys. It all depends on what smells right to you combined with the steams you're making, and how much spice you want kicking you later.

Step 7. How are your boiled potatoes looking? Are they soft yet? Good. Can you stick a fork in them yet, and has the water boiled down to almost nothing? Excellent. How are all your buttery brown vegetables looking? If you want to give up the whole experiment and eat them right out of the pan, it's time to make another mistake and add all your gorgeous browned vegetables to your disastrous wet potato pot.

Step 8. You now have a lot of delicious stuff looking wet and sad in your potato pot. Pour in a bit more water (or veg broth, or stock if you have it) and stir that all up. Let it stew together a bit and combine flavors. Turn it back down to medium so you don’t scorch any of your nice wet veg things. If you're fancy like my mom, you get out an immersion blender here. If you're broke and possess your grandmother's food processor, like me, you're pouring that all into the food processor with the biggest blade you have and turning it into a smoothie. If your concoction seems oddly chunky you need to add more water.

Step 9. Wet sad potato smoothie is not much to look at but now you're adding CREAM. and CHEESE. and MORE SPICES TO YOUR TASTE. If you don't have cream MILK WORKS FINE. If you don't have cheese THAT IS OKAY. If you like your soup with chunks LEAVE OUT SOME OF YOUR VEG NEXT TIME and ADD IT IN HERE. At this point, you have a gorgeous creamy soup that's soft and luscious (that's the potatoes), includes all your favorite veg (that's everything you got out of the fridge), and can go in any number of taste directions depending on what spices you put in (I've made this with Indian spices, English herb garden spices, Mexican spices, Hungarian spices—every time it's delicious and works a different way).

Step 10. I hope you have a lot of bread because you're going to be dipping it in your soup saying :) man this is a nice soup :) and knowing you can make it whenever you have weird leftovers, as long as you have potatoes and butter. and what else does a person need in life than potatoes and butter?

enjoy your joyous soup <3 i may have forgotten several steps but as long as you follow -brown some veg -add water -add spice -blend the shit out of it, you can never really go wrong <3

[harrywavycurly]

Lasagna Casserole: A Harry Styles AU One Shot✨

Masterlist: Here

Pairing: Killer!Harry x Wife!Reader

TW: Harry is a serial killer(yeah you read that correctly), mentions of blood, handling of a body after death.

A/N: This is random as hell and honestly it’s not even that dark minus the fact Harry does kill people BUT you’ll never really see how, but I get it if this isn’t your thing. I just had to get it out of my brain to make room for other stuff.

Summary: You call your husband Harry while he’s working because you don’t know what to bring to your company potluck, enjoy you having no clue what your man really does for work and Harry not hesitating to answer your call no matter how busy he is✨

“Really?” Harry shoots his coworker and longtime friend Mitch a glare as he spots his long brown hair falling around his face as the two of them look at the body in the trunk of a rental car. “You don’t have a hair tie? You’re going to leave hair follicles all over the body and we aren’t exactly supposed to even know who the fuck this man is.” He snaps making Mitch let out a huff as he pulls out a scrunchie from his back pocket so he can quickly put his hair in a low bun.

“Hair follicles? You’ve been watching that show again haven’t you?” Mitch asks as he grabs his bag from the trunk and slings the strap over his shoulder.

“It’s called forensic files and it’s a good show.” Harry says with a shrug as he grabs his duffle bag before closing the trunk. “You could learn a thing or two actually because did you know they can get DNA from inside someone’s teeth? Like not just dental records and all that. Like if you don’t do a proper job at pulling them out they can somehow get like the pulp or some-”

“Are you saying I don’t do a good job?” Mitch tilts his head to the side as he looks at Harry who just shakes his head and reaches over and gives his friend a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

“You kidding? You’re an artist with a pair of pliers in your hand.” Harry watches as a small smile appears on his face as the two of them begin making their way towards a familiar section of woods near the end of the deserted parking lot. “But the show teaches you a lot of weird mistakes other people have made like really you’d be shocked at some of the odd shit people do when killing someone.” This makes Mitch raise an eyebrow as he digs around in his bag for a flashlight, he pushes the on button to make sure it works and nods in approval to himself when it turns on without any issue.

“Like what?” He asks as he turns the flashlight off before handing it to Harry who puts it in his duffle bag, Mitch is always in charge of making sure the two of them have their kits properly stocked for after the job is done. While Harry is more so in charge of making sure they have everything they could possibly need to get the job done however the two of them see fit, it always depends on their mood and who the person is as to how they go about handling it but both of them usually prefer to be as clean and quick as possible.

“Biting.” Harry states as he grabs the gloves Mitch hands to him, he catches the look of disgust flash across his friend’s face and he just nods in agreement. “Yeah I know. It’s like a thing though apparently? It’s been a major factor on a few episodes on how the killers get caught because they leave their bite marks on their victims.” He explains as he slips the gloves into his front pocket so he’ll be able to reach them quicker a little later on when it comes time to take the man out of the trunk.

“Fucking weirdos.” Mitch mumbles as he leads the way down to the trail the two of them have used quite a few times since they found it over a year ago.

“Another thing is footwear.” Harry says with a huff as he adjusts his duffle bag on his shoulder. “The things these people can do to trace your shoes back to you is a little concerning but also very neat.” Mitch lets out a chuckle as Harry continues to talk about the odd things that could potentially get a murderer caught.

“Do I need different shoes?” Mitch asks as they begin to get a little deeper into the woods using the trail.

“No your shoes are fine but just know they can be traced back to you.”

“Like to me specifically or just to where I bought them?”

“To you. I watched them go from making an impression of someone’s shoe to them finding the store and from there finding the owner of the damn shoe.”

“Jesus. Well I can’t just be out here barefoot.”

“Well no shit.”

“So what should I do Mr. Forensic Files?”

“I’m not saying you need to do anything just be aware-” Harry stops his rant making Mitch turn and look at him and that’s when he notices Harry has also stopped walking, Mitch opens his mouth to say something but Harry is quick to hold a finger up as he grabs his phone out of his back pocket allowing the faint buzzing sound to be heard since Harry was smart enough to turn the ringer off but made sure he’d still know if you called or texted him. A smile takes over his face when he sees your name flashing on the screen, Mitch rolls his eyes as he watches Harry slide his thumb across the screen so he can answer the call.

“Hey baby.” Harry says sweetly into the phone as he gives Mitch a look that tells him to continue walking, Harry hears you let out a sigh of relief as the two of them continue down the unused bike trail just outside the cities largest cemetery, it’s a rather nice trail but Harry understands why it’s untouched seeing as not many people enjoy an afternoon or evening ride so close to a few hundred people’s final resting place.

“Oh thank god you answered.” Your voice is full of panic as you run a hand through your hair while standing in the middle of your kitchen.

“S’everything alright love?” He asks as Mitch walks a bit ahead of him so he can start the process of finding where exactly the man they just took care of is going to go and if he’s going to need to dig multiple holes or not. “What’s got you all worked up?” Harry adjusts the strap of his duffle bag on his shoulder as he hears the sound of pages being turned quite harshly and quickly so he can only assume you’re in the kitchen because when he looks down at his watch on his right hand it’s not even half past five so there’s no way you’re already in bed reading your romance novel you keep tucked away in your nightstand.

Now Harry wouldn’t say he knows exactly what you’re doing at every hour of the day but he would say he has a faint idea of what you could possibly be up to, but he blames that on his job because he can’t exactly not know your whereabouts when he’s out dealing with people in an unsavory way. He needs to at least have a roundabout time frame of when you’re going to be gone at work, or off to the shops with the girls or his favorite is when you go off with his mom and sister for the day because that means he doesn’t have to rush or be worried he will run into you while discarding a body in the woods or a nearby park. The one thing Harry prides himself on is that he won’t ever have to worry about coming home covered in someone else’s blood and scaring the absolute daylights out of you. Since meeting you he refuses to ever even give you the opportunity to accidentally see anything you shouldn’t so he always just showers and takes care of his dirty clothes at a hotel and a dry cleaners he’s been using for years that if you slide them extra cash don’t ask questions about all the odd red stains on his dress shirts.

“I don’t know what to make for my work’s potluck tomorrow and I’m just a bit panicked because you know Regina is going to make those brownies that everyone dies for and I just-I want to make something good.” The words leave your mouth in a rush but Harry is used to your rants, having been married to you for three years but dated you for two before hand, he’s no stranger to you putting these sort of things off till the last minute then getting yourself worked up and stressed over it until you finally cave and ask him for help because that’s the other thing, you won’t ask him for help until you absolutely need to.

Harry looks at Mitch who is eyeing a decent sized area of land that Harry knows for a fact neither of them have hidden anyone else in, so when Mitch looks over at Harry with a raised brow he just holds a finger up making the long haired man let out a sigh as he places his hands on his hips. The thing is Mitch can’t even really get that annoyed with Harry in this situation because he knows how much the man truly loves and adores his wife, he’s seen him put a pause on slicing someone’s throat once just because you called and then there was the time Harry nearly set the whole house on fire instead of just the man’s car they had just paid a visit to because he was distracted by your multiple drunk texts during a girls night out back when the two of you were just dating and wasn’t looking where the lighter fluid was spilling before he lit the match. So this isn’t anything new to Mitch, standing aside and letting Harry take a few minutes to talk to you during a work night, he knows you have no clue what you’re even calling in the middle of and honestly sometimes both men need the distraction of your randomly timed calls or texts.

“Tell me your options baby and I’ll help you pick the one I think your coworkers will like the most.” Harry quickly takes the phone away from his ear and hits the mute button before he hits the speaker button so he will be able to hear you but you won’t be able to hear him. “Think he’ll fit in this spot in one piece?” Harry asks making Mitch take a harder look at the area before looking back at Harry.

“Yeah he’s a small dude he’ll fit here just fine.” Mitch answers making Harry smile because he hates cutting people up it’s way too bloody for his taste and he just got these boots as a random gift from you a few days ago and he’d hate to get them bloodied so soon because Mitch does a lot of things but dismemberment has always been a hard no for him leaving the task to Harry.

“I can do lasagna casserole? Or tuna casserole? People love a good tuna casserole.” Your voice brings Harry’s attention back to you as Mitch drops his bag down and opens it up so he can look for his shovel. Harry unmutes you and puts you off speaker as he brings the phone back up to his ear.

“There’s no such thing as a good tuna casserole my love.” Harry laughs when he hears you let out a scoff and he can practically picture you with your hand on your chest making a dramatic face as if he just insulted you in the worst way imaginable.

“I must’ve called the wrong number because my husband loves my tuna casserole. He’s told me so on several occasions.” You move the hand that was clutching your chest down to your hip as you try to hold back a laugh because you know very well that Harry tells you he loves everything you cook, even when the bottom of the pie is burnt or the rice is overdone he looks at you with a warm smile and tells you how delicious it is.

“I think it’s more so that your husband just loves you sweetheart. That’s all.” He explains making you smile against the phone.

“You really don’t like my tuna casserole?” Your voice is softer now and Harry feels a twinge of guilt hit his chest but he just brushes it off because the truth is always best, or at least in situations like these.

“I’m sorry baby but it’s not my favorite.” He figures avoiding telling you the words he doesn’t like it will help you not be too upset because the last thing he wants to do right now if make you upset when he’s currently in the middle of the woods near a cemetery with his bestfriend digging a grave for a man they have in a trunk of a car. “But the lasagna casserole sounds lovely.” He quickly adds as he drops his duffle bag next to Mitch’s and looks down at the watch on his wrist so he can try to give you a decent estimate on when he’ll be home when you ask, because he knows you’re going to ask eventually.

“Yeah? I’m not sure. I’ve made something similar once and Todd told me it was bland and a bit dry but he just-”

“Todd? Who’s that sweetheart? Haven’t mentioned him before is he new?” Mitch quirks a brow at Harry’s questions because he knows that tone. It’s the one Harry uses when he is trying to cover up the anger that’s starting to simmer deep down inside of him but Mitch just doesn’t understand what would make the man angry over a discussion about casseroles for a company potluck.

“He started in my department last year I think you met him at the Christmas party? Remember he was the one who asked about your tattoos and if-”

“The twat who tried to get you under the mistletoe before I showed up is Todd?” Harry doesn’t mean to let his voice get as loud as it does and he really didn’t mean to let the insult slip out because he knows you don’t like that kind of talk but you just ignore it because you know how your husband gets when you mention people who have been slightly rude to you, especially men. He’s always been a bit protective of you and it’s something you’ve grown to love about him even if it did take some getting used to in the beginning because well, Harry can be very intimidating when he wants to be and sometimes when he’s not even trying.

“That’s what happens when you show up late to things Harry. People try to smooch your wife.” Harry rolls his eyes as he runs his free hand through his hair, he knows you’re joking to try to lighten his mood but he also knows you’re well aware of how slightly possessive he is of you even though he does try his very hardest to keep it under wraps but he doesn’t take things like other people trying to put the moves on you very lightly.

“I just think Todd could do with a few lessons on proper manners that’s all love.” Mitch gives Harry a look as he pauses his digging and Harry just ignores him as turns so he’s facing away from Mitch. “So what’s the verdict hmm? Lasagna or tuna casserole?” He doesn’t want to seem like he’s rushing you but the sooner he’s off the phone with you the sooner the hole gets dug and the body is in the ground the sooner he’s on his way back home to you.

“Lasagna.” You answer as you flip to the page for the recipe in your cookbook. “When will you be home? I miss you.” You ask with a slight pout because Harry was gone when you woke up this morning and only stopped by on his lunch break to see you for a bit before he was rushing off again to go meet Mitch. Harry can’t help but find himself smiling at the sound of your little pouty whine telling him you miss him because he knows that just means you’ll be extra clingy when he gets home and to be honest he quite likes it when you’re in your clingy cuddly mood because it helps him relax after dealing with all the stress of what he’s had to do during the day.

“I’ll be home by the time you’re ready for your evening bath my love so make sure you put in one of those little bubble things I like okay? The one that makes you all soft and smells like vanilla.” He can hear you smile over the phone and it makes him grin, he loves being able to make you smile even when he’s not around. “I’ve got to go now baby but I love you okay? Keep me updated on the casserole and please be careful with the oven? Don’t want you burning yourself.” He says with a smile as he hears you giggle through the phone when he tells you to be careful with the oven.

“I love you too and I’ll send you a photo when it’s done and if you’re good maybe I’ll let you try some when you get home.” Harry laughs and just nods his head and tells you goodbye and that he loves you one more time before hanging up and putting his phone back in his pocket.

“We aren’t killing Todd.” Is all Mitch says as Harry turns around and he just rolls his eyes when he sees Mitch doesn’t even bother looking at him from where he’s at still working on the hole for the man in the trunk. “We have rules Harry. We don’t kill people we know or anyone that people we care about might know.” He adds as if he can hear inside Harry’s mind at how he was about to stupidly ask why they couldn’t just get rid of Todd.

“Every rule has an exception.” Harry argues as he bends down to open his duffle bag so he can grab his shovel and begin helping Mitch dig the hole.

“The answer is still no.” Mitch fires back making Harry suddenly stop digging as he gets a playful smirk on his face causing Mitch to pause his movements and quirk a brow at him.

“You said we can’t kill him.” Harry states mater of factly making Mitch just slowly nod, he already has a feeling he knows where this is going and he’s not going to like it. “But we can beat the shit out of him right?” Mitch can’t help but laugh and shake his head as he looks down at the ground because of course Harry is going to find a loophole, hell Mitch would too if it was his wife that got hit on and told her casserole wasn’t good so he can’t blame him.

“Sure Harry we can beat him up but just make sure you don’t accidentally kill him okay?”

“Oh come on that was one time you’ve got to let it go.”

[hexhomos]

have u seen that artists r getting death threats on twitter over hc viktor as russian 😭

I have seen a literal friend of mine get stupidly angry comments from new age arcane fans who swear up and down he's been czech all his life and it truly boggles the mind. that's straight up not true. Viktor was created as a russian communist caricature by an american corporation. he was "villainous crazy russian guy" for twelve years, the funny harry lloyd czech impression only started out 3 years ago. We're just doing cold war propaganda all over again now???

viktor being russian =/= liking the ghoulish russian government. You aren't giving Putin an endorsement, you're drawing a cartoon faggot //russian immigrant allegory// who would get deported by the CIA during the first red scare. Viktor can be russian. there's gay and trans and disabled russian people who are discriminated against & very much at risk at at a home country that is hostile and controlling towards its own citizens, and when they try to get out of that oppressive environment there's all these preloaded notions painting them as "untrustworthy" or "inherently shady" thanks to the Russian Enemy american popculture slop archetype.

My own country has gone through decades of horrific dictatorship before! Through the hands of our own military forces and highly aided by the USA, profiting off our misery! Should our people as a whole be conflated with the military troops that abducted protesters into death-torture camps? Should our people as a whole be represented by the worst geriatric nationalistic bigots who can plant themselves in power? Is this how we look at the whole world? This is a dangerous line of thought. I get that a lot of arcane fandom is young but that is a rightwing calling card line of thought. If we're all to be represented exclusively by a sum of our Leading Cops, we're deep in the muddy shit. I don't even like these pigs in a good day. If you're an american saying this, especially? LOOK AT YOUR OWN FUCKING TROOPS. YOU'RE THE IMPERIAL CAPITAL. IT'S YOU.

It also stands out to me that viktor league of legends was perfectly fine as crazy evil russian stock villain n.99999 for 10+ years, but as soon as he gets an adaptation that depicts him as empathetic/altruistic and well intentioned all the way through, humanized like a proper human being... the americans in charge conveniently drop the 'russian' part of his persona. (but oh, they keep the red scare stuff. and they keep the stuff about communism being a path to certain evil, they just cut out the russian identification, so people have a harder time criticizing it.) I don't think that is a neutral decision, and its not one I'm interested in reproducing.

It's completely fine to have your own hcs, but I don't like the shallow conversations around this. Viktor isn't a representation of the russian government; but he is, fundamentally, a byproduct of how american propaganda rules the entire world and defines who gets to be alienated as the villain forever. We used to see this with china A LOT as well (still do!), and it only changed after a whole lot of effort, be it by chinese immigrants or the proliferation of media depicting them as whole, multifaceted people, distanced from the american-made boogeymen. The common citizen is not my enemy. It shouldn't be yours either.

[tinytennisskirt]

best friend!patrick zweig who is totally not in love with you…

headcanons with a plot <3

warnings: mentions of sex, kissing, marijuana, smoking, casual touches, jealousy, and silent yearningggg

- insists that he drives you home even if you’re the slightest bit tired. you yawn at his place- you’re not driving home. he says it’s to keep you safe but really, he just wants more time with you.

“it’s like twenty minutes out, i’ll drive, it’s nothing.”

“i’m perfectly fine to drive! i just yawned, i’m not tired.”

his foot is down. “yeah, that’s not happening.”

“you’re going to take a bus home? patrick…”

“i’ll take a taxi if it makes you feel better?”

“uh huh.”

- he follows the sidewalk rule. he’s never heard of it before but he does it, just on his own.

- saves you the last slice or even bite of anything he’s eating that’s worth it. he orders a really good burger, the very last bit left is yours. ordering a pizza, the last slice is yours. even a slice of cheesecake, the last bite is yours. bonus points to him for making sure the last bite contains all elements of what he had. the burger has all toppings left on the last bite, the cheesecake has the crust and the caramel drizzle, etc.

- doesn’t get why you choose such shitty men to go out with and waste your best dresses for the wrong eyes. he plays it off as caring about you, but he’s jealousss

“i have another date tonight with tony,” you tell him. he looks up from the can of ravioli he’s opening.

“tony with the hair or tony with the fake hair?”

you tsk, “with the hair.”

“the guy with the weird moustache who runs the laundromat? really?”

“he’s nice!”

“just nice shouldn’t cut it. and doesn’t he have the weird butt-chin thing? come on.”

“he treats me well! compliments me, pays for things…”

“yeah okay, with the laundromat money, you’re sure it’s not going on credit?”

by the end of the conversation he’s telling you that you look nice, a little defeated, but he means it. he can’t talk you out of it truly without first admitting he likes you and secondly, admitting to you he likes you.

- he’s always down to spend time with you. he might say he’s busy but he’s not. and when he is, he moves things around just to see you, but he won’t tell you that.

- he buys the drinks you like just to keep them in the fridge. he buys more every time he goes out so the stock of it keeps growing and soon enough it’s taking up two shelves in his fridge.

“i’m going to make something to eat for dinner,” you say, opening the fridge. and the fridge is near-full of your favourite drink. he usually gets it for you, you’d assume he just had a few but no. he has so many. and the thing is, he doesn’t like the drinks. so it’s just really weird. there’s a million of your drinks and then in the empty spaces, ketchup, mustard, milk, ground beef, cheese, and two red peppers next to the can of opened redbull. what for? who knows. you walk back out to where patrick is sitting and he looks up from his phone.

“we can get groceries. don’t have much right now,” he reaches for his keys and you laugh just a little, which stops him. you hold up one of the drinks and he just stares at it, knowing you know about the shelves upon shelves of it. “they were on sale, fuck off.”

- any time you’ve slept at his place he either gives up his bed and sleeps on the couch, or if you fall asleep on the couch you always wake up the next morning with a comfy blanket over you and a proper pillow under your head. he won’t move you, he’s too afraid to wake you. or on nights when you know you’re staying over or even on a whim, he’s used to giving you his clothes to sleep in because he knows you like the fit of them. they’re comfortable.

- without you coming over, patrick wouldn’t do any of his chores. he’s only motivated by the idea that you might come over and think he’s a slob. you already know he’s a slob, but he does a good job at hiding it. it always smells a bit like febreeze when you come over and not that you mind it- it smells good. but it can’t mask the slight cigarette scent and the scent of his cologne which is without a doubt on every surface he’s ever layed on.

- he’s the guy you can go to for honest opinions because he’ll always shamelessly side with you. a fight with a friend who was clearly in the wrong? he doesn’t even try to see the other perspective, he’s on your side no matter what. your ex and his new girl? he thinks she’s ugly and a downgrade and he’s an asshole for posting the grocery store flowers he got for her. he’s jealous, but he’s good knowing your ex fumbled you.

“they’re yellow.”

“he got her yellow chrysanthemums?”

you chuckle and look at him. “you know what flowers those are?”

“saw them the other day at the store. on sale, $5. same ones, look at the wrapping.” he says, pointing at the laptop. “he’s broke and she doesn’t even know it.”

you laugh. he’s glad to hear it.

- when you go out to bars he pays for your drinks. says you deserve it- you do come over and cook all the time so why not?

- patrick is known to crack a few jokes but when you’re serious, so is he. you’re upset? he’s listening, he won’t make fun of you unless he knows it’ll make you feel better. he’ll sit next to you, let you talk, cry, get really angry, get really sad. he’s there. and he’ll comfort you in whichever way you need. it’s his softer side, the one you bring out. lets you lean against him, he’ll even hug you if you ask.

- he’s a GOOD HUGGER. he gives amazing hugs, they are so enveloping, so comfortable. his arms wrap all the way around and not only do his arms squeeze you the perfect amount of tight, but his hands as well. he’s always warm but not hot, and he smells like good cologne and slightly of cigarettes. he’ll take any chance to hug you and you’ll gladly have it.

- struggling not to think about fucking you when you’re trying on dresses for a date. he’s thinking ‘what will these guys think when they see you?’ and his mind is on one thing that they’ll be thinking. but his mind is on it too, when you come out in a little black tube dress and you ask him if it’s too short. it’s too short for sure.

“what about the cleavage though? too much? not enough?”

“hm?” he’s not paying attention to your words.

“the cleavage. too much?”

“yeah. maybe try a turtleneck.”

yeah yeah it’s wrong to think about sex with your best friend, but the dresses, each shorter and showing more skin than the next we’re making him so incredibly horny. he doesn’t do well with that. goes home and fucks his own hand at the thought. helps to distract himself from the fact you’re out on a date with someone else who might actually get to take off that dress :(

- he’ll show up at your place with whatever it is you say you’ve been wanting and he will make a night out of it. wings? he’s at your door with them in an hour. drinks? yeah he stopped for a six pack of whatever he grabbed. he’s always down to get food. you want to go out? he’ll pick you up to go get whatever it is you’ve been wanting. a good excuse to actually work on bulking. not that it’s date-like.

- he’s got a photo of you in his wallet. it’s a platonic thing, he swears to the girl he takes on a date. she’s pretty but she’s not you. the photo of you sitting pretty with a potted plant doesn’t give off ‘available’ and yeah he kisses her but she is not you. he leaves early and calls you on his way back. he’s pretty sure he’s fucked forever because he’s realizing he only wants you.

- he’s protective at parties. he’s already watching you dance and have fun but when you come there with him and start flirting with guys it provokes him just a little more than it would if he were sober. he’ll walk over and slip his arm around your shoulder or even your waist if he’s had enough to drink and he’ll ask the guy how he’s doing and he’s 100% running interference pretending he’s just out of it from the alcohol and it isn’t the fact he’s jealous.

“hey man,” patrick usually greets the guy, hand resting on the small of your back. he’s always got a big smirk on his face, tongue against his cheek. “what’s up?” the move usually scares the guy off and you playfully hit or elbow him, but it’s worth it.

- his doors are always open to you. you have a key if you need it. so when you show up, soaked from the rain, upset over tony the laundromat guy being the dick patrick was so right about him being (despite not knowing the guy at all), he wraps you in his arms and he listens to the whole story. you’re complaining about genuine men being so hard to find and he’s sitting right there. he just brings his hand to rest against his jaw and looks off to the side at something as you continue speaking and he’s listening, he just hates what he’s hearing.

- he’ll take off whatever jacket he’s wearing if you’re cold. he won’t be happy about it- or look happy about it, but he might be a little happy about it… he’ll complain about what he’s going to do in the cold but the sweater or jacket is on you within five minutes of your ask.

- he’ll begrudgingly do whatever you ask of him. like he does not want to get up at 4:50 in the morning and drive to the hilltop to watch the sunrise. he wants to stay asleep, snoring in his bed, but you wake him up and he hates it, but it’s you and it’s the sunset so he goes with you. but in his still-tired state all he can seem to focus on is the light of the sunrise hitting your skin. he’ll either do it super slowly or begrudgingly, sometimes he might even say no. but it never stays a no.

- again. can’t stand that you keep giving your time to men who don’t know how to treat you. he goes to the bar, he drinks about it a little, he talks to the bartender about you. the bartender knows you by name, knows your favourite album, knows you go out with guys who aren’t him, and he knows you’re beautiful, having your features described by a drunk patrick who uses his hands a lot to gesture. it’s weird when you go to the bar with patrick another night and the bartender already knows your name and the drink you want.

- drunk patrick uses all the self control he has not to tell you he wants you. he almost lets it slip with unfinished sentences. does everything he can to fend himself off, but he’s very close to you when he’s drunk, his already-bad spatial awareness so much worse while impaired. his face always close to yours, nose sometimes hitting yours, he comes so close. hands reach for your waist when he’s near you. you don’t mind it- it doesn’t make you uncomfortable. it’s a different feeling. you manage to wrangle him into his bed and make him drink water. he’s talking to you like there are important things you need to know before he absolutely passes out.

“if that tony guy comes around again i hope he knows i owe him a broken nose,” he’ll say and he’s grinning and you’re just rolling your eyes at him, he’s so stupid. “you have to stop dating these guys, fucking douchebags. i know i’m not much better, but at least i don’t wear axe body spray and pick you up in a beat up honda.”

“patrick, you drive a honda,”

“mine isn’t beat up.” he says. so honest. you laugh at him and hand him back the cup of water. but he says it, “you deserve more than that kind of guy. want you to have someone who really gives a fuck, you know?”

“if i could find one,” you say. half-oblivious, half-looking for him to say something that’ll have meaning. it’s the first time his drunk mind is telling him the feeling in his chest is heartache. oh my god, he feels like such a girl- he just grins, dimples on his cheek crawling all the way up. he covers his face.

- when you’re hanging out with mutual friends, smoking, talking, he’s always taking the seat next to you. your friends all know he’s into you- most of them suspect you’re already dating on the down low, the way you guys are so close. you’re sitting on the couch and his arm is up on the back of the couch behind you, your hand sometimes resting on his leg, you have your own conversations on the side and you’re laughing and leaning toward each other. it’s obvious. he’s obvious. YOU are obvious. and oblivious! painfully.

- patrick will shave his beard for your birthday. he’ll trim it regularly but on your birthday he shaves it all off, it’s an annual thing. bare-faced and you find it so so fun to see him without.

- the dress you wear on your birthday is a little too perfect. the mix of you and your hair done and your makeup and the intention of drinking with your girl friends and asking him how you look before you leave. you usually ask him before you go out. he’s going out with you and your friends, but he comes over a little early, just how things are. he’s always honest.

“you look… wow.” he’s looking at you. you’re standing in front of him, little dress, perfectly fit to your body. and you’re smiling, doing a little spin. and you’re beautiful and god you’re so fucking hot. patrick fears for the possibility of his sober thoughts becoming drunk words later. you’re already unbearably fucking beautiful what is he going to do with himself?

- he’s a touchy drunk. not with everyone, not the same way he is with you. when he drinks his hands are magnetic to you, resting on your hands, hand on the small of your back, your waist, your arm. like i said before, you’re used to it, you don’t mind it, but it’s different when he’s staying somewhat sober because he’s afraid of how he’d act if he had more than three shots. he wouldn’t do anything you’re not comfortable with- it’s not that, it’s the fact he’s scared if he drinks tonight that you in your element, dancing, laughing, having fun in that little dress would provoke him to spill all of his secrets. he’s got a stoic form of self-understanding he’s taking to prevent anything dumb from falling out of his mouth under the influence.

- he does, however, fend off the creepy guys or just the assholes who try and buy you more drinks or even talk to you. he won’t let them get so far as to ask for your name. you whine but he just tells you, “you wouldn’t want to talk to them sober.” and you’re like hmm true. the defender position includes closing your tab, getting you home, and getting you inside safely. and usually you take care of him when he’s drunk or high, but he takes the opportunity very seriously. before he’s helped you get to bed but this particular time you’re asking him to undo the zipper on your dress and you’re lifting your hair.

he’s not going to tell you no, so he undoes the zipper and in seconds you’re stripping in front of him unabashedly and he turns around, arms folded, grinning to himself because of course this was happening. he is not an asshole, so he won’t turn around until you’re dressed, but when he turns around you’re only in one of his shirts that he’s been wondering where it went- and your underwear and you’re asking him to come sit with you because it’s still technically your birthday (it’s not).

he will, but he doesn’t want to stick around too long. despite the lack of alcohol, there’s still a pull to tell you how he feels, but that’s girly. and you’re drunk. he puts you to bed after making you drink water.

- he’s the kind of guy to keep a condom in his wallet- he’s never going to use it, it’s probably expired and worn in front his wallet being in his pocket but he has it in there. in fact it’s right behind the photo of you.

- he also has a stolen street sign in his living room from when he was on tour after high school. it’s custom for all guests visiting his place to slap it before they enter the room. if you don’t, there’s no consequences, but it’s just wrong not to. he will, however, catch YOU on it if you forget. holds you to it in whichever way he can.

- he’s totally debating on kissing you almost every time he’s with you. it’s getting progressively worse every time he’s with you he swears he’s going to do it but he doesn’t want to. (he wants to sooo fucking badly, it’s insane). any time you pass him by, every time you say his name, when you sit next to him, when you’re talking to him about anything, engaging with him, looking him in his eyes. it’s a struggle not to.

and you’re friends, longtime friends so the casual touches get to be too much, even. you cup his face with your hands saying he needs to shave and he’s only staring at your lips.

or you sit sideways next to him on the couch facing him and your hand is on his shoulder and you’re so close to him when you talk he really could just reach over and kiss you.

you sit on his counter while he’s making spaghetti and you’re eating the shredded cheese out of the bag and it’s weird but the height your at, it would be perfect.

- you are the cause of his biggest grins and most laughter. you don’t even have to try. he enjoys your company more than anyone else’s. platonically, romantically, in every way. you are his best friend. you get him on a level even art didn’t.

- he’ll pick you up whenever you need him to. doctors appointment, from a friend’s- so when your self-proclaimed final attempt at a date ends up terribly, he’s the first person you call. you’re all pretty for another piece of shit and patrick has to pretend he’s not happy the guy was so weird. you get in the car and his eyes fall on your collarbone and your thighs and you yourself catch it. his eyes. you pull a knowing little look. “shut up,” he says, driving away without even letting you get your seatbelt on.

- he’s not a door holder very often. maybe for old ladies and kids, and the occasional friend, but he’s holding every door open for you. he even opens the car door for you most times. get back to his place, you don’t want to go home yet, he holds the door for you on your way in. you hit the street sign on the wall before flopping down on his couch. it smells like citrusy febreeze and a bit like his cologne. out of his personal needs of restraint, he tosses you one of his comfy shirts and shorts so you can be out of that little dress. and after you take them to his bathroom to get changed, he’s still feeling the same way about the way you look. it was not the dress’ fault.

- the thing with patrick and other women is he’s never been afraid to go up to a girl, hit on her, he’s hardly been afraid to kiss a girl. he’s pretty confident all around but you are so different. the need to kiss you is all-consuming. he wonders if he should talk to you about things first when he’s never considered more than the flavour of a girl’s lip balm in the past. you make him nervous, sitting there in his clothes. i say there, but you’re next to him, hair behind your ears, talking about how you think you’re done with dating and you’re going to wait until the perfect guy falls into your lap. you’re playing some angle but he’s thinking that it’s a good thing. the conversation turns to joking, he’s teasing you, you tease back it’s just normal.

- of course patrick has a snack pantry. if he doesn’t have groceries, he has snacks. at a random point in conversation you tell him you could really go for an oreo right now and he’s so on that. so you both take a trip to the kitchen and you’re looking in the cabinet and you find the oreos and share them while continuing to talk at the counter. you’re going on about how strange your date was and how you felt if you stayed you’d be on a true crime document and the conversation begins to turn to thanking him for coming to get you. but like mentioned before, he’d always come get you. didn’t matter how far you were but he wouldn’t say that.

“it’s different, it’s not like you picking me up from the dentist, it’s you picking me up when i know you were busy.” you say. he smiles because he really wasn’t that busy- he was just out with friends of course he’d drop them for you. “i just want you to know i’m grateful is all.”

“don’t need to be-“ he says with his mouth full of oreo. “it was nothing, i was nearby anyway.” he wasn’t. he sped. in his honda.

“you’re so weird,” you giggle. “why can’t you just be normal about people thanking you for things you do? you go out of your way far too often.”

patrick chuckles to himself, shutting the package of oreos. he doesn’t do it for anyone else. “how do i be normal about it?”

“you could say ‘you’re welcome’, maybe?” you say. he nods. “i say i’m grateful for you and the things you do for the people you care about, namely me and you say ‘you’re welcome’.”

“we’re rehearsing?” he straightened himself as if getting ready and you pressed your hand to your forehead, smiling. “go for it. say how grateful you are for me and the things i do for you. only you.”

“so stupid, just say you’re welcome.” you giggle, throwing your hands up in the air in defeat. he grins, a sly grin, dimple on full display, gorgeous. he turns away from you to put away the oreos (if you weren’t there he wouldn’t have put them away). he shuts the cabinet door. “patrick?”

“yeah?”

and he’s met with your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him into a kiss.

- the way patrick kisses is very passionately. that’s who he is. he kissed a lot of girls in high school, met a few on tour that were worth making out with. his kisses are full of passion. but this kiss is from you, so he receives it like a gift. surprisingly politely. he’s never ever been caught so off-guard by a kiss. he didn’t see it coming at all. it’s a small kiss, a few seconds of lips fitting together perfectly, but you pull away. his face stays close to yours. he’s never had a kiss like this before. in the crowd of girls he’s ever kissed. it’s never felt like this. and it was so small.

“i’m sorry,” you say, hushed, but you’re smiling, so how sorry are you? he grins and in an instant, you’re kissing again, deeper, more, hands in his hair and his on your waist, holding tight. it’s all he’s thought about for a month on end. there’s something better than drugs and it’s this, patrick thinks. your back against the pantry door, him against you.

- he’s never been so in need of a kiss before. he’s never been kissed like this before. it’s somehow everything he’s ever wanted and everything he’s never gotten from every girl he’s ever kissed. and the thing about patrick is, like mentioned, he’s a moderately horny guy but this to him is all he wants. he only wants to kiss you. a few minutes pass and he’s doing something he’s never done and that’s talking it out with you. but as soon as he admits he likes you, he’s telling you to shut up because you’re giggling and it’s adorable and you can’t be calling him out on his crush like that…

- you admit to being a little oblivious and maybe admitting to repressing feelings because you weren’t entirely sure- and he’s instantly on making fun of you for it. he makes fun of himself for not seeing it sooner or for making a move sooner but there’s no room for apologies between another kiss. a kiss full of laughter where you just can’t stop laughing but you also won’t stop kissing him and it’s kind of perfect.

[dilatorywriting]

Valentine's Day Special: Let Them Fight

GN!Reader x Malleus Draconia vs. Azul Ashengrotto vs. Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 5.3k

Summary: Who knew that in a world of magic, and mayhem, and outright villainy, that it'd be something as stupid as Valentine's Day that would push these idiots over the edge. Or, Malleus, Azul, and Vil go to war over some chocolates

A/N: This MC/Plot takes place in the Heroes vs Villains universe -- specifically Post-Staff's route, rather than any of our other lovely idiot husbands.

There was always some sort of strange overlap of customs from your world to this one. Halloween seemed to have survived more or less intact (even if it was a bit more, uh, extreme than the subtle evening of giving out treats and dressing as ghosts that you remembered). Winter Holidays were still very much a Thing, even if all other connotations had been stripped from them. Moreover, it was like someone had taken your familiar Earthen calendar and just sort of… mirrored it. Distorted it a bit. Just a lil’ bit more chaos than would have been socially acceptable back home.

So when you made a sly little joke about stocking up on discount chocolates after the Valentine’s Day rush and no one laughed—not even a little chortle, or an irritable eyeroll—you initially thought it was maybe to do with the irrationality of Sam’s Shop ever having a sale to begin with. You had not assumed that, you know, there was no Valentine’s Day at all.

“It’s an important holiday, then? Where you’re from?” Azul mused, busy scribbling endless, chicken scratch, notes in the margins of some form that was probably very important.

“I mean, not really,” you frowned, tossing your Mostro-Branded apron onto its hook. “Maybe. Yes? I don’t really know, actually.”

He hummed and moved to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Well, whatever it is, I’m always looking for new events to host at the Lounge. What exactly is it?”

“It’s a sort of special day for couples. Romance. Lovey-dovey nonsense,” you shrugged, and watched Azul’s finger slip off the slick metal frame of his glasses and nearly take his eye out. You waved off his obvious disgust with a dramatic sigh (I mean, why else would he be so stiff and red?). “Yeah, yeah. I know. It’s ridiculous.”

“I—I never said that!” he spluttered, and then paused to cough into his fist and clear his throat. “It just—I just wasn’t expecting something like that to…”

“Exist?”

He grinned, wry. His cheeks were still a bit too pink. “Precisely.”

“You would have loved my world,” you said. “Very capitalistic. Lots of cash-grab holidays like that.”

Azul laughed.

“I’m sure I would be fond of any place you came from.” He paused, and his expression puckered up a bit miserably—like he really hadn’t intended to express such a sentiment aloud. But he managed to smooth the sharp line of his frown back into that usual, smarmy, smirk of his easily enough. “But either way! Tell me more!” he grinned, reaching forward to grab a stack of blank paper and a fresh pen. “I’d love to hear all about it.”

.

.

The next day you were supposed to help the Drama Club start building some stage scenery for their newest play. It was proper grunt work, which was perhaps the only sort of work you were actually qualified for. And Vil always made sure that there were plenty of disgustingly healthy but still quite tasty snacks available for the help to munch on. The food spread alone would have been worth the trip, but on top of that, Vil had made you promise. Practically a blood oath, binding you and your meager free time to the shitty supply closet in the corner of the Auditorium. And as sour as he could be sometimes, you really could never say no to him when he always looked so heart meltingly fond whenever you did agree to while away the hours at his side. That lovely face and even lovelier smile of his were fucking lethal. A war crime, surely, to use it against someone as plain and susceptible to bribery as you were.

But today you were now an idiot on a mission—an idiot determined to spread the joy of a trashy holiday that really probably shouldn’t exist in the first place, let alone in a world where people worshipped storybook villains as veritable deities. And you’d already bought all the molds, and the trays, and you really didn’t have a lot of spare pocket money to begin with, so letting this investment go to waste would not only be a shame, but a terrible business investment.

“What do you mean you’re not coming,” Vil sneered, glaring down his perfectly straight nose at you.

“I really am sorry,” you said, mostly genuine. “But I have something I need to do this afternoon.”

“You’ve made other plans?” he frowned, something a little too unsettled to fit with his usual regality twisting across his expression.

“I have to get ready for Valentine’s Day,” you explained, and his brow tugged down further. Though that earlier twinge of panic seemed to have vanished at least. You pointedly shook your grocery bag full of goodies. “I’m going to make chocolates for everyone.”

“Chocolates?” Vil echoed, confused.

You nodded. “It’s a tradition back home. You give stuff like candy and flowers to the people you care about. Normally it’s a holiday for couples, or whatever. But. Well…”

The ‘I Am Fully Aware That I’m Single as a Pringle, Please Just Let Me Have This One Thing’ was left unsaid, but it hung in the air around your head like a very persistent storm cloud nonetheless. Vil, magnanimously, seemed perfectly happy to ignore the Woe Is Me implications spewing from your mouth. Instead, he leaned forward until he was dipping precariously close into your personal space. His amethyst eyes had lit with blatant interest at your ramblings, and he hummed low in his throat.

“Is that so?” he mused, gaze lidded and warm. “That sounds… intriguing.”

You nodded past the heady scent of his cologne fogging your head. What was it with attractive people, huh? It was so unfair. You don’t get to look and smell good. Pick a lane. Save some dignity for the rest of us.

“So, I promise I’ll help another day. I just have a feeling making chocolates is going to wind up being a lot harder than I think it will.”

Because that’s how it always went in your stupid slice-of-life shows. The poor, harried, protagonist thinking they’re doing a good deed—painstakingly constructing their own, special, homemade goodies for all their important people. Making them with love. And then having it all blow up in their face like a goddamn, cocoa flavored, nuke. Nope. Not you, motherfucker. Your chocolates were going to be divine. You were going to take every, tropey, precaution in the book. And that of course included allotting yourself ample time to make mistakes your masterpiece.

“Of course,” Vil grinned. “How could I possibly begrudge you for wanting to spend your time on something so heartfelt?”

“Thank you,” you blurted, relived. Because at least he got it. Azul had been so ridiculously insistent that you should prepare all your Valentine’s Day wishes as a team. Which was not the point. He’d spent hours last night trying to wheedle his way into your plans—with endless platitudes about ‘business partners always being there for each other,’ and ‘how would he know if he was celebrating to your standards if he wasn’t given a model to work off of first?’ Utter bullshit. He’d probably just wanted free labor.

“Tomorrow, then?” Vil beamed and you nodded.

“Tomorrow,” you confirmed.

“Well, then,” he hummed. “I better get to work as well. I suppose the scenery can wait.”

You nodded in farewell and began the trek back to Ramshackle and its marginally functional kitchens. You hadn’t realized Vil was taking on any new projects, but if it was enough to have him putting off the Club’s activities as well then it must have been pretty important. Maybe he’d get you tickets to it whenever he finished—whatever it was. If there were tickets? How did any of the things he did actually work? Hell if you knew.

.

.

Making chocolates was, in fact, a laughably easy endeavor. And you found yourself cursing every goddamn Shoujo Bullshit Manga under the sun for leading you to think otherwise. The hardest part of the entire thing was fighting off Grim and his wandering paws.

You made up some basic truffles which were, again, stupidly simple. Just some messily chopped chocolate, cream, and a little splash of vanilla to make it Special. Once those were shaped into messy blobs, you dipped them into some more melted chocolate and bam. That was it. That was literally it. You felt like a genius—sitting there mushing up balls of cocoa like high-end playdough.

By 6PM, you had all your little darlings tucked into the refrigerator to harden, all the gauzy, red, boxes lined up on your counter and ready to be filled, and Grim had been placated with an offering of all your dirty mixing bowls. The tiny, demonic, beast was passed out at the dingy kitchen table—one of said bowls wedged onto his head like an astronaut’s helmet. Hopefully it was just a food coma and not, like, an actual coma-coma. Real cats couldn’t eat chocolate, but Grim never really seemed real at all. So hopefully he’d be fine.

You wiped down your cooking space once, twice. Paced up and down the narrow hallway until you were wearing away the already threadbare rugs, and spent way too long just standing in front of the fridge—staring in on your chocolates like a psychotic kidnapper scoping out their next victims.

Eventually you realized that you maybe needed to do something with your evening that wasn’t just creeping on your confections, and set out into the frosty, night, air for a stroll.

Which is, of course, where you ran into your familiar, horned, friend—staring up into the starry sky in a wistful manner that darkened his pale complexion into something nearly ominous. He always looked a bit like that, like something unearthly and detached from the rest of the world.

“Tsunotarou!” you chirped happily, and that adrift-at-sea expression of his melted right off his face.

“Child of Man,” he greeted, inclining his head politely. “I wasn’t expecting to see you this evening.” His brow furrowed, almost confused. “Is it not too cold for you?”

Your breath was, in fact, fogging in front of your face. And you couldn’t really feel your toes anymore. But the electric anticipation of tomorrow was keeping you warm enough. Even if only in spirit.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you waved him off. And then, because you couldn’t help yourself, you leaned forward on your tippytoes and blurted out, “Happy Almost Valentine’s Day!”

“Valentine’s Day?” Malleus repeated back at you, looking like you’d just handed him an unsolvable differential equation.

“It’s a holiday from back home,” you explained for the umpteenth time that day. “And normally I’m not too fussed about it, but this year I’m really excited to give everyone their chocolates!” You grinned. “And you too, of course. I have to make sure I give them to all my important people.”

The furrow between his brows vanished, but the blatant, gaping, confusion remained. He looked like you’d nearly startled him into an early grave.

“I am one of your most important people?” he asked, slow as a tortoise making its way up an incline.

You nodded cheerfully, still bellied by your earlier culinary successes and excellent mood. “Of course you are! We’re friends, aren’t we? And besides. Valentine’s Day is for showing people how much you care about them.”

“What an interesting concept,” he mused, bringing a finger up to tap at his chin. “To think your world had such a heartfelt tradition—it’s quite a lovely surprise.”

You laughed. “If you think the chocolates are special, you should see what some couples do for each other. Rooms full of flowers, fancy date nights—I’m just managing the bare minimum.”

“Couples?” he echoed, and you felt the first teeny, hot, thread of chagrin work its way past your enthusiasm.

“Well, normally Valentine’s Day focuses on, like, romantic things,” you said, averting your gaze just in time to miss the tension lance through his shoulders. “But it can be for all sorts of affection!” you hastily added.

“Is that so…” the Prince hummed. He lifted his pensive gaze once more and stared you down with that weighted intensity that you’d only just recently learned how not to buckle beneath. “And you wish to celebrate this day. With me?”

“…you don’t mind, do you?” you asked, hesitant.

“Of course not, Child of Man,” he beamed, his lips curling up into a smile that put all his too-sharp teeth on display. “But you’ll have to excuse me now, I’m afraid. It seems I have some preparations to undertake this evening.”

“Oh,” you blinked. “Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Yes,” Malleus said. “You will.”

.

.

It was officially Valentine’s Day, and you were ready to begin your mission of forcing your sweets onto every, single, one of your reluctant friends. Let them be pissy and tsundere. You weren’t afraid to weep and proclaim your undying, shounen-talk-no-jutsu, levels of friendship. Okay. Maybe you were a little. But these grouchy bastards had very easily become your grouchy bastards, and so help you God, they would suffer under your affection and they would like it.

There were plenty of small boxes—all nice, neat, corners with little bows perched on top. But you had also prepared a singular, larger, tray. It was cleaner cut than the rest, with bold, contrasting, colors and a simple elegance. You stared it down with a strange sort of disquiet brewing in your gut. Maybe you were being presumptuous. Goodness knows you’d more than dealt with the searing, emotionally destructive, consequences of that before. But all the same…

You squared your shoulders and spent a moment convincing yourself that your spine was quite sturdy—a proper, titanium, support system—and then popped the Big Box into the bag with the others.

Your first stop was Heartslabyul, and you burst through the ornate, crimson, doors like a manic home invader.

“I come bearing gifts,” you proclaimed, merrily doling out the boxes to your favorite idiot duo. You set three more aside, with little labels for Riddle, Trey, and Cater respectively. Normally you wouldn’t trust a dorm full of teenage boys not to devour any scrap of unattended food in sight, but Riddle had long since struck the fear of God into these poor lads. So you figured it’d be safe.

Deuce’s face lit up and he accepted the chocolate with near starry-eyed enthusiasm.

“Are these your holiday presents? Like the Santa Claus?” he asked, looking very much like a bouncy golden retriever preparing itself for congratulatory head pats.

You leaned forward with an indulgent huff to give him his pats. “No. But close enough.”

You pawned off three boxes on Ruggie when he tried to duck past you in the hallway—one for him, one for Leona, and one extra as payment for making him do your dirty work of playing delivery boy to Mister Grump in the first place. You slipped Jack his on the way into Trein’s morning lecture, and managed to press a box into Jamil’s hands before he slunk off to the library. Kalim cheered so loudly when you handed him one that your ears started to ring.

And then trouble arrived in the form of two, slippery, eels draping themselves across your shoulders. Normally the destructive duo seemed to act on their own prerogative, but on this fortuitous morning their Lord and Master was surprisingly not too far behind.

“Shrimpy!~” Floyd trilled, dragging you into a one-armed hug that was really more of a slightly-less-aggressive headlock than anything else. “Azul says you came up with this stupid holiday! And he made us work all day yesterdayto put together stuff for the Lounge! It’s not fair!”

Your legs shook under the weight of the new tumor that had made its home on your back.

“Now, Floyd,” Jade chirped. All finely manicured cruelty. “If you’re to blame anyone for going overboard with this entire situation, you ought to lay the fault on our fearless leader.” His bi-colored eyes flashed, amused. “Isn’t that right, Azul?”

Said ‘fearless leader’ looked like he was sucking on a lemon. He glared bitterly at his subordinate, seeming to share an entire, silent, argument with him, before turning back on you with a heavy sigh and the barest hint of angry flush in his cheeks.

“Prefect,” he grinned past his obvious discomfort, all sparkling, white, teeth. “I have to thank you for sharing so much information about this ‘Valentine’s Day’ of yours. It’s such a unique event, and it seems like our preparations at the Lounge are already being received incredibly well.”

“That’s good,” you nodded, trying and failing to shrug the Leech off your shoulders. “I’m glad I could help.”

Azul hummed under his breath, his eyes darting away for a moment. His glasses reflected the muted light of the hall in an odd way—making it difficult to read his expression. He cleared his throat and when he looked back up at you, the tips of his ears had gone pink.

“You’re more than welcome to come by, of course,” he beamed, suave as could be.

“I mean,” you blinked. “I would hope so. I work there.”

Floyd let out a bark of laughter and Jade snickered into his glove. The pleasant pink tinting Azul’s skin was heating to a near sunburned red. He looked down and coughed into his fist.

“Yes…” he mumbled. “I—I’m aware. But what I meant is… What I meant—” He frowned. It was a tight, pouty, little thing that scrunched up his entire face. That mottled red had spread to the bridge of his nose.

“I do believe what Azul is trying to say,” Jade stepped in, clearly taking some sort of pity on his tongue-tied friend. Or perhaps pity was the wrong word for it, seeing how smug he looked, “is that he would like to invite you to the event personally. As an honored guest, not an employee.”

“Oh,” you blinked, startled. Then hesitated, cautious on instinct. There was always some sort of catch to the Octomer’s kindness. “I don’t know if I could afford whatever fancy thing you’ve thrown together.”

“You wouldn’t be paying for it,” Azul assured you, some of that sickly flush having finally started to recede from his cheeks. You hoped he was feeling alright. “You’ve contributed more than enough for the day. It would be on the house.”

Jade loudly cleared his throat and Azul huffed, eyes sliding away yet again.

“I would be paying,” he finally mumbled. And then, even quieter, “As I believe is the custom.”

Just as you were about to thank him for his startling bought of generosity (and also ask after his health, because between the weird, pink, tinge to his skin and the aforementioned generosity, clearly somethingwas out of sorts with him), you noticed a sneaky hand working its way into your bag of goodies, and you immediately were on the defensive.

“Hey!” you snapped, spinning out of Floyd’s stranglehold. “You only get one!”

“Then I want the really big one!” he demanded, making grabby motions at it.

“No!” you squeaked, and clutched it protectively to your chest. The trio looked at you with varying degrees of surprise and you cleared your throat awkwardly. “This one—This one is special.”

“Oh?” Jade cooed, eyes flickering back towards Azul, who seemed determined to look absolutely anywhere else. “Is it now?”

“Awww,” Floyd whined. “That’s no fair! Who’s it for, anyways?!”

You gripped the box tighter and now it was your turn to stiffly avert your eyes down to the ugly carpet. “It’s not—I’m not—” you cleared your throat and forced the jitter from your voice. “I’m not ready to give it to him yet.”

The silence that followed was absolutely the worst thing you’d experienced in a long, long, time. Overblots and all. You could practically hear your blood pounding in your ears. You were just about to turn and beat a hasty retreat when a familiar, snappish, voice called your name from the other side of the corridor.

“There you are, potato,” Vil huffed, coming to stand at your side and bodily inserting himself between you and your tormentors. He met Azul’s petulant sneer with a frankly terrifying one of his own. “What are you doing here? I thought we agreed you’d be eating lunch with me today.”

You remembered no such thing, but if it got you out of this verbal minefield of a conversation, you were more than willing to take the claim at face value.

“Apologies,” Azul cut in with all his usual, mafioso, flair. “But the Prefect will be taking their afternoon meal at the Mostro Lounge today.”

“Is that so?” Vil hummed, sounding positively venomous.

“Unless you think you can make an offer good enough to sway them otherwise,” Azul chirped, equally as unpleasant.

Vil laughed—cold and sharp as crystal. It was the most elegant display of blatant irritation you’d ever seen.

“Of course you’d only consider this entire situation on a transactional basis,” he drawled, entirely unimpressed. Azul flinched and his expression screwed up into something near petulant. “I would expect no less. Are you planning to lock them into a contact too, hmm? Sign away everything in formal, sterile, terms?” Vil crossed his arms, and you were reminded sharply once more how very, very lucky you were to not be on his bad side (even if you hadn’t realized before all this that Azul apparently was on said bad side. You had no idea they disliked each other so terribly). “I really hadn’t expected you to have a single, romantic, bone in your body, and yet somehow I’m still disappointed to be proved so entirely correct.”

Azul looked ready to explode, and even though Jade and Floyd and melted back into the shadows at the start of this entire encounter, the pair of them were starting to look a bit murderous too—like sharks lazily circling the dark, ocean, depths.  

“Don’t you think you deserve better?” Vil asserted, turning back to face you with a soft cant of the head. You blinked back in shock.

“Uh,” you gaped, absolutely fucking lost.

And then, like a beacon of unrivaled, black-drenched, hope, you spotted Malleus making his way down the hallway. He was flanked by his trio of housemates-cum-pseudo-bodyguards. Normally you tried to leave him alone when his rabid, green-haired, guard dog was yipping at his heels, and on top of that, the idea of using your classmates’ ingrained fear of the Fae Prince to your own advantage upset your rather staunch sensibilities. But this was an emergency.

“Tsunotarou!” you called, and it absolutely sounded like the cry for help it was.

He perked up immediately and you watched him nearly crash to a standstill. And then his sharp, neon, gaze locked on the dueling Housewardens circling you like a pair of snapping wolves, and his merry expression shuttered into something positively glacial. Which was—Fuck. I mean. Come on. What the fuck was going on today—

“Child of Man,” he droned, crossing the short distance with all the grace of the near-mythical, arcane, master that he was. His posture was more collected and regal than you’d ever seen it, and he loomed all the taller for it.

Azul and Vil had gone tense at your side, one certainly more so than other. The Octomer looked incredibly unsettled at Malleus’s sudden arrival, but Vil just looked angrier. It was the sort of unpleasantness that bloomed whenever someone challenged him or his competencies over and over—inevitably pushing the normally composed beauty into an indignant rage.

“Happy Day of Valentine’s,” Malleus continued, slotting himself firmly into the veritable territory dispute going down. “Are you quite alright?”

No, you wanted to wail. No! I’m so confused! I have no idea what’s going on! I just wanted to give my friends chocolates!

But you never managed to get those words or any others past your lips, because Sebek Zigvolt shot to his master’s side with all the speed of the lightning for which he was so named, and immediately began to scream.

“HOW DARE YOU INTERRUPT THE YOUNG MASTER’S AFTERNOON ROUTINE!” he shrieked at the top of his very impressive lungs.

You weren’t sure if he was howling at you (very likely) or just anyone who wasn’t Malleus, but Jade took the opportunity to slink forward from the shadows with a sharp tut-tut.

“Perhaps none of you deserve the Prefect’s special attentions,” he piped in, sounding very much like someone intentionally throwing a cannister of gasoline onto an already roaring fire. “Or any chocolates at all—let alone the ones set aside for someone special.”

At this, silence once more rang through the corridor and you wanted to throttle that stupid eel.

“There is a special box?” Malleus asked first, brow shooting up as his expression tugged with… something.

“I—I mean, I made all of yours special!” you defended, holding the wrapped treasure tightly to your chest. “But… I guess. Yes. There’s one that’s a little bigger than the others.”

At this, all three Housewardens exchanged pointed looks.

Jade smiled serenely once more, and then continued his absolute massacre upon your person.

“Yes, indeed,” he nodded. “And our dearest Prefect only just mentioned that—hmm. How did you word it? Ah. That’s right. ‘I’m not ready to give it to him yet.’”

The trio tensed. All looking absolutely ready to pounce. At—at what, you had no idea.

“Perhaps,” the wretch mused, “it would be best for you all to temper your rage until the victor is decided, hmm?” He paused to tap at his chin for a moment, and then his lips split into a mean, jagged, grin. “Afterwards? Well, I suppose that whole cheery sentiment about ‘love and war’ still holds true.”

You gulped, feeling startlingly like Jade had just tried to serve you up on a silver platter.

But when neither Azul, Vil, or Malleus made any further moves to murder each other… well. As sacrificial as it all felt, at least it must have worked.

The rest of the day passed in a tense sort of fugue. You certainly hadn’t expected your attempts at bringing some holiday cheer to Night Raven to go so… Uh…

But either way, you managed to survive through the rest of the afternoon, and before you knew it, all that remained of all your tireless efforts and good will was the Special Box. The big one. The one that you’d put together with extra care and hopes for better things. You glared down at it for a moment, feeling sweat starting to bead over your palms. But you couldn’t chicken out now. Not after you’d come so far! Everyone was acting so strange, and it was all so weird. And as much as that unfamiliarity had your teeth on edge and your hackles raised, you didn’t want to regret not giving out the last of your well-made sweets.

Well, here goes nothing, you frowned. You took a deep breath, willed yourself to be brave, and smiled your biggest smile.

“Here,” you beamed, more than a little shy and still a bit horrified by whatever pissing match had been going down earlier in the day, and finally offered the grandest of your chocolate boxes to the man standing opposite you.

Divus Crewel accepted your offering daintily, plucking at the crisp, sharp, wrapping with his crimson gloves. He arched one of his thin brows at you and you fought the nervous heat rising in your cheeks.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” you blurted. “I know it’s not a thing here, but I thought it’d be nice.”

The second eyebrow joined the first—practically jumping all the way up into his fringe.

“I appreciate the gesture. Though from what I understand of all the garish advertising I’ve seen for Mostro Lounge’s new event, I assumed this was a holiday for romantic overtures,” he intoned, wry.

You spluttered and waved your hands furiously. “I mean! Normally! Yes! But also…” You trailed off, fighting the urge to fidget. “If you don’t have a—a, well, someone, then Valentine’s is just a nice excuse to give something to people you care about.” You averted your gaze and lost the battle to twist your fingers into your jacket sleeves. “My family used to give me chocolates every year. So. I thought I could… Well…” you trailed off on a grumble, embarrassed.

Crewel sighed and popped the lid off the box. He plucked two truffles from their casing—keeping one for himself and handing you the other.

“Well, then. A very happy Valentine’s to you, Prefect,” he droned and popped the chocolate into his mouth with a thoughtful hum.

You lit up like a Christmas tree and happily gobbled up your own treat. So distracted were you by the one-two-punch combo of the delicious sugar and even sweeter taste of your Professor’s approval that you almost entirely missed the pointed glare he shot over your shoulder.

“I appreciate your regard,” he said, loud. Sharp. And like he wasn’t talking to you at all. “And while I’m certain that if you do pick a ‘someone’ for yourself to celebrate with in the following years, they’ll have to work very hard to be worthy of such a gift, hmm?” His lip curled unpleasantly, in direct contrast to the indulgent warmth that had been tugging at his expression only a moment before. “I could hardly allow you to waste such a thoughtful gesture on someone unworthy.”

The Octavinelle Housewarden had the decency to look at least a little panicked—his face going pale and gaunt from where he was shrinking into his high collar. There was a frantic look about him, like he was trying to weigh the cost-benefit ratio of going up against his professor in his head, and realizing that he was stupidly, willfully, walking right into a lose-lose situation. And that, sadly—miserably—he was going to keep doing just that. The other two, however, looked entirely undeterred. Schoenheit curled his lip right back at him, more than ready to duke it out here and now, and Crewel fought the urge to remind the blonde that he was the adult in this situation, thank you very much. The adult who could very well revoke the Warden’s access to his Alchemy Labs as it suited him. The very alchemy labs that he knew Vil had been using to concoct all kinds of new, personalized, gifts for you. Draconia simply looked on with that unnervingly ancient, green, leer of his. Like he was staring down a particularly fascinating game. The Fae Prince was the most unsettling of the trio, if only because that while Crewel was more than confident enough in his abilities to subdue his other wayward students, fighting off an Immortal, All Powerful, Dragon was going to require at least a little bit of prep work.

Divus Crewel sighed, and it rattled all the way out from the marrow of his bones.

“Come, then,” he rumbled, directing you to follow him back into his office. “It’s not chocolates, but I probably have some of those ridiculous cookies of yours lying around somewhere.” Which he did. Boxes upon boxes of them. Tucked away special for whenever you came to visit. Not that he’d ever willingly admit that, even under the pain of death.

Your eyes went wide and warm as you positively beamed.

It was rotten work, certainly. He shot one, last, warning glare down the hall at the trio of infatuated interlopers as he firmly shut his office door behind you and your absolute oblivious idiocy. He’d do it. Of course he would. But, Christ alive. He was going to need a stronger drink.

[blackjackkent]

Prompt fill for @thedarkstrategist from this ask meme: [ 🛁 ] - running them a bath, Shadowzel.

-----

“She is in pain,” Lae’zel says, pacing back and forth before the bar on the Elfsong’s bottom floor. The ale Karlach purchased for her sits undrunk on the wood bartop; she seems to have forgotten its existence. “And it is a pain I do not know how to soothe,” she growls. “It is maddening.”

“Yeah,” Karlach says, watching Lae’zel’s quick, restless movements with an air of sympathy. “Fucking sucks, when someone you care about is hurting. And this kind of hurt… whoof.” She breathes out, rattling her lips heavily. “I lost my parents, back before the Hells, but at least they went… normally, y’know? Bad fever, overturned cart. Things like that happen to people. This, what she had to do… that’s a whole different ball game…”

“This is not helping,” Lae’zel says curtly.

“I’m commiserating,” Karlach says with a slight shrug. “I don’t really have an answer for you. ‘s not the sort of thing you fix.”

Lae’zel comes to an abrupt halt and turns to face Karlach directly. “There must be something,” she says. “I--” She breaks off abruptly and scowls down at the battered slats of the floor. “You know of these things,” she mutters. “I do not. I must have your help.”

“These things?” Karlach cocks her head slowly to one side.

A pause. Lae’zel flushes, her jaw working with frustration at the struggle to articulate her own feelings. “Romance,” she finally says carefully. Another pause, then suddenly rapid, “No. Not romance. Something more. The gentleness that comes with it. I feel the need for it, but do not know…” She falters, her ears flushing a deep olive. “I do not know what to do.”

“Oh.” Karlach would be tempted to smile, were it not for the fact that Lae’zel looks so terribly agitated. “Well, I’ll let you in on the first secret I know,” she says, “which is that we’re all making this the fuck up as we go along. I certainly am.” She nudges the barstool next to her with her boot toe. “C'mon, sit down."

Lae'zel sits abruptly, a soldier obeying orders. Karlach studies her for a moment thoughtfully. "Y'know," she says slowly after a little while, "sometimes when my engine's real bad, Hec'll just... do things for me. Just so I don't have to. Get my dinner served up, or clean out my armor, that sort of thing. And it helps." She rubs at her jaw. "I think, with this sort of shit... it's not about fixing. Not really. It's about... just being there, and holding some of the weight. Helping her keep living, while she sorts it all out."

Lae'zel considers this with narrowed eyes. "Yes," she says slowly.

Karlach's teeth flash in a cautious grin. "We've got a proper bathroom in our rooms upstairs now. You could draw her a bath, bring her dinner after... give her a night not having to think about anything."

Lae'zel nods. "Yes," she repeats. Her whole body is stock-still except for her fingertips which fidget almost imperceptibly against the floral-carved edge of the bar. 

Karlach's smile softens. "The way Hec tells it - it'll make you feel better too," she says gently. "Maybe feel a little less like your head's eating itself alive." She claps Lae'zel on the shoulder. "Look. We're gonna make this happen," she says. "And I'll help. She likes night orchids, right? I'm gonna go right now over to Bonecloaks and shake that woman down for every blossom she's got, and then Jaheira and me'll take the boys off on an adventure for a while. Leave the rooms upstairs all yours till, say, ten o'clock?"

She doesn't expect thanks - the whole crew, by now, is well aware that Lae'zel doesn't tend to say it out loud. What she does get, though, is a sudden tight grip on her forearm from the gith's long-fingered hand; a gesture of camaraderie - or perhaps the clinging of a drowning woman to a driftwood life raft. "That is... generous," Lae'zel mutters.

"Just doing my part to make love bloom," Karlach says airily.

Lae’zel flinches, her color deepening again. “We have not spoken of love,” she says stiffly.

Karlach lifts her eyebrows innocently. “Oh, are we not saying that part out loud yet?” she asks.

“Kainyank…” Lae’zel grumbles, rolling her eyes - but Karlach notices she doesn’t argue the point.

-----

Shadowheart sits on the bed, leaning against the window, her knees drawn to her chest. She’s dimly aware that the others haven’t come back from dinner yet, but it’s hard to muster the energy to care. Ever since the House of Grief, she’s felt drained, empty, surrounded by the shattered pieces of a world she doesn’t know how to reconstruct yet. She feels broken.

There’s the soft sound of a footstep up the stairs. Rustling movement in the center of the shared floor of their lodgings. The sound of running water from the magical taps in the bathroom. Shadowheart ignores it all, focusing her eyes on the progress of a fly climbing up the outside of the window glass. 

Then-- “Shadowheart?”

Something in her heart loosens just a little, hearing Lae’zel’s voice. It’s astonishing, given how they began, the way that Lae’zel has come to mean protection, and understanding, and calm. Lae’zel is safety in a way that none of the others are, because Lae’zel too has had her life taken apart, and the two of them have built a new one out of the ashes. “Yes,” she says softly, forcing herself to stir and lift her head. “I’m here.”

To her surprise, she finds that Lae’zel is standing watching her with a bundle of deep blue flowers in one hand. The gith shifts awkwardly and then sets the plants down on the nearby table. “I--” she says haltingly. A pause, and then she presses on doggedly as if expecting a burst of laughter from some corner at any moment. “All day you have sat here alone. I have drawn you a bath. Will you come?”

“A bath?” Shadowheart tips her head, mildly bemused.

“Yes.” Lae’zel shifts her weight slowly from one foot to the other. Then she adds, almost sheepishly, “Karlach said it would help.” A pause, then so low Shadowheart almost can’t hear it, “Let me help. Please.”

A sudden tight lump settles in Shadowheart’s throat, making it hard to speak. “Lae’zel--”

“I said I would protect you,” Lae’zel mutters. “But there is no enemy to strike. There is only this. These small things. It is not much, but…” 

“No.” Shadowheart slowly uncurls herself from the tight ball in which she has spent the last few hours. The barest hint of a smile pulls at her lips for the first time in days. It’s not about the bath, not really - she didn’t need or even really want one. It’s the reminder that there is more around her than the impenetrable shadow Shar has draped over her world. That Lae’zel is driving it back with both fists, even when she doesn’t think she knows how.

“No,” she repeats softly. “That sounds perfect.”

[sashiavi]

Uuugggghhhhh Harvey totally has a thing for tights/ stockings. I know he just loves the feeling and look of them. All he wants to do is thrust between your thighs as you wear a pair of thigh highs.

You're reading my mind oh my goodness- I have him down for thigh-fucking for kinktober.. this is giving me the inspiration I never knew I needed ♡♡

Thinking about being his receptionist at the clinic, all neat and proper, sheer black tights hugging at the soft flesh of your thighs. Harvey can help but sneak a few (many) glances, especially when you pop off that squeaky office chair, reaching up to grab a pen off of the high counter, skirt riding up, thighs and the subtle peek of your ass all on display.

Thinking about being in a little one on one meeting with him. Harvey's eyes a little shameless, zeroing in on the bright colour of your panties behind those tight, snatching a look when you cross one leg over the other. He hopes you don't notice- Hopes your focus is all on your clipboard.

Thinking about how it was only a matter of time before the two of you found yourself in a broom closet. Knocking into a mop, bumping a shelf, all in a feverish motion to kiss and nip into eachothers lips. His hands squeeze your hips, chubby, dribbly cock nestled sweetly between your thighs, hugged so warm by the squish, feeling that rougher material of your tights.

Thinking about how he'd have you turned around, an arm snug around your middle, prickled kisses pressed into your neck, skirt ridden up, cock thrusting between your thighs, his dribbled head perfectly on display. His other hand rubs at your clit, through that rough pantyhose material, skilled and precise fingers rubbing quick circles on your clothed clit.

Thinking about how despite all those layers, he can still feel the soft slick of your cunt, on his hand on his cock- dribbling through.

You've sparked something in meeee

[jamneuromain]

A Proper Nest

Steve Rogers x You (Reader)

Warning: Omega!Steve Rogers, Alpha!Reader, established relationship, smut, p in v, in heat, a lil breeding kink, sub-ish Steve, creampie if you squint

W/C: 2K

Summary: Steve wants to build a proper nest for his upcoming heat.

A/N: Gifting this fic as a bday present to @rogerswifesblog :3 Wish you all the best things in this world uwu

It was the top secret that Steve was an Omega.

Which was a piece of frustrating news to the higher-ups.

They complained. Multiple times, about why Steve wasn’t one of the Omegas like in the ancient history, which could bear children so that the United States wouldn’t be in short supply of super soldiers.

No. Steve, rare as hen’s teeth, was born a male Omega. Meaning that he could not bear children, that he would suffer from Omega heat, and that he needed a comforting Alpha every six months when his heat would strike.

Waking up in modern days, however, does have its perks.

For example, a big online community focuses on male Omegas, though surprisingly, there were many male Omegas just like him.

For example, there are better scent blockers that will disguise him like a Beta in the crowd if he puts one on his gland.

For example… bonds are created between two loving mates, not forced upon them.

Love and attraction can stay well away from each other, or so he figures, when he is anxious about another upcoming heat that will land in a week, and that he has yet to finish his nest.

Steve presses his nose into your long silk robe, and inhales deeply.

The fresh scent of mint smells calming and comforting, with a hint of laundry detergent. He tucks the robe into the pile of clothes and blankets which he would use to build his nest.

He nuzzles his face with a blanket. The slight roughness irritates him, followed by his folding the blanket into a square and placing it on the floor. He has the decency to fold it now. Wait until it’s three days till the heat and he’d be throwing stuff on the floor, losing his temper, and rather stay inside his nest than do anything.

“Do you need anything, Stevie?” You ask him softly, standing by the door instead of by his side. As his Alpha, you know better than to poke your nesting mate right now.

Steve’s eyes scan your form with a warning glint. “Don’t touch my stuff.” He grumbles, picking up a cotton sheet of yours from the pile of fabrics and clothing he would use to build your nest, and splaying it in the middle of your shared bed.

It’s funny how he’d want you during heat, love you with or without your mutual bond, and also protect his nest like a hatching hen these days. Even from you.

Pouring some water into a glass, you carefully put the glass by the door, “You’re sweating, Stevie. Here’s some water for you, okay? I’ll be in the kitchen to count our stock for next week, give me a shout if you need anything.”

You have no doubt, that even the pile of clothes belongs to you, Steve would tear you down if you approached him without informing him first.

Steve nods somewhat hesitantly. With two pillows and the sheet in place, the basic structure of his nest is gradually forming. Though he would kill for a glass of water right now, the hindbrain urges him to build his nest for his safety and comfort.

The faint scent of mint ghosting the glass you prepared for him, making Steve downing the glass and sniffing it, running the cold glass over his gland.

Fuck. He wants it.

Steve lets out a whimpering noise in protest, but he goes through the pile, sniffing them to find if there is a stronger minty scent.

No.

FUUUUUUUUUCK!

He needs your fucking scent when he has just driven you away because of his omega hindbrain.

His gland is burning, itching for your scent.

Steve throws the annoying pile – a second ago he wanted to make his nest properly, but nothing else matters more than a dose of your pheromone at this moment – onto the bed, roughly arranging them into the shape of a nest, and runs to the kitchen where you were supposed to be.

“… protein bars, check. Chocolate chip cookies, check. Three loaves of bread, check. Two cartons of milk, check.” You murmur to yourself, counting and putting the groceries in place.

Steve embraces you from behind, where he buries his face into the crook of your neck and takes a deep inhale. The wave of mint knocks his hindbrain out cold, a breeze of coolness to his heating body.

“Stevie?” You pat his arm that’s tightening around your waist, closing the refrigerator door, “You okay, baby?”

“Need your scent.” He whines, “Need you.”

The tremor over the bond you shared informs him that you are experiencing joy and somewhat – amusement, which he cannot comprehend.

He is an Omega. AND IT’S PERFECTLY FINE TO APPROACH HIS ALPHA FOR HER SCENT.

Still, it doesn’t make the scene that a grown, beefy, 6’2’’ man whining like a big baby any less amusing for you.

“I hate you.” He whines again, all the while inhaling more of your scent.

“And I love you, baby.” You grin, “Do you want to take a shower? You are sweating a lot.”

“After I finish the nest.” He runs the tip of his nose over your gland, agreeing, before licking it. Once. Twice. Sucking on it.

Your gland is stimulated. Producing pheromones in large quantities that blend into the air around both of you. Although you grew up with this scent ever since you turned Alpha, the heavy and sharp smell of mint is a bit too much compared to the usual amount.

Through the bond, your body knows that your mate will be in heat soon, so it naturally tries to speed up the process – or comfort your mate, whichever comes first.

After he is finally satisfied with the amount of scent your gland produces, he kisses your cheek one last time. By this point, your thin sleeping gown is soaked with his sweat.

You turn around and gently wipe the sweat drops from his brows and his chin with the back of your hand, cupping his jaw, asking softly. “Better?”

“Yeah.”

“Nest and then shower, ‘kay? We need to cool you down a bit.”

“I’m fine.” Steve scrunches his nose. He doesn’t want your scent, your precious scent, going away and be replaced with stinky shampoo or body wash, even if he’s sweating like crazy right now.

“Stevie, please?”

“Ugh fine.” He pouts so visibly that you are certain you could hang a basket on his lips and it would stay still. Stomping like a kid, he returns to your bedroom, rummaging through the pile much faster.

You shake your head. A small smile hanging by your lips.

The way your Omega eventually agrees with you warms your heart (and your hindbrain). The Alpha in you takes pride in assisting your Omega, taking care of him in any way that’s possible – for example, reminding him to shower as he is too tied up to your nest to prevent himself from getting cold.

Technically, he can’t. But he sweats so much that he could dehydrate, or risk getting electrolyte disorder.

You finish counting the last few items on your list, before there is a light tug on your bond.

Enough to dawn on you that this house has been too quiet.

No ruffling clothes, no murmuring, no Steve walking on the floor barefoot. Not even the sound of distant showers running behind closed doors.

It is too quiet.

“Steve?” You drop the list and head to your bedroom immediately, as a harsher tug on the bond makes you wince.

Steve is entering his heat.

Right FUCKING now.

You slow down, approaching your bedroom. The scent of apple pie and cream hits you like a freight train bus, knocking nearly all of your senses out cold.

“Steve?” You push the door open, revealing a mess of clothing, sheets, blankets, comforters, and a writhing 6-foot naked man on your bed, lying in the middle of your clothes that could barely be called a nest.

“Alpha-” He whimpers, as your scent responds to his almost on instinct, battling for his sanity, “Alpha, please-”

Speed up the process, or comfort your mate – clearly, your pheromones decided on the first. Steve’s heat is at least five days earlier than it was supposed to be.

Letting go of your sleeping gown, you lie on the bed next to him, caressing his faint pink skin and the rising and falling of his chest, “Shh. It’s all good now. I’ve got you.”

Despite the flaming heat that swept over his body, and the tight coil in his guts, Steve grabs your hand and places it on his gland, pleading, both through his voice and your bond to soothe him from the pain.

“Please-”

You unleash your pheromones in a heartbeat. Hovering your body over his, you press a small kiss over his gland.

“Hurts- It hurts, Alpha, make it better-” Steve whimpers, his hand clenches on the back of your neck, urging you to take him, to bite him, to renew your mark again-

Your teeth sink into his skin, drawing out blood, and bite the most sensitive part of his body.

A cluster of pheromones his marked gland leaks reaches your tongue and throat as you lap on the wound to help it heal. Although you doubt it will stay healed for long, the heat will last roughly a week and the marking process will keep happening every time the pain returns to his body.

Swallowing his blood down your throat, it tastes like iron with a faint smell of warm apple pie.

He whispers your name, moaning, as he humps on your thigh. His thick girth chasing your body, wanting to be cooled down. “Want you to ride me,” Steve chokes out, “Y/N, Alpha, please…”

You snake a hand down, stroking his heavy cock, pushing the foreskin to reveal the reddening head. “Shhh,” You coo, “anything for my good boy.”

His cock slides into your weeping pussy with ease, he lifts his hips as you sit, his sweaty hands claw your back, desperate for his release.

You begin bouncing on his lap, moving your body in a steady rhythm, one hand on his abs, the other steadying yourself on the bedside post.

Lowering to kiss his plump lips, you can taste his willingness, his submission, and his unconditional love on the tip of his tongue, when he whines because of your retreating, swaying your hips to create more friction on your clit, clenching your walls as his orgasm arrives.

“Fuck.” He gasps, “Fuck I’m gonna-”

His soft golden strands stick to his forehead, his breath quickens, clinging to you with a firm grasp. He pushes his hip up one more time, veins bulging down his neck, pulsing pheromones to every cell in his body. The mighty super soldier now lying on your bed, almost helpless, begging with his pretty voice and his throbbing cock.

It makes the Alpha in you purr in excitement and satisfaction.

“Cum for me, pretty boy,” You whisper praises by his ear, your lips tracing his clean-shaven jaw, while your nails scratch his delicate gland, leaving a few crimson marks on his neck, “So good for me, Stevie, gonna give me pretty little babies and let me be a mommy, yeah?”

“Yes. Yes.” Steve snaps his hips up, his eyes roll to the back of his head.

A heavy load coats your tight walls. You reach your orgasm soon after, lying on top of him. The heating skin under your palm subdues, as Steve gains his senses back and buries his head in the crook of your neck again.

“… didn’t even build a proper nest.” He mutters. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You run your fingers down his arms fondly, pressing soft kisses to his collarbone, “We’ll build a better one next time.”

[hp-confessions]

really do hate how characters are being stripped of characteristics that make them interesting in the first place.

Remus ran away from his problems, he was a coward, he never stood up for himself because he comes from a disadvantaged position. He can never be brave, my guy was grateful he was even allowed to go to hogwarts. That's also why he's so blindly loyal to Dumbldore, of course he feels indebted grateful towards him.

My Remus would never be this confident cocky Casanova guy people depict him as?? You guys know we can have conventionally unattractive characters right?? Not everyone has to be self assured, we have cocky Sirius and James already.

Literally where are the fics where he's so scarred he's ugly, has a bad leg, uses a cane, has chronic pains???

he wanted to break away from the past and yet he's simultaneously attached to it as well. He literally can't move on (not reporting Sirius' animagus form??) but makes no moves to get closer with Harry.

REMUS IS A LOSER AND WE LOVE HIM FOR THAT.

Like he's clearly a complicated character and literally everything that makes him interesting is taken away to put him in this macho daddy role.

How do y'all say you guys like this fanon version of Remus when canon Remus was so much more interesting?? Do you guys even like Remus??

You can have your headcanons where Sirius is dressed up in skirts, wearing make up, I don't mind gender something Sirius! (It fits his whole rebel thing for me) But when he's wearing anything that literally isn't punk or goth, like stockings, shirts that "swallow him up", no. Or worse, if he's so short, so skinny and twinkified in order to push this submissive bottom agenda that some wolfstar tend to do, oh my god then I have a problem.

Why can no one ship them with equal heights if you don't like their canon height difference?? Do y'all not want tall Sirius black AND tall Remus lupin?? I DO GIVE ME EQUAL HEIGHTS. It genuinely freaks me out when one of them is ridiculously short.

I don't even care for the whole masculine tall dark handsome character that he canonically was but...to twinkify him..??? When he's probably the literal blueprint for fanon Remus now??

Sirius that is emotional, irrational, whiny, overdramatic?? Who?? Yeah it's fine when it's on occasion because it certainly does add flavor to his character plus comedic relief but lets not make that his whole personality? Where's the Sirius black that gave 0 fucks about everything!! "I wish it was a full moon", his reason for The Prank, his general idgaf attitude after escaping Azkaban!! Like he was a proper apathetic menace and y'all need to write him that way more.

And together, femboy sub Sirius x masc dom "the rational one" is the worst thing that happened to wolfstar, literally everything dimensional about it is gone and it's just...a regular mlm ship.

James sunshine potter. I fear I am guilty of liking James that's only ever nice to people but please. Make him cruel. Where's the guy that threatened lily, the guy that treated severes the way he did?

I'm all for sunshine potter but we don't have to erase the shitty things he did. The guy that kept being shitty because he knew he was getting away with it. It makes him interesting, how he is capable of such viciousness while being the sunshine character??

He even sees the world in black and white and yet he's so awful?? Like I genuinely can't understand this guy and it makes him beautiful.

If anything I should be seeing more Slytherin James but I barely see any of that?? Bro was cunning

Lily, and I know how much the fandom is protective over her but please fucking admit she's a character with flaws. Jily should've never happened because of James' cruelty towards Snape. Yet it did because Lily is a flawed character that got with his ex best friends bully.

Yes lily doesn't owe Severus shit after the mudblood incident but she can do that by...not defending him?? NOT getting with his friend??

James threatened her, SAed Snape, and she was there to witness this among several other things he did. She was Sev's best friend, she'd know personally how being bullied made him feel.

But one slur word and those years of friendship, the loyalty is thrown away and she gets with James Potter. Yes, girl boss, but she's also cruel. Make her capable of cruelty, no need to make a complete empath!!

Low-key, y'all need to give Snape fans an apology cause y'all out here making up stories that glorify fanon Regulus when Snape has canonically done more things for harry while serving cunt.

Like please, let's not forget that Snape is the exact opposite of being masculine too, he is very capable of being an actual LGBTQ icon whereas the mauraders are the furthest thing from that.

If you want LGBTQ icon mauraders, who canonically made fun of Snape for being less masculine, why the hell aren't you doing the same for Snape?? Why in the world is he being written as some creepy homophobic incel??

Also please give him credit, he's fucking funny. He took over for Remus, assigned students to think of ways of killing werewolves and made Remus mark them. He's PETTY, he did not let that Prank slide.

He's such a beautifully grey character, where his FANS don't even want to call him a good character or an evil one because he's that grey. And all of you stripped off the good parts of him and just made him a boring evil characters. Like bro, c'mon.

And regulus. He's literally just a mix Sirius and Snape. There's nothing badass or cunty about him?? Literally anyone can tell he takes after sirius or Snape.

If you want an original character, please reference canon. He's so much more tragic that way.

I don't care if he grew up abusive, was fed blood supremacist bullshit and believed it, groomed to take part in a cult only to realize violently afterwards that he didn't like it there. If I wanted to read about that id read the books and focus on Snape.

I don't care that he was petty, was a boss bitch, did badass things and gave 0 fucks about the people around because that's literally just Sirius.

He's tragic because he tried to be a hero and failed. he was always going to fail, he was always too naive, he was never going to amount to anything and that makes him tragic and much more interesting. He was on the path for reform and didn't have enough time.

It's like you guys switched up canon Severus and canon regulus, it's actually annoying, give these characters justice.

Everyone, mauraders, lily and Snape, all of them are so grey it actually hurts, and yet they keep getting pushed into these labeled boxes like what.

~

[dummie-writes]

the party walkers

self insert ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* school bus graveyard

words: 4.38k

previous part: a rescue mission

note: heyyyyy guyssss I'm back. the rot consumed (the rot is sbg), and even though it took longer, I have a chapter for you :3 also, if you guys would like a tag list, lemme know? I've never really done a long term fan fiction over tumblr, so, uh, yeah? also if you wanna be on the tag list but don't wanna follow me, that's absolutely fine. I don't mind either way lol. just lemme know. anyway, I hope you enjoy :D thanks for your patience

iii. over a horizon, somewhere

the air in the hallway smells like dust and makes your skin crawl with chill. as your eyes dart to and from everywhere you can see, your breathing again is as silent as you can make it. you've had to practice breathing invisibly way too much for your liking. you're lucky this house is the same layout as your real life home, because even though everything has gone to shit, at least you were able to check which parts of the floor creak over here. did your parents give you an odd look for shifting your weight and stepping on and off seemingly random parts of the floor? maybe. but if a weird look was the price of survival, it was cheap and worth buying.

your foot was so light on that first step that you almost thought you hadn't actually put it down. no noise - good. actually, you hadn't seen or heard any of what everyone else had been referring to as phantoms in a good while. probably a night or two - mainly because you weren't looking to escape, you, we're just trying to survive at that point. you felt kind of stupid, not being able to buy proper medical supplies for your bathroom to take care of your injury - but you didn't have an independent credit card, and your parents could see all your purchases. they were kinda weird, they didn't like letting you access your money. it was obnoxious. and deadly, and this case.

but that was beside the point right now.

you had gotten to your bedroom door, which was torn entirely off of its hinges, splinters of poorly painted wooden fibers scattered thoughtlessly in the carpet. peeking inside revealed no monster, not from you could see, at least. to further muffle your footsteps, you had worn thick socks to bed. your shoes were in your backpack, and you wouldn't have time to put them on until you got to… wherever their base was? they never actually explained it. just said something about a bus. but, that's ashlyn banner for you.

(it's not, actually, she had wanted to go much more into depth on it, but you all had gotten so busy making a plan to not die that the specifics of the place got muddled.)

your backpack was neatly placed on you bed, where you had left it before “falling asleep”. you wasted no time in tip toeing to your closet and grabbing all the jackets you could find, throwing them on to save space before swinging your bag on both shoulders, tying the loose adjustable ends together to secure it, even if just slightly. grabbing all the blankets you could before you left, your next destination was the kitchen. your mom had stocked up on lunachbles the other day! this made things convenient for you, so you grabbed as many as you could, stuffing them in your pockets. glancing out the window for a second, the street is an eerie quiet. the sky, red, per… well, per what you assume would be usual. stranded vehicles in their driveway, the pavement unbothered by time.

a head appears in the window, upside-down as it swings like a pendulum on top of the roof.

“OH MY G- aiden! what the fuck!”

“haha got you.”

despite your shaking hands and the buzzing of surprise in your legs, you open your window, pushing out the screen and pulling the blonde in as quickly as you could manage.

“what are you doing here? you guys aren't supposed to be here for another ten or so?”

“I got sent ahead to make sure you weren't alone if something attacked you,” he says with a wide smile. as goofy as aiden can be at times, he has yet to not be on your side in this situation. his nose wrinkles in the slightest way when he grins like that. his odd smile freaks you out sometimes, honestly, but right now it brings you more comfort than anything else.

“oh. ashlyn let you go? like, alone? without ben?”

“no, lol, I sent me. I was getting bored.”

this earns him a dumbfounded blink, and then you sigh, pinching your nose as you open your mouth to criticize his poor decision.

“duck!”

some sort of primal instinct pushes you down, the hair on the back of your neck prickling as a collectable figurine goes flying through the air, and the hiss of pain behind you let's you know that something has found you.

“shitshitshitshitshitshitshit-” you're skittering to the window before your brain actually loads in to the situation, and it does when you're halfway through the window. aiden secures his stance, like he's about to fight this thing! that idiot!

you grab his arm, pulling him backward as hard as you can, hearing his shoulder pop and a small “ow :(“ as the two of you clamber through the opening. the imprint of the window frame leaves a red cent in your shoulder, and you hiss as you fall onto your back. aiden rolls his shoulder back without missing a beat, his lips now pulled back into the more energetic lines they usually are. he pops up, putting his palms flat on the glass and pulling down, closing it.

“fuck! are you okay?”

“yeah I'm good.”

well, that was that, then. you stand there for a moment, your hands on your knees as you pant, trying to relax the tension in your legs from a moment before. you didn't actually have much time, you guys needed to get out of there. your fingers weakly paw at the spilled items on the floor from your backpack, which tore when you guys fell out of your room. stuffing what you could back into it, someone grabs your arm and pulls you up before you even look at who it is. your other arm swings back, your gaze shaking as you hear a deeper voice, tyler's, specifically, gasp and pull back, rubbing his cheek.

“you guys need to not do that, oh my gosh.”

tyler sharply looks at you, eyebrows scrunched up in irritation, before his face gravitates to look at aiden in the same manner. “you are in such big trouble, that annie wanna-be is worried. and also pissed. really, really pissed.”

aiden mocks a shocked face.

“omg she's worried about me?? I knew she cared.”

tyler is unimpressed by this to say the least, grabbing your arm and yanking you up to your feet, holding your shoulder stiffly as he examines you, making sure your not injured. for the first time, you notice the softness in his eyes and cheeks, and while his hand is holding you still, it isn't too tight as to hurt you. he's being.. gentle. which you haven't actually ever noticed from him. you take the time to look him over too, for the same reason. regular scratches and bruises, but nothing to be all too concerned about. his hair looks so soft, does he use taylor's hair supplies? it's very well taken care of. a thought pops into your head.

“oh, yeah, by the way, I got a-”

“there they areee,” aiden cheers, his smile lacing his voice. turning your head, you see ashlyn, logan, taylor and a mildly panicked looking ben running to the three of you. the green eyed girl runs up to you, her eyebrows high as she scans you the same way tyler did. “you okay?”

you nod a confirmation, and she deflates with relief before turning to aiden. “could you not? you freaked everyone out! you're lucky a phantom didn't find you on the way here!” her hands are squishing up her hair as she gives the blonde a blank stare, and then cringes. she looks nauseous for a second, and then looks toward the house. her hands now covering her ears.

“... unless… a phantom.. did, find you on your way here?”

“haha, no, that would be silly. it was already in the house-”

the gray creature darts around the corner, and a chorus of screams and shoes pounding the dirt as you guys start running as fast as possible, ashlyn leading the charge. your chests are heaving, you feel your mouth drying up and salivating all at ones, and your head is pounding with your heart.

looking beside you is your newfound party, you find that everyone has weapons that you didn't really notice before now. you feel the taddest bit useless if you're being totally honest. making a few random turns and quick corners that nearly trip you up, and would have if ben didn't catch you and pull you along in time. at this point, you're holding his hand to keep up. somehow, you all ended up in the forest beside the neighborhood. this was probably the fastest way to get to ashlyn's house, and clearly, she knows it well enough to guide everyone through. meanwhile, the phantom is slowed down by the terrain.

as the trees thin out to the other side of the neighborhood, your legs are beginning to hurt. however, you do see a giant gray wall now, the one that the bus always picks ashlyn up by. this must be the graveyard everyone was talking about.

“time?!”

“eight minutes!”

fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!

ashlyn skids to a stop inside of the wall, the phantom gaining on us by the second. tyler squeals slightly, before yelling to close the gate, his voice slurring with how quickly he spoke. with a loud thudding of everyone making it in, she slams her hand on the button as hard as humanly possible. the phantom does it's best to squeeze through the wall opening, but it shuts too quickly for it to come in. it starts hitting the wall, the structure echoing loud banging. ashlyn tenses, clenching her jaw as everyone stands in a outward facing circle, adrenaline still pumping through your arms.

“alright,” ashlyn says, dropping her hand a little and huffing. “let's head to the bus.”

“bus?” you ask, wrinkling your nose in confusion, looking around. there were… a lot of busses, actually. you thought this place was a graveyard?”

“oh, it's uh-”

“HAha. no one explained that. oops!” aiden cuts taylor off, giggling, in his own little world before turning to bother ashlyn. taylor side smiles at aiden, before turning back to you and continuing. “school bus graveyard. ash's family owns it,” she explains. there was probably more going on, but for the two of you, exhausted and filthy, it works well enough. a thumbs up from you later, taylor throws her arm around you. oh! friendship! that was fast. smiling at her, you return affection, throwing your arm around her shoulders too. she stinks, but you do too, so you have no moral high ground. what would you even say? ‘ugh, you just ran a mile here to there and back to save my life, disgusting. go shower’?????? no, that would be rude.

a yelp of surprise leaves you as aiden joins you guys, throwing his arm around taylor's other shoulder.

“you stink.”

“you do too.”

“I also stink. triplets!”

your trio laughs as you make your way to the empty school bus deemed hideout. a collective groan leaves everyone, sitting in seemingly designated spots. you shuffle awkwardly, looking around for a seat, before taking a seat behind tyler, beside logan, who smiles and waves at you before letting his head roll back onto the seat. tyler flops into his own seat, and you can hear his back pop as he groans and rubs his eyes.

“that sucked.”

“yeah, I agree.”

tyler tilts his head to look at you slightly, and you realize maybe he isn't actually perpetually angry, maybe he just has a resting bitch face. and also lacks sleep and proper communication skills. the way he again looks you over to make sure you're okay tells you he at least wouldn't leave you to the wolves in an instant.

ash leans over, and you frown as you hear her pop her foot. fair enough, but also ew.

“ah,” she starts, her head gently leaning on the seat in front of her. “the banging stopped.”

you didn't hear it after you guys had walked away, but also, ben told you about her having better hearing than the rest of you all. so that, of all things, wasn't too wild.

“it probably gave up, or-” tyler sighs, his eyes opening to look over to the freckle-faced girl. “- someth…” he's interrupted by ashlyn shooting to sit straight up. a second passes, and it looks like maybe she's just listening more intently than before, and then a shiver rolls up her spine and her shoulders tense. her eyes scan sideways, a nauseous feeling crawling up her ribs and into her throat. bus seat, window, bus seat, window.

fingers over the door frame, a dark skeletal looking head peering over.

your heart drops into your stomach, simultaneously jumping into the veins of your neck. everyone stands, almost synchronously backs up to cover each other. you find yourself in almost the very back, behind ben and logan. you glance at the twins, tyler slightly shielding taylor with his arm even though he's trembling.

the air stands perfectly still, nobody's lungs dare to move. it's like you're encased in stone. your shoulder blade throbs, and you wish you were some superhuman like the rest of them seemed to be. none of them were even seriously injured or anything, that could probably mostly be attributed to having five other people watching other people's backs at all times, and the medical supplies in the corner, but still.

no, you're no superhuman, but ash seems to be. she's the first to start trying to figure out what you guys can do. forcing her gritted teeth open, she hisses a question to you. “can we open the back door?”

“it's blocked!” you whisper, and your chest begins to hurt from how tight you're making your muscles. glancing to Logan, who's started crying in panic doesn't help much either. the own tears pricking at your eyes want to pull themselves down your cheeks, and your vision is fuzzy because of them. you decidedly rub them out of your face before they can be any worse.

“what do we do??” logan asks, his voice catching for a second, his fingers shaking and pulled up to his chest.

aiden replies nonchalantly, shrugging slightly and earning a loud thwack to the back of his head from tyler and an “aiden!” from taylor.

the floor creaked and the phantom makes a lunge for the party. you drop down, arms crossing to cover your face as your back meets the wall behind you, and a scream rips through the group.

beep, beep, beep.

your body lunges backward into your mattress, and you practically punch yourself in the jaw to cover yourself again. your forearms hurt and your legs feel sore. it takes a moment for you to really believe that you aren't in the bus anymore, your stomach heaving in your breathing. slowly, your arms start to come lay on your chest. slowly, your shoulders start to stop shaking so hard, and slowly, your breathing becomes deeper. you can feel trickles of tears, but you let them fall this time. you don't really have the energy at this point to scratch them away.

soreness tingles all along your body, your throat feels raw, and you don't really know why. you didn't scream all that much, did you? your phone pings, and you let the air rest for a second before even thinking of picking it up.

logan

everyone okay??

ashlyn

👍

aiden

lol that was close.

taylor

physically yes

tyler

mentally no.

you put your phone down, resting your head and grunting at the crack it gives.

you

yeah, aiden,

please don't die

aiden

lame.okay

ben

i think you gave

everyone a mini heart

attack when you said

that

aiden

everyone was

already having a heart

attack lmao.

you're looking for a gif or meme or random picture from your camera roll to respond with, when ben starts asking the important questions. no, actually, you hadn't done the homework. you had messed around with it for about an hour before bed, you were too nervous for finishing it and only answered a couple of the questions asked.

you “👎” the question before scrolling on a random app of your choosing, your eyes begging for sleep but your brain screaming to stay awake. the small twinkles of adrenaline from earlier aren't really in your system anymore, but you feel like they're crawling up in your arms. up your calves and up your neck. you keeping seeing things in the corner of your room, your mind making up eyes in the darkness. you don't want to keep your light on all night and run up the electrical bill, but it would certainly help if the places where the light from your phone doesn't reach quite as well would stop shifting. you feel.. watched. you're not, obviously, you know that. you know it's the part of your brain trying to keep you alive, but you're pretty sure sleeping is also part of staying alive.

you eventually turn onto your stomach, your palm pulling back the skin of your face and rubbing your eye. the small clock in the corner of your screen reads four something in the morning. after you stopped replying, the conversation eventually died out in the group chat, and even though you could see someone else was online, you didn't really want to bother any of them. luckily for you, you didn't have to.

taylor

hey, i forgot to check

up on you! u doin ok?

your eyebrow raises before you even process the message fully. why is she awake? of all people, you kinda got the feeling that she took care of herself more than the others in this scenario. then again, people who take care of others tend to neglect their own needs. maybe she didn't want to text anyone else, and texting you gave her an excuse to be awake?

you

im okay, you?

taylor

well, yk, as good as

we can be atp lol

hmm. you send her a random video because you have nothing else to talk about. she sends one back, and you spend the next hour sending them back and forth until you inevitably pass out. it's funny how much more comfortable you are when you aren't entirely lonely. that goes for both the phantom world and this one. it pulls you out, in a way. the way you have to flip-flop between normal life, and the terror that awaits you for seven minutes each night. the fact that the times don't line up still bothers you. it messes with your head, and your perception of time. how much passes and how quickly. you're not alone anymore, sure, but that doesn't lessen the effect of the situation any less.

except, maybe it does. maybe your body relaxing isn't just the natural melatonin, but the ever soft taste of safety. the satin touch of a cool breeze from your window before your mind drifts to a sea of unconscious landscape.

your alarm goes of an hour and a half later. lucky you, you no longer ever miss your alarm, and instead shoot up the second it goes off! yeah, the blood rush to your head and immediately grabbing the baseball bat you have near your bed before realizing what's going on isn't the best feeling in the world, but you're not late to school anymore, so that's a plus.

you don't really look at yourself in the mirror anymore, not while you brush your teeth and hair, not after you shower. a part of you cringes at the thought, even as you glance yourself over to make sure you're reasonably well prepared to head out. the eye bags you've developed don't compliment you as well as you would've hoped, and they contrast brightly against your skin going pale. there's a tired to your eyes that you can't seem to rub away, even as you fill your thermos with coffee before you jump on the bus. didn't help that you were honestly a little paranoid that you would see a monster in the mirror if you looked too long.

you sit down in the seat beside where ashlyn's seat is, sighing as you place your bag by your feet to make room for anyone else. your chin is in the palm of your hand, and you don't feel tired in the slightest. you will in about half an hour, when the fear factor that is waking up fades off, when you fingers stop tingling, and when your jaw stops clenching so hard. you take the moment to try and release some tension as ashlyn gets on the bus. she nods at you, looking you over before sitting down in the other seat. it's a habit you've noticed she picked up with the others, even though at the time you didn't know why. she would stand there for just an extra second, like she was checking them for stains. now, she did it for you, too.

this bus ride feels like it's taking forever, seriously. maybe everyone is just groggy this morning. isn't it odd, that you too would be groggy like the rest of them? normally, you'd be sitting with your friends, maybe even texting lunarmoon, your online friend. normally, you'd be up until early hours of the morning playing games, reading, doom scrolling, not because eyes would make themselves up to stalk you. laughing was now dry, hyperventilating now a more common pass time than giggling and memes, the dull pull of sleep more enticing, yet an aversion like never before overtakes that desire. the tips of your fingers are playing with the bracelets loosely dangling from your wrist. it's a blue one with a dice charm, one you got when you turned seven from an acquaintance at your party. it was the only thing your newly seven year old self didn't end up losing or destroying. now the question would be, would it remain?

a jab to your shoulder makes you jump, and you flash around to squint at a softly grinning aiden.

“hey, don't know if you heard me, do you need the homework?” he asked, twirling the pieces of paper in his fingers, and then they promptly fell apart and into your seat. you sat there and stared at them for a second, before laughing through your nose and picking them up. “yeah, I'll take them, if you don't mind.”

aiden gives you a thumbs up, ben beside him has his earbuds in and is looking out the window like you were doing a bit ago. he looks tired, but that's not new. everyone looks tired; but you've gotta admit, it's probably exhausting to keep an eye on aiden at all times. sometimes, only just sometimes, he makes you think of a class pet that has a habit of jumping off counters. you all look after each other, but ben has a tendency to be the older brother aiden seemingly needs. you're own older brother was off at college, but the two of you had never really been close. you can say the same for your younger sibling too. they never really interacted with you outside of the occasional conversation. it was honestly…really quiet at your house.

you pulled out your own earphones, opening your music app and sending ben a music party link, adding a couple songs to it yourself before turning to look at him. you can see the moment he hears the notification, even if you don't, and then checks his phone, tilts his head and looks up at you. you smile at him, wiggling your fingers in greeting, and he does an awkward little wave back, before pressing the link and joining, adding his own music.

regardless of whether or not your music tastes align, you enjoy hearing each other's pallet. it's refreshing to not pick all your own music, especially when the other person also has an excellent music taste. and the bus ride is all to short for you to really complain, anyway.

you're in class before you realize it, unlike your other… is friends the right word? coworkers at this point? peers? survival partners? you could probably consider yourself friends with taylor, at this point. everyone else was more an acquaintance. that being said, they did all risk their lives to save your own from living in the bathroom for the rest of eternity. that feels a little closer than acquaintances. maybe the right term is party members. like a dungeons and dragons party. yeah. you like that.

anyway, you're a lot more energized, and everyone else falls asleep within ten minutes of class starting. it takes you fifteen. now that everyone else is present, it's easier to feel slightly safer. even after the bell nearly has you tripping over yourself to wake up, and you could've sworn you felt breathing on your shoulder.

you can see everyone talking in the corner of your eye, but you walk over to ashlyn, who's packing up her seat. she makes eye contact with you, again, looking over you before she continues. she acknowledges you with a hum, and you stand there waiting for her to be done before speaking.

“hey, um, I just wanted to say thank you. again. for coming and getting me. i get the feeling you're kinda group leader, well, okay, everyone at least looks up to you like that. and I know it was dangerous to come get me, and you didn't have to, but I really appreciate it. i won't be a pain, I promise I'll figure out something I can do to help so that it wasn't all for n-”

“ash! oh, hey, you too!” aiden interrupts you in the middle of your rambling gratitude and sort of apology? you don't remember, you kinda lost your point when ashlyn started to go slightly wide eyed at the confrontation. he's standing with everyone else, and holding his backpack over his shoulder with that evergreen grin of his. “we're all eating lunch together. y'know… to talk about stuff. you coming?”

[johnslittlespoon]

curtbuckbucky nightclub au .* :☆ﾟ. ☽

open for drabble/more pics! <3

alright, i've never done a proper 'intro' post for a fic/au i have in mind, but this one has been rotting in my brain for ages and i know there's no way i'm not gonna write something for it eventually so here goes, bear with me <3 made a lil edit (took me fucking hours to collect enough stock footage lmfao) to go along with it too >:)

a modern au where college student curt is a regular at a new–ish queer nightclub, showing up every friday night without fail to dance his heart out, his way of de–stressing at the end of every week and getting his pent up energy out. he's the prettiest little thing, dresses up so fun– some nights he throws on dresses or crop tops with skirts or short shorts when he's feeling it, other nights he goes for more of a relaxed baggy pants and flowy linen button up type of vibe– always with the same pair of scuffed up sneakers on for ease of dancing.

the bartenders and other regulars adore their bubbly little club bunny, always looking out for him, doting on him with free drinks and food. and even if some of them eye curt like he's dinner when he's out on the floor swaying his hips, eyes closed to fully lose himself in the music, the glitter on his eyelids and cheekbones catching the lights just right, curt's not there for any of that. he dances with people occasionally, he's confident and carefree and likes the attention and it makes him giggle when he catches newcomers staring, doesn't mind a wandering hand here and there, but he never goes home with anyone. the same routine, every friday, dancing until his dark waves are curling damp with sweat against his temples and his black eyeshadow is smudged and he leaves to make the walk back to the flat he shares with a few roomies.

enter john and gale, longterm boyfriends who sometimes like to go out clubbing and find someone pretty to bring home for a fun time, only an open relationship in that sense– they have no interest in actually dating other people, both adamant that it's no strings attached, too head over heels for each other to have eyes for anyone else anyway.

they decide to check out a club they haven't been to yet, usually sticking to the tried and true ones, but a couple of their friends recommend it, so they give it a go one friday night. they've barely sat down at the bar with their drinks when they see a boy who, john comments to gale, looks like the 'energizer bunny' (gets a snort out of curt when he tells him so in the future.) even once they're buzzed enough to head out onto the dance floor together, neither of them can take their eyes off of the bundle of energy, mesmerized.

they both know the other is equally enamoured with the boy, drinking up all the glitter and bouncy curls and blissed out smiles, already knowing they just have to have him– the prettiest thing they've ever seen. curt's confused when they approach him, because he's noticed them too, has been admiring from afar, but he's also noticed their hands and lips all over each other, dancing much too close and comfortably to not be a couple. but john purrs out "we just like to have a little fun every now and then sweetheart, don't you?"

and no, not really, he doesn't. usually a night of exhausting himself dancing is his idea of fun, not ever looking for anything else, not finding most guys worth his time. but john and gale sweet talk him just right, spend time actually getting to know him when he agrees to let them buy him a drink at the bar, and fuck, they're both the hottest things he's seen walk into the club in a long time, and they're giving him all their attention? he decides that maybe he'll be brave and flirt back. despite his confidence and lack of caring what other people think about him, he's so shy and easily flustered when someone he's actually into makes the moves on him, doesn't even know what to do with himself when he realizes he's blushing at their compliments and the combination of their heavy gazes on him.

obviously they all get each other worked up as the night goes on, and curt goes home with them and gets his world rocked, spoiled and pillow princess–ed and showered in praise, not at all what he expects hook–ups to be like after having only been with people he's been dating. he expects to walk back home after since they all live in the same vicinity of downtown, tries to ignore his wobbly legs when he finally crawls out of bed, gets dragged back down by gale for one last messy breathless makeout while john gets him an uber before curt can protest or offer to pay.

normally john and gale don't get the numbers of their one night stands, but they want to make sure he gets home safe, and they can both gauge how the other is feeling and they know they'll want to see him again if they're lucky enough for curt to say yes, so john puts his number into curt's phone and tells him "text when you're home safe, yeah? or, y'know, text whenever you want." and curt isn't sure if this is john saying they both want to see him again, because he's dense and shy and they made it clear beforehand that they're in a closed relationship, but next friday he texts to let them know he'll be at the club again, and john and gale tell him they'll be there, the three of them going home together for a second time that night, and they fall into a routine from then on.

curt gets giddy every friday, dolling himself up extra pretty for the two men, flushed at their attention every time and so thrilled to dress up for someone other than himself for once. he can already feel himself going all heart–eyes for them after the second or third time they hook up, but he knows where he stands, and he's having fun experimenting for the first time and having two experienced, sweet guys show him a good time every week, so he doesn't want to jeopardize that by getting his feelings involved.

little does he know that john and gale are falling head over heels too for this sweet energetic boy, loving how much he spices up their lives, both in the bedroom and out, realizing their flat feels so quiet now on the nights where they don't take curt home with them. so that leads to some serious conversations to see if they're on the same page about getting to know curt better, both of them learning how to navigate this new territory because neither of them expected to want to bring someone else into their world like this. they agree they'd like to take curt out on a cute date, during the daytime for once, to properly test the waters and see how curt feels– of course he slots into their lives perfectly, as if he's been there all along. <3

but along the way: lots of slow burn, miscommunication, endless filthy smut, curt trying to balance college and work and friends with his newfound feelings for john and gale, john and gale getting dragged to raves and festivals by their always adventurous bf, city night–life juxtaposed by early morning domesticity, etc etc.

this has been floating around in my head for a couple weeks since i got this vision of 2012–stalker–era barry with eyeshadow and glitter stuck in my brain and thus a whole universe/plot spawned from it. honestly would mostly be pwp, but would love to write a proper fic for it anyway eventually, each chapter littered with filth, obviously LOL. i have so many thoughts and so many little scenarios planned out in my head already... these three have me in a chokehold.

i need to make proper intro/drabble posts like these for my other aus too aghhh it just takes so longggg because i get carried away with the drabble and then i have to find the perfect clips for edits and the perfect pics to tie it all together and suddenly i've spent half a day on one post but. someday <3 leaving!bikeriders au next surely! thx for reading hope u enjoy this version of the boys and hopefully i'll have time to write it soon!

all posts about this au will be under #curtbuckbucky nightclub au :-)

[starzshopoflove]

Civil Duties (Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader)

needed a title i think

Notes: fem reader! i hc ghost doesn't wear a mask when he's off duty, this is just whatever rot my mouse brain creates, age gap but not to crazy, sfw mostly ,size kink if you squint, literally just me projecting onto reader sorry i'm terrified of men irl, no smut guys simon doesnt fuck on the first date erm,,

You were probably gonna throw up out of pure anxiety texting him, not like you were scared but this wasn't some guy from school or a random guy who hit on you, this man was an actual man, like he's probably had real relationships and has his own health insurance (both false ahem). Of course you eventually bite the bullet and text him, exchanging basic information; your name, how old you were, what your hobbies are. 

After 2-3 days of consistent messaging mostly on your end with Simon preferring an actual phone call letting you do most of the talking assuring you he doesnt think your rambling and is in fact listening, he finally asks you out for a proper date because his mother raised a gentleman that doesn't call it grabbing coffee then tells you its a date.

I feel like simon would try and clean up a little bit for a first date, you're not some barrack bunny he fucks with a mask on and never sees again!! So he’ll get his hair trimmed, shave his stubble, wear his nicer slacks instead of his usual worn jeans and iron his shirt before seeing you. Checking to make sure he didn't look dirty or smell so you wouldn't make that face from what he was hoping wasnt from him.

He’ll call you from outside the bookshop were your family flat was above and let you know he's here while you basically stomp around upstairs running to do the final touches on your makeup, making sure the dress you decided to wear wasn't too short and your hair wasn't standing on ends while you held the phone between your ear and shoulder hopping on one foot trying to get your shoe while you told him you’d be right down. 

Simon, who checks his watch ( yes he has a watch this man is OLD) while waiting for you only turning his head when he hears your quick steps making way down the staircase in the back of the shop and patterning of your shoes across the store floor where you make your somewhat grand entrance out of the shop. He just kind watches you grip the door frame and place a hand on your knee to catch your breath because he doesn't know you basically just did 2 hours worth of hair, nails and makeup in 45 mins and still pulled it off.

“You look nice” was all he could choke out because he can't simply throw you over his shoulder and take you home and let you be his little live in girlfriend (dw give him time it'll happen) 

You straighten yourself swallowing silently to yourself basically eating him alive with your eyes praying he can't tell (he can't hes busy thinking about how your gonna be late for lunch and doesn't want the good tables to get taken) letting your lips pull that stupid smile you have when your reading the softest part of a book where the mc finally gets what she needs. 

“Really?” Of course when you said that it had to come with a little giggle that tickled his ears because that kind sound doesn’t come to often especially when he can see your face burning just a little and your fighting the fattest grin 

“Absolutely” 

Simon seems like the kinda guy to take you somewhere family run for lunch, quiet but the best damn food you’ll ever eat. Course you chat and you nudge him some of your fries where he placing some of the meat from his plate onto your (THAT'S NOT THE MEAT WE WANT) and you share a little “oh thats good” over your conversation that ends with you both deciding to go on a walk around the square 

You’re just fucking eating up everything the whole time, actually hearing him talk more with that sweet deep mank accent while you explain the plot to some mystery book the shop stocked recently after he mentioned he liked the author, or when he picked his glass up for a drink and his arm flexed a little, oh my god you wanted to climb this man like a tree and pick his brain apart. 

Obviously Simons is a very attractive man but you like your men with some sorta substance, and he has plenty. The way he actually listened to you and had questions on whatever you were saying, not making you feel like you were suffocating him because he happily listened to your blabbering about the latest new installment in a series you've been keeping up with or when you had to explain the concept of reddit to him to explain a story. It was nice, like he didn't mind you had so much in your head and was happy to let you spill it out

You’re like a breath of fresh air for Simon, most of his time off a mission is spent reading anything in a park or at the gym just trying to make the time pass quicker till his next mission, he didn't know what made him give you his number but seeing you twice in one day didn't feel like something he could ignore. Your hands were as soft as they looked, and you didn't smell like smoke or gunpowder, you didn't care that he wasn't super talkative because that look in your eye told him you know he was listening, he especially liked how you didn’t push when he said he just did “contracting” for work 

When the date ended with you both walking back to the shop and you both stood in front of the big glass door quiet and awkward while you shifted from one foot to another not yet ready to leave. At Least not without a kiss, least you could do to say thank you for letting talk your ear off.

“Simon”

“Yeah?” 

“Somethin on your cheek c’mere”

There's was literally nothing on his cheek but he still leaned down to you indulging whatever you had in mind, when you hooked a finger on the collar of his shirt tugging his face much closer 

“Still cant see it?” He gruffed out letting your eyes meet his while his hands made fists in his jacket pockets trying not to just jump out and hold you by the cheeks 

“Def can now ‘ts right here” 

You tugged the shirt a little closer, slotting your lips onto a small hum leaving you when his tongue licked your bottom lip with you happily obliging parting just enough for your tongues to slide over each other, before pulling away. 

“Did ya get it?” hes got a stupid grin now too not as wide and bright as your but its there 

“Mhm” 

You did you it *confetti*

[ladyeyrewrites]

Feelings Hurled Like Hand Grenades

Read from Chapter One

Chapter Three: The Other Shoe

Rated M

4,950 words

It felt like he’d swallowed a tail rotor, and it was chewing away at his guts. Tommy honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this nervous.

Probably before he met Evan for coffee after he’d cut their first date short. Which was saying something because he was nearly shitting himself when he deployed.

But this wasn’t a date with Evan or with destiny or whatever. This was Tommy meeting his brothers for the first time since he’d pushed them out of his life twenty years ago. Part of Tommy wished Evan was there with him to hold his hand and hold him steady against the typhoon of emotions swirling within his chest. But this was music Tommy needed to face on his own.

So, he did what he could to control his nerves. After Mikey had called him back with a date when he and Tony could fly down the coast to LA (one that Tommy miraculously had off), Tommy chose where they’d meet – a café where he felt comfortable. Somewhere quiet, with outdoor seating in case things went Jonathan Kinard degrees of south. Somewhere with parking nearby.

Not that Tommy planned to drive.

He was too keyed up and he had no idea what his emotional state would be like after the meeting with his brothers. Sure, it was possible that everything would go fine, just like it had at dinner with Aunt Gina. Which had been a pleasant surprise that had kickstarted Tommy and Evan down the road to matrimony.

To be honest, some days Tommy wasn’t always certain whether he should thank Gina for that or curse her name, especially when one weekend Evan had spent the entire forty-eight hours going into excruciating detail about the differences in card stock for their invitations. But then the next time their days off had aligned, Evan had taken him on a tour of LA’s finest bakeries and Tommy had been sure he'd died and gone to cake heaven. So, yeah there were good days and bad days: card stock days and cake days.

But all of that had nothing to do with what was about to happen.

Tommy arrived at the café fifteen minutes early and scoped out a table on the back patio with a clear path to an exit, just in case. He had no idea what his brothers liked coffee-wise, so he held off ordering, not wanting to highlight the twenty-year chasm that spread between them until absolutely necessary. He wiped his palms on his dark wash jeans, nerves shaking his fingers.

This really shouldn’t feel so terrifying. He’d been to war. He’d run into burning buildings. He flew over wildfires on a semi-regular basis. He’d flown into a hurricane.

He’d kissed Evan Buckley on a hunch.

He could handle lunch with his brothers.

Read more below the cut or on Ao3

He heard Mikey before he saw him. “There he is!”

Tommy looked up and was Mikey wearing a fucking suit? Tommy couldn’t help but smile at that. There was just something so earnest about his younger brother trying to impress Tommy like Tommy wasn’t going to love him no matter what. It reminded Tommy of Evan in a sideways kind of way. Specifically of Halloween the year before when they’d both gotten dressed up to give Billy Boils a proper send-off a few weeks before they’d moved in together.

Tony trailed behind Mikey dressed like a normal person with a punk rock sensibility would dress to have lunch with their brother: a band tee and ripped jeans with a scuffed leather jacket pulling it all together. Which placed Tommy firmly in the middle of the siblings’ sartorial hierarchy in his jeans, henley and flannel. He’d even buttoned the flannel mid-way to add some semblance of formality to the ensemble. Also, he’d triple checked that there wasn’t any engine oil on his jeans, so that had to count for something right?

Tommy stood and gave his brothers a cautious wave as they wound their way through the tables and chairs to the table he’d chosen for them. “Hey.” He tried to smile but even he could tell it seemed forced. Probably didn’t reach his eyes. Not that either of his brothers were looking him in the eye. Tony was glancing around the back patio with a studiously unimpressed air that reminded Tommy of their father and Mikey’s eyes darted every which way in obvious nervousness.

“You good there, Mikey?” Tommy asked as Mikey shook his hand. Which seemed weirdly formal. Weren’t brothers supposed to hug or something? Maddie and Evan hugged all the time. Howie and Albert hugged too, though not as often and they’d only really met when Albert was an adult. Then again, they’d known each other for years and had an active relationship. Tommy hadn’t had a relationship with his brothers since they were kids. He didn’t know what kind of people they were as adults or if they were even huggers. “You seem nervous.”

“Uh yeah, I’m good,” said Mikey taking a seat. “Why wouldn’t I be good? I’m just having lunch with my brothers.”

“Exactly,” said Tommy and it was weird how easily his own nerves melted away when faced with his brother’s obvious discomfort, like some latent big brother instinct stirring from hibernation. “We’re just three brothers sharing a meal and catching up. Nothing to worry about.”

Tony snorted derisively as he took his seat and snatched up his menu. Ordinarily, Tommy would have pushed, asked him what that was all about, but they were there to try to make amends, not to start fights or pick at scabbed over wounds. At least he hoped that’s why they were there.

His therapist had told him to manage his expectations.

“Before we get started, there’s something I want to say,” Mikey began. He seemed to have calmed down a bit now that he was sitting, though his forehead still glistened with sweat, highlighting his receding hairline. Honestly it was a miracle Aunt Gina hadn’t dragged him to the barber to force him to get a more flattering haircut. Maybe Tommy could recommend a place if they got to that point in repairing their relationship.

“Go for it,” said Tommy, putting his menu down. He wasn’t even sure why he bothered looking at the menu. He came here with Evan all the time and he always got the same thing every time. It wasn’t like he planned to change things up now when he felt like he was walking on shifting sand.

“I’m proud of you,” said Mikey. “For living your truth.”

“Thank you?” Tommy said, glancing at Tony to see if he had any idea where this was coming from.

“Mikey’s been going to PFLAG meetings,” said Tony with a fond roll of his eyes.

Tommy blinked. “Wow.” He wasn’t sure what else to say. “I wasn’t expecting that.” And it was true: never in a million years would Tommy have expected a blood relative of his to put in the work to support him and understand his experience as a gay man.

Mikey shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal and even though it had been twenty years, Tommy glimpsed the little boy inside the man, always eager to please. “Yeah, uh Auntie told me I should probably do some homework before we met up, so I didn’t mess up and say something that’d put us right back to what got us here in the first place.”

Tommy winced, head swirling with memory. He shook it away. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on the past. He had to stay present, to meet his brothers where they were at now, ignoring all assumptions based on who they’d been when they were kids.

“For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you, too. For getting sober.” Although, it had been a twist of the knife in his guilt to learn some of the details of Mikey’s alcoholism from Aunt Gina. Somehow, it felt like Tommy’s fault that Mikey had started drinking in the first place, that Tommy leaving had shoved Mikey off the cliff into the abyss of addiction that ran through their family line. “I know it’s not easy.”

Colour rose in Mikey’s cheeks, and he shook his head. “I’m thirty-five,” he said. “About time I pulled my act together.”

“Hey, there’s no timeline for these kinds of things,” said Tommy. “I mean, I was dating women until my early thirties because I was still lying to myself.”

Tony put down his menu with a frown. “I thought you knew you were gay when we were kids. I mean Dad was always calling you all those names. I assumed you’d come out to him.”

“Pretty sure Dad would have killed me if I had,” said Tommy and that wasn’t an exaggeration. He shuddered to think of a world in which his younger self had opened up to his dad about his sexuality and he couldn’t see any version of that going well. But he didn’t want to dwell on that, so he shrugged. “It’s hard to explain,” he continued. “Deep down I always knew, but learning to accept that I was gay took a long time and it wasn’t exactly a linear process.” He sighed. He hadn’t meant to get this deep into things at this first meet up, but here they were. He shrugged. “Every time I thought I was ready to accept it, there was always something to shove me back in the closet.”

Mikey winced and wouldn’t meet Tommy’s eyes. “Sorry, if what I said—”

“No.” Tommy cut his brother off before Mikey could pile the blame for Tommy’s struggle to come to terms with his sexuality. “What you said hurt me, but it wasn’t what kept me in the closet for so long.” And that was mostly true. The argument in the VA hospital was a drop in the bucket compared to growing up under Jonathan Kinard’s roof, compared to being in the Army under Don’t Ask Don’t Tell, compared to working under Gerrard. But Tommy didn’t plan on telling his brothers about all that. Not now, maybe not ever.

“You sure?” Mikey asked.

Tommy nodded.

“I still never shoulda said that shit,” said Mikey.

“Probably not,” said Tommy because he wasn’t there to placate his brother’s feelings. But there were also things he’d done that he wasn’t proud of. “There are things I wish I’d done differently too.”

“Can we eat before things get too emotional?” Tony asked. He snatched up his menu, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. Tommy wouldn’t have been surprised if his younger brother was boiling in his black leather jacket under the LA sun.

“Uh, yeah,” said Tommy, clearing his throat which had grown thick with threatening tears. “I know what I’m getting but take your time. Evan and I come here a lot so if you want any recommendations, let me know.”

“Evan’s your guy, right,” said Mikey, leaning forward in his seat to eagerly grab hold of an alternate conversational topic. “Your fiancé?”

Tommy couldn’t help the smile that tugged the corner of his lip at the reminder that Evan had agreed to spend the rest of their lives together, come what may. That Tommy trusted Evan enough to believe it was true, despite all the times in the past when his trust had been broken and stomped into the mud. “Yeah,” he said. “We, uh, don’t have a date set yet, but Evan’s getting really into the planning. He’s got a binder and everything.” For a moment, he entertained the idea of inviting them to the wedding. Evan probably would have, but Tommy didn’t want to pressure his brothers back into a relationship with him solely for the purposes of having them at his wedding.

Tony opened his mouth to say something, something Tommy suspected was going to be passive aggressive or snarky from what he’d seen so far. The waitress’s arrival granted Tommy a reprieve from whatever his brother had been about to say. Not that Tommy blamed Tony for being angry. Tommy couldn’t deny the fact that he’d abandoned his brothers after promising that they could all live with each other once he got back from the army. He’d had twenty years to make good on that promise and he hadn’t.

That wasn’t the kind of guilt that went away.

It festered.

It infiltrated the foundations of his being. For so long that guilt held him firmly in the belief that he didn’t deserve happiness, and it had taken a lot of therapy to unlearn that thinking. But, as with accepting his sexuality, divesting himself of his guilt wasn’t a linear process, and Tommy worried that if he didn’t try to make amends with his brothers, that guilt would grow again and bring his happiness tumbling down. And maybe that was selfish reasoning, wanting to fix things with his brothers so that he could enter this next chapter of his life with Evan carrying a little less baggage. But was it necessarily a bad reason?

Tommy placed his order on autopilot after his brothers put theirs in, giving the waitress a brief smile. “So,” he said once the waitress had taken their menus and gone back inside. “I know Mikey works in tech, but what about you, Tony?” Was it weird making small talk with his younger brother? Probably, but it seemed better to start small and work their way up to the enormous tangle at the centre of everything than to dive straight in.

Tony seemed to hold himself back from rolling his eyes as he fiddled with the packets of sweetener in the little tray at the centre of the table. The lines of black ink across his knuckles shifted with each movement, somewhat mesmerising. “I’m a tattoo artist,” he said. And that made sense, given the tattoos on his hands and poking up out of his shift collar.

“You always did like to draw,” said Tommy with a smile. “Do you like it?”

Tony shrugged, but there was that little hidden smile he used to get when he was a kid after showing Tommy a drawing that Dad had been dismissive of, and Mom had been too tired to more than glance at before telling him it was wonderful. Tommy had always made a point to ask Tony questions about his drawings and to listen carefully as his little brother explained it all in detail. “It makes people happy,” Tony said. “And I don’t know; it’s something permanent, something of mine that someone wanted enough to carry it with them for the rest of their life.” There was something wistful in his tone. Something haunted.

Tommy didn’t know if that was supposed to be a dig about him leaving. It felt like one but maybe he was being too sensitive about it. “That’s cool,” he said. “I’ll need to introduce you to Evan sometime. He likes tattoos.” Did that sound forced? Contrived? Pushy?

“We’ll see,” said Tony. He didn’t sound overly optimistic.

The waitress brought their drinks, and Tommy didn’t know how to move forward with Tony, who seemed determined to peel the label off his bottle of Jones Soda. So, Tommy turned to Mikey. “Tell me about your kids,” he said. That seemed relatively safe. People liked talking about their kids in his experience.

Mikey grinned and shimmied so he could grab his phone out.

“God, stop pretending like you care.”

Tommy froze, ice flooded his veins. There it was: the other shoe.

Tony was glaring at him openly now.

“I do care,” said Tommy. “Just because I left didn’t mean I stopped caring.”

“Yeah, cuz nothing says you care about a person like twenty years of radio silence,” Tony scoffed shaking his head so that his dark curls bounced into his eyes. He swept his hair out of his face as he leaned forward aggressively. “You don’t just get to waltz back into our lives like you did nothing wrong.”

“I never said I did nothing wrong,” said Tommy, trying to keep his voice even. It felt a bit like he was on the job, trying to keep a panicked patient calm. “I know I fucked up and I fucking regret it. I regret letting Dad drive me away. I regret ever listening to him.”

His brothers looked at him confused. “What are you talking about?” Mikey asked.

“What’s Dad got to do with it?” Tony asked.

Tommy blinked and then it dawned on him. “He didn’t tell you.” Tommy shook his head. And wasn’t that just typical Jonathan Kinard, manipulating his kids to drive them further apart.

“Tell us what?” Mikey asked. He loosened the knot on his tie.

“I came back,” said Tommy. It wasn’t something he liked to think about. And he hardly thought it counted because he’d let Jonathan Kinard send him running away again with his tail between his legs.

<h5>2006</h5>

<em>The house was a little worse for wear when he parked his truck in the driveway. The gutters needed cleaning and the lawn was overgrown. The vegetable garden out back was probably completely weeds and mutant carrots after three and a half years away.

Tommy was already halfway through compiling his mental to-do list when he caught himself. He wasn’t back for good. He was just here to invite his family to his shield ceremony. After getting out of the hospital and finishing PT for his leg and finding a treatment program for his PTSD, he’d joined the LAFD and graduated the academy. His probationary year was almost done and while he knew Gerrard wasn’t the type to throw a fancy shindig for his probies, Tommy was allowed to invite family to attend the ceremony.

And maybe this was a chance at a fresh start.

Tommy wasn’t a kid anymore. He was a decorated Army Veteran. He was almost a firefighter. Maybe, for the first time in his life, Dad would finally be proud of him.

Tommy hesitated at the door, not sure whether he should knock or let himself in. He still had his key, but it wasn’t his house anymore. And had it ever really felt like home? Tommy wasn’t even sure what home felt like.

He knocked.

At first, Tommy thought maybe no one was home, but then he heard his father’s distinctive groan as he got up from his recliner and stretched his bad back. Tommy’s stomach tied itself in knots. This wasn’t unexpected, but why was it that even after coming back from a war zone his father still had the power to make Tommy feel small with a single sound.

Tommy clenched his fists at his side as the front door opened, revealing his father in a dirty flannel shirt and stained jeans.

The first thing that struck Tommy was that his dad had to look up to meet his eye through the mesh of the storm door. Then his gaze fell on the deep circles under his father’s blood shot eyes, like he hadn’t slept in the three plus years since they’d last seen each other.

“Thought I told you not to bother coming back,” said Jonathan Kinard after recovering from a moment of wide-eyed shock.

Tommy shook his head, not sure why he’d let himself get his hopes up. “Are Mikey and Tony here?”

His dad shook his head, making no move to let Tommy inside the house.

“You know where they are?” Tommy asked.

“Why the fuck do you care?” Dad asked.

And it was always like this with Dad. Impossible to get a straight answer. Or an answer that wasn’t laced with hostility.

“My shield ceremony’s next month,” he said and it was hard to believe it had been a year and a half since that day in the hospital when Mikey and Tony had shown up out of the blue and asked to live with him and Tommy had gotten so overwhelmed by the sheer pressure of it all that he’d said no without explaining himself. Maybe he’d get a chance to explain now. “You guys should come. I think you’d like my captain.” Either that or Vincent Gerrard and Jonathan Kinard were too similar and would hate each other.

“Why are you so desperate to be liked?” Dad asked. “Always kissing ass, never taking the lead.”

“Okay, not sure what that has to do with my shield ceremony,” said Tommy. Though he was pretty sure he knew where this was going. And really, he should’ve seen this coming, saved himself the drive.

“You’re not man enough to do the hard work. Can’t handle being the bad guy. Bet you didn’t even think about following in your old man’s footsteps and joining the force because people hate the police but they love fire fighters,” Dad sneered. Not that Jonathan Kinard had been anything more than a desk sergeant since he’d hurt his back when Tommy was twelve.

“You know what, this was a waste of time.” Tommy turned away from his father and strode down the sagging front steps towards his truck.

“That’s right, run away you pansy-assed little faggot!” His father yelled at Tommy’s back. “We don’t need you. Your brothers and I are better off without you. They hate you, you know.”

And Tommy let himself believe that.</em>

<h5>2025</h5>

Tommy only told his brothers the bare minimum: that he’d driven up from LA to invite them to his shield ceremony, that they hadn’t been home, that their father had told him to leave, and they didn’t need him.

“He said you hated me,” Tommy finished. He stared down at his hands rather than look them in the eye.

“And you believed him?” Tony demanded.

Their food had arrived, but so far, no one had taken a single bite.

“T, come on give him a break,” said Mikey.

“No, Tony’s right,” said Tommy. “I shouldn’t have believed Dad. I shouldn’t have let him drive me away. I should have kept trying to see you.”

“Why didn’t you?” Tony asked. And that was fair enough.

Hell, Tommy had asked himself that same question countless times over the last two decades. How many times had he started driving up the coast towards his hometown only to talk himself out of it?

Too many.

“I got scared,” he admitted. “I let Dad get in my head, like I always do, and I got scared that it was true. That you wouldn’t want to see me again. That you hated me, because God knows I hated myself back then.”

His brothers stare at him silently for a long moment and Tommy wants to crawl out of his skin while he waits for someone to speak.

“I never hated you,” said Mikey. “Was I angry at you? Yeah. But I mostly just missed you, man.”

“I missed you too,” said Tommy. “So much.” But it was more Tony’s reaction he was interested in. Had he said enough to convince his younger brother that he was serious, that he cared, that he wanted them in his life if they were willing to try?

Mikey was an open book – kind of like Evan – but Tony was a different matter. His face remained closed off, body language tight and shrugged in like a shield against the world. “Twenty years,” he said.

“Yeah,” said Tommy because he didn’t know what else to say.

“We’re practically strangers,” said Tony. His jaw clenched.

“I’d like to change that,” said Tommy. “If you’ll let me.”

Tony looked up from his uneaten garden salad. Blue eyes a shade darker than Tommy’s own fixed him with a stare that bordered on a glare. “I was ten.”

“I know,” said Tommy, but saying sorry felt like it wouldn’t be good enough, like the words would be an empty shell, easily shattered.

“I’m still fucking pissed at you,” said Tony and his eyes glistened with tears.

“That’s fair,” said Tommy. It took every ounce of self-control he had not to go around the table and pull his younger brother into his arms. He had no idea if Tony would welcome that sort of thing or not.

Tony sniffed and tore his gaze away from Tommy. He picked up his fork and started stuffing salad greens in his mouth as though he had a personal vendetta against vegetables.

Tommy relaxed just a smidge, letting himself breathe out. He glanced over at Mikey. “What about you? You still pissed at me too?”

Mikey shook his head. “You still pissed at me?”

Tommy sighed. “I honestly don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know if I was ever really mad. You hurt me, but I get it. You wanted to get away from Dad and I promised I’d come back, and we’d live together, but that day in the hospital – I’d just got my discharge, and I was terrified. I had no idea what the fuck I was going to do next. I didn’t know what I’d be able to do. And when I wasn’t thinking about the future, I was back in Afghanistan thinking about everything that went wrong.”

His brothers didn’t say anything in response to that and Tommy honestly couldn’t think of anything he’d want to hear anyway. They lapsed into another silence as they ate.

When the waitress came and took their plates, Tony sat back in his chair, one leg splayed out to the side of the table. “You gonna talk to Dad?” he asked.

Mikey sucked in a sharp breath and tried to catch Tony’s eye, but Tony was staring at Tommy like a challenge.

“Has he changed?” Tommy asked.

Tony opened his mouth to say something and then seemed to think better of it. He shook his head.

“What about Noah and Simone?” Tommy asked. “I’d like to meet them.” He’d heard a bit about them from Mikey and Aunt Gina over the past couple months and they sounded like great kids, but hearing about them had only driven home the guilt. What kind of person never even bothered to go and meet his siblings? “They know about me?”

Tony shook his head. “They didn’t,” he said. “Not until the funeral. After you left and Dad threw a tantrum at the wake, Mikey and I had to tell them about you.” He got a look in his eye like that was not a particularly fun conversation to have had.

Mikey added. “After you got back from Afghanistan, Dad pretty much acted like you died. He got rid of all your stuff. I don’t think he even kept a picture of you. Then he got remarried and had new kids and it was like he wanted to pretend he’d never had a family before them. Like Tony and I were getting in the way of him living his life.”

“I know what that’s like,” said Tommy, though it stung to think that his brothers had faced that same scorn from their father that he’d known his entire life. “I don’t think Dad ever forgave me for being born.”

Tony’s eyes widened at that. “What do you mean?”

Tommy blinked at first confused, but of course. It made sense that Tony wouldn’t know. He’d been eight when Tommy left for the army. Would he even remember Jonathan Kinard telling Tommy he wished he’d never been born?

Tommy wasn’t really sure where to begin, so he ripped the band-aid off. “I was a mistake,” he said. “If Mom hadn’t gotten pregnant at eighteen, I don’t think Mom and Dad would’ve gotten married. Dad never forgave me for screwing up his plans. That’s why he hates me.”

“I thought it was because you were gay,” said Tony, agape.

Tommy shrugged. “Well, there’s that too. I think he knew before I did.” Tommy shook his head. “But anyway, no, I’m not going talk to Dad. I’ve spent too long getting his voice out of my head to let him back into my life.” A part of him wanted to reach out and lay a comforting hand on Tony’s arm. “But I understand if you still want him in your life,” he said. “He’s our dad. I may not ever want to see him again, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love him.” And he did, in a weird, residual sort of way. Not enough to compel him to try to invest any energy into repairing a relationship that had never really existed, but enough that it hurt to know that they could never have anything more than pain and anger between them.

They chatted a bit longer – well, mostly Mikey talked at them about his latest visit with his kids and how he’d really like for them to meet their Uncle Tommy and didn’t that just make Tommy feel all sorts of ways.

And then it was time for the café to close and they got up to leave, standing on the sidewalk to say goodbye.

Mikey favoured Tommy with a hug that seemed to be trying to crush twenty years of hugs into one. “I love you, man.”

“Love you, too, Mikey,” said Tommy. And then it was time to say goodbye to Tony and he wasn’t sure what to do, so he shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “It was good to see you,” he said. “Seems like you turned out okay.”

“No thanks to you,” said Tony, but it was said in a light-hearted tone that had none of the edge he’d had at the start of their lunch. “I’m still mad at you,” he added. “But I think I understand what happened a little better now.”

And really, that was a better outcome than Tommy had dared to hope for.

[no-phrogs-in-hats]

Baby Steps Part3

Larissa x Pregnant!reader

Summary: Larissa and the reader hear their baby's heartbeat for the first time

Warning: Light NSFW

Read Part 2 here

Your lips were on hers the second you stepped into the house. You grabbed and groped at her clothes, desperation taking over and guiding you every step of the way.

Larissa, who was enjoying every bit of it, tried to break away, only giggling as you pulled her back in. “Darling, please,” she chuckled. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Damn right, you’re not,” you grinned, pushing yourself closer as you made it to the bedroom. You only let her go once you were in the bathroom and she began preparing the bath as you undressed. In a satin robe, you stood at your side of the shared counter, removing your makeup and washing your face.

As you dried your face, you watched in the mirror as Larissa approached you and pushed herself closely into your back. You relished in the feeling of her lips close to your ear and her hands wandering your body. 

“The bath is ready when you are,” she breathed. 

You made eye contact with her through the mirror as you applied your moisturizer. “I’ll be there in a second, you go ahead–Larissa!”

A sharp smack landed on your ass and Larissa pressed a kiss to your neck. “I’ll be in the bath then…I love you.”

“There is something about you in this condition that makes me want to ravish every single inch of you.” Larissa’s voice came out softly in your ear and she began pressing light kisses just underneath it.

“It’s the pheromones,” you shrugged, grinning to yourself and leaning into her embrace. You tipped your head back onto her shoulder to give her a proper kiss. “What exactly do you want to do to every single inch of me?”

Her hands moved to your shoulders and began squeezing them, fingers digging into the flesh and working the knots out that sat deep in the muscles. You couldn’t hold back a groan and smiled, her voice lowering significantly. “I want to touch you…I want to kiss every square inch of your gorgeous body…I want to watch you shake underneath me before I’ve even properly touched you…And then, when you’re all worked up, I want to hold your legs open, make it impossible for you to close them, and fuck you until you’re a shaking mess.”

Standing up abruptly, you get out of the bathtub. “Alright, this bath is over, let’s go.”

January rolled around quickly and soon you were back in class teaching students who would rather do anything else than annotate Shakespearian plays. The eighth week of your pregnancy had the morning sickness at an all time high. The only thing you were able to stomach at breakfast was a cup of tea and your usual morning quickies with Larissa were replaced with her holding your hair back as you retched into the toilet.

Larissa stocked up on plenty of Saltines and oyster crackers–some of the only foods you could have at lunch that wouldn’t result in vomiting it up the class period after. By dinner, the nausea had subsided and you could have something heavier–mainly grilled cheese and tomato soup. You had that same meal every single night for a whole week with how bad your cravings were.

In February, by the thirteenth week, the morning sickness had subsided almost completely. And, as a result, your cravings grew worse. Slushies from a nearby gas station were your lunch almost every day, and you were pained when you began to crave smoked salmon.

“Larissa, I can’t handle this.” You sat in her office at lunch, drinking your third slushie of the week. “I can’t stop craving smoked salmon. I need it. I need it like I need air.”

Larissa chuckled. “You’ll get over it, sweet pea.”

“Will I, Larissa??” you said dramatically. “Will I??”

 You sat in the waiting room of the obstetrics office with Larissa, both of you anticipating the appointment where you’d finally hear the heartbeat. Between your bump finally showing, to hearing the heartbeat for the first time, your own heart was racing with excitement.

Your name was called and your vitals were taken before the nurse took you back to the room. “The sonographer should be here soon.”

Laying down on the table, you lifted your shirt and unbuttoned your pants for the sonographer to squeeze the gel onto your stomach. Larissa held your hand and you both watched the screen closely as the doppler pressed into your abdomen hard.

“Alright, there are your ovaries, your uterus, and…there’s your baby! A strong heartbeat too! It’s a good sign!”

It was like no other feeling. The sound of the heartbeat filled your ears and it was like a sweet melody. A smile was painted on your face, unwavering even as the sonographer wiped the gel off of you.

“If you go to reception you can go ahead and schedule your twenty week ultrasound to find out the sex of the baby,” the sonographer said before escorting you out.

“Are you crying?” Larissa asked.

Sitting in the passenger seat, you wiped your eyes quickly. “It’s the hormones! I swear! Oh God…I did not expect this reaction to hearing the heartbeat.”

You decided on the Weathervane for lunch, choosing a booth in the back where you devoured a grilled cheese and french fries. 

“So,” Larissa began, “do you think it’ll be a boy or a girl?”

You thought hard, listening to your intuition carefully. “A girl.”

“Is that wishful thinking?” Larissa asked. 

“No!” you gasped. “I genuinely think it’ll be a girl!”

Larissa giggled and took a sip of her hot chocolate. “Well, I think it’ll be a boy.”

“You’re just saying that to disagree with me,” you said. 

“How dare you!” Larissa said in mock outrage. “I would never do such a thing!”

You were both quiet, dropping the subject momentarily before you brought it up one last time.

“I bet ten dollars it’ll be a girl.”

“Fifteen that it’s a boy.”

“You’re on.”

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