#they just live in my head in a void 👍

[paterday]

I want to have a story for marrow nd vern but I have too many ideas and no ideas at the same time

[gay-dorito-dust]

I'm curious, how did wade and logan meet isekai gremlin reader? Did reader just fall from the sky and landed beside the two unharmed? We know wade breaks the fourth evrytime because his sentient and logan had seen worse sp if reader just straight up tells the two that they are from another universe the two would just😐👍okay. They woulb be ubothered by it

Wade and Logan first met you when they were having shawarma. It was a nice day, nothing could possibly go wrong until…

‘Ow fuck!’ You groaned as you got up from a seemingly never ending fall through the void, only to realised that you didn’t hurt as badly as you thought you did when you went to run your arm. ‘Don’t know why I said ow fuck when that didn’t actually hurt being with.’ You then murmur to yourself as you looked up to see the portal you fell from close assumably forever.

‘Did god kick you out of heaven little angel? Did you do something naughty? Blasphemous even?’ Wade asked, swallowing his last bit of shawarma, wiping himself down before he let Dogpool run your feet as you smiled down at the cutes dog you’ve ever seen. Some would say she’s ugly, the most ugliest dog they’ve ever met, but to you she’s perfect with her lopsided tongue and scruffy appearance.

‘He fucking wishes but no, I’m not an angel nor did I come from heaven.’ You told Wade as you picked up Dogpool, unbothered by the excessive licking to the face, you’d like to call it her showing you her unconditional love and affection.

‘Then where did you come from?’ Logan asked, completely unfazed by this and the dog licking your face excessively.

You shrug, not caring whether you sounded nuts for saying it. ‘Another dimension.’ You proclaimed.

Wade and Logan looked at each other before looking at you again.

‘Ah! Another overused and abused Isekai trope fanfic, like that’s surprising to anyone reading this.’ Wade then said to no one in particular.

‘The fuck is that supposed to mean scrotum face?’ You replied, holding Dogpool closer in your arms when you noticed that Wade was planing on taking her off your hands, no one was going to take this cute doggy from your hands, you’ve only met this cutie and you’d kill everyone before killing yourself if anything happened to her.

‘Look bub, Wade over here talks out of his ass, so it’s best not to take anything he says seriously.’ Logan answered for you as he got up from his seat groaning. He’s been alive for far too long to act surprised at anything at this point. A pig could sprout wings or suddenly talk and Logan wouldn’t find this out of the ordinary, that or he just was too tired and perpetually annoyed at everything to feel anything outside of that.

‘Now that our meet cute is over and done with, papa is going to need his little Mary Poppins back now.’ Wade reached out to grab Dogpool but you took a step back, still holding her close to your chest.

‘No.’ You told him. ‘She’s my Mary Poppins now.’

Wade gasps ‘are we entering our enemies to friends to lovers, 300k words, slow burn phase?’

You looked to Logan who only shrugs his shoulders. ‘I’ve got not a fucking clue what he just said just now.’ You then looked back to Wade and then little Dogpool, who was still licking your face, before deciding to bolt down the street. ‘YOU’ll never take me alive!’

You could hear Wade and Logan simultaneously cursing as they proceeded to follow after you, and at one point you could’ve sworn you heard Wade yell, ‘MY BABY! PAPA AND PAPA ARE COMING SWEETIE DONT WORRY!’ Before hearing Logan hit him in the back of the head saying, ‘damn it Wade! I ain’t no damn papa!’

You couldn’t help but laugh as you, with Dogpool in your arms, continued to run as far as you could with no real destination in mind, maybe this new dimension wouldn’t be so bad if this is how you got to live everyday. You couldn’t mind it one bit.

[ieatangstforbreakfast]

Pairing ೃ⁀➷ 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝟒𝟐! 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 x Fem! Reader

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Lovers have secrets of their own, no matter how much they come to trust each other, whether it be a past mistake or an unspoken trauma. For you and Miles, however, your secrets came in the form of hidden identities— one being a masked vigilante, and the other a mastermind.

Genre ೃ⁀➷ Forbidden love, mutual pining, angst♡

Tags ೃ⁀➷ Both are artists, reader is from a very wealthy family, both are living double lives, underaged smoking, reader is female and uses she/her pronouns, forbidden love (ish?), swearing, daddy issues, mommy issues, reader is unhinged, both are mentally unstable, lots of flirting.

Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ l went through like a fuck ton of shit [Broke up with my boyfriend of two years, entrance exam, and uh I lost some friends] and 2024’s barely started lol sorry for the late update, i am,,, extremely deep in hurting 👍

Tag list ೃ⁀➷ @sakura-onesan @coffeeandtealol @luvjunie @noetophat @proudgojofucker @depresssedcowboy @adorefavv @l0starl @your-girl-mj @nyumeii @iheartamajiki @yoluv-tiannaaa--212 @bakauwu @callsignwidow

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟐: 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐎𝐧 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Miles and Eddie make an exchange. A certain nightmare plagues his thoughts. Your insanity unfolds, and so does Miles’ suspicions.

[Warning: Blasphemy, mentioned of fucked up things and crimes, deranged thinking]

MASTERLIST

Previous chapter || Next chapter

“Miles, what would make you hate me?”

The memory was so long ago. Well, to be exact, perhaps it’s been a month or two since it happened. Miles could still so clearly remember the way you leaned your head against the damp wall, your eyes far off into the void of whatever haunted you. At that time, his feelings had been but a spark budding within his chest ever so delicately, a butterfly ripping out of its cocoon in his stomach.

“I don’t know.” Miles whispered into the air. “I don’t think it’s possible to truly hate a person when you know them personally.”

At that moment, you looked at him, with your head half-buried within your hood.

“Why’s that?” You asked, fiddling with the ends of your hoodie.

Miles took a moment to think about how to word his answer.

“When you recognize someone enough to know that they’re not evil people who’d do random shit for shits and giggles, you learn to realize that they’re not really a monster.. At least, not as much as they seem.” His lingering gaze travels towards the ample of your cheek. “I can’t hate you when I know you. You’ve got a name, and you’re somebody’s sister, daughter.. Well, you don’t have to be all that. You just need to be somebody, and you’re somebody to me, and that alone’s the reason why I can never hate you.”

“That’s.. Interesting.” You whispered. “So technically, you humanize your enemies.”

“That’s one weird way to put it, but yeah.”

“But what if it’s a façade?” The words rolled off your tongue seamlessly. “What if.. They’re not exactly the person you thought they were. What if they’ve done more harm than good?”

He thinks about it for a moment.

“It’s not my job to humanize people. People humanize themselves.” Miles answered. “If there’s truly nothing at all about this person that makes them human, or makes me feel like they still have a relatively active conscience inside of them.. I can’t.”

“So you’re saying thay if they’re not human, you’ll hate them?”

“No!” He rapidly shook his head.

“No, ‘cause Miles, I’ll be fair with you. Ion think there’s anything more monstrous than humanity. We are our own enemies. Nothing else causes more pain to a human other than its own body or its own kind, which is why hatred is such a natural thing.”

“Hatred is a natural thing for you, because you grew up only having to think about yourself.”

“Because if not me, then who would?” You spewed. You didn’t mean to sound overtly bitter, but you were. “Unlike you, Miles, my family ain’t the shit. It’s me against the world always— I-If, had I gotten a remote opportunity to care about anyone other than myself, maybe I wouldn’t be this hateful.”

“Well, you got a chance now.”

“How so?”

“You got me.”

You paused, wondering if you’ve heard correctly.

“… I’ve got you?”

Whatever did that statement mean? You’ve heard about a million pick-up lines, but what the hell was this?

“F’course you do. We’re friends.”

Friends.

“Friends?” Just friends?

Miles hums. “Buddies. Amigos.”

Ah, right, that’s how it always starts. Just friends.

Miles snuck his hand into one of his pockets, plucking out something round that you were too lost in your haze to even notice. He seems to fiddle with it for a moment, digging his fingers into its plush before nudging it towards you.

“You want some?”

You turned around and realized he’d peeled you an orange. “.. What.. These are so expensive these days. How’d you even get one?” Your hand reaches out for the fruit, examining its tiny size. You’d heard about the sudden inflation of prices, so fruits inevitably turned into a luxury for most. Miles parts the mandarin and places the larger half on top of your hand.

“.. I stole one from my neighbor’s garden. God did say generous people prosper, so I did him a favor.”

“I’m pretty sure there was a ‘thou shall not steal’ in one of the commandments, Miles.” You laughed, plopping a piece atop your tongue. The tangy, sweet, yet sour flavor bursts right in, making you grimace ever so lightly. “Oh, that’s sour.”

Miles took after you, similarly cringing. “Eugh.”

“It’s probably not all that ripe yet. It’s fine though,” You plopped another into your mouth. “I like oranges— sour things as a whole. They snap me back into life.”

“That sounds sad.” He mumbled, turning to look at you. “Kinda worrying, if you ask me.”

“Well, I wasn’t asking.” You plucked out one of the seeds from your teeth.

“Right, ‘cause you never ask.” Miles took another bite. “You only answer.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know.” Miles shrugged. “I like saying random shit to tick you off.”

You rolled your eyes, trudging your way up from the floor as you staggered from the cold. “Thanks for the orange, Miles.” Running a hand through your hair, you looked out and sighed. He couldn’t help but feel surprised at the lack of your sass.

“You’re welcome, princesa.”

Your brow cringed. “Don’t call me that.”

His finger twitches. He watched as you froze for a moment, turning to look at him. With gentle steps, you approached and leaned down— tufts of your hair brushing against the temple of his forehead. At that moment, he swallows while taking in the scent of your perfume and its ridiculously sweet stench. How could everything about you be so sweet?

You plucked your pen out of his hands. “This is mine.” You reminded of him. Miles didn’t utter a single word til’ your eyes met. Even in the darkness, you saw, but you ignored— well, rather, you tried to ignore it, but it stung.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

Miles turned his head, forcibly pushing down the butterflies fluttering like haywire in his stomach.

Hands clammy, heart haywire, eyes unable to meet yours.

“Sure, whatever.”

That day ended there, but Miles knew then. He knew.

Eddie Brock couldn't look past the television store, as his eyes were drawn completely to the news. Not that he couldn't afford a paper, or a gadget of his own— he was simply nervous, figdety, and this ominous pit that holed itself into his stomach unnerved him like a pig carved up for the butcher. He'd known of the news already, honestly, something along the lines of the daily murders and crimes that weren't all too unusual to be fair, and rather than the screen's bright technicolored themes, he was hyper focused entirely on one thing.

The face of Will Barlowe, the almighty senator. Eddie had long been staring at that man's creased, brown skin and slick, blonde hair that was fading into this falsified shade of platinum all because of his whitening strands.

Damn the rich, all of them.

Eddie was no one, like everyone else. A drop of water in the ocean, a needle in a haystack. He was one, like the rest, with the hard workers who carried the economy with their white, blue, pink-collared jobs. He thrived, initially, three years ago. He was an activist then— a journalist in a crisp collared shirt and black dress pants, warning the young about the dangers of climate change, and speaking outwardly in regard to politics.

Now, he was nothing more but a wrinkled jacket-wearing, eccentric and amusing conspiracy theorist scraping the tiniest bits of his dignity to post videos on Facebook or Youtube shorts about how fucked up and dystopian America's grown to become.

When the Prowler, the younger one, decidedly linked him a location allegedly shared by the elites, Eddie wanted to think of it as a chance to shine, to end everything once and for all, and to avenge Anna. For Anna, and for what could’ve been their happy, serene life. But when he arrived, painstakingly clad in plaid while forging the identity of a lost tourist, he was disappointed entirely to find out that the warehouse had been burnt down.

He could still recall the charcoaled crevices of what could’ve been his salvation— that masked boy, the Prowler, promised him salvation in a what-could’ve-been some rich guy’s attempt of a house barbecue.

“Did I make ya wait long?”

A voice reminiscent of a growl. That same shade of neon magenta lingered, popping like a change of color in the melancholy of great Harlem. Eddie tries not to look, but the presence of the boy simmered like fire even as he hung like a spider from the ceiling. He was always like that— the Prowler. The boy was a tall, lanky thing who walked and talked suave. Dominican, he initially assumed. Eddie figured this little vigilante was likely a high schooler with hopes consequently dimmed by the recession.

“Nope.” Eddie attempted to appeal cooly, instead, he only crumbled more. “I’d been watching the news this whole time, tryna check if there was anything about the fire.”

He hears a metal click. “They prolly wouldn’t say nothin’. See, if they didn’t wanna hide it, it’d be all over the television. But it ain’t there, so that means the Chávez’s are hiding the fire from the other families. They prolly paid the witnesses to keep their mouths shut or bribed all the television networks to say it’s some barbecue party gone bad.”

A few passersby couldn’t help but squeak at the sight of the infamous vigilante hanging from a store sign, but they all seemed to know better than approaching him. Trouble was wherever he was, after all, or something the daily bugle said along those lines. They shared glances, sure. Curious, amused glances like how people would marvel at a lion in a zoo.

“It’s,” Eddie finally looked at him. “it’s something ‘bout the Chávez’s?”

With a momentary pause, the Prowler released his grip from the metal poles and dangled down for a second before decidedly letting his feet hit the ground. He was tall— truly, around an inch or two taller than grouchy Eddie. His braids seemed much longer than he’d last seen them. Did he recently get them redone?

“.. That’s right.” Prowler hummed. “.. But we might wanna move some place else to have this conversation, Mr. Brock.”

And where the cat went, curiosity followed down as it made its way to the dark alleyways.

Eddie had a million questions, like any other normal being. The Chávez’s, the Primos, the Barlowes, the Fisks, the Osborns, and all of the other wealthy families connected to one another were all listed down on his kill bill naturally, and he’d been dreaming about the day of crossing out their names with ink made from their blood. Cliché, but a threat either way. Eddie wasn’t a writer, but a journalist anyways. Creativity in terms of wording his hatred was limited and it wasn’t his forte.

“In your past facebook post, you mentioned the Chávez’s briefly,” The boy began, halting by the corner dampened by rain. “I need information about the whole family.”

“… Aren’t you supposed to know the basic information about your enemies?”

“If it were that easy, I wouldn’t be needing your help.” The two white shapes that proxied as his eyes narrowed, grimacing ever so lightly. “There’s little information about them in the black market, and within the scarcity, most of them aren’t factual.”

“They’re rich enough to be able to squander their wealth on silencing people,” Eddie kicked at a can. “Of course no one knows, but I do.”

“How so?”

Picking at something in between his cheek, Eddie sighed a long sigh.

“… My wife worked as their private attorney.”

He watched the boy take a step back. “.. Your wife?”

“Yeah.” Eddie nodded. “My wife, Anna. She was taught to keep silent about their crimes, and to find a loophole in every case.” A lump formed in his throat.

The Prowler stared. He couldn’t make out whether it was an empathetic or judgmental one. “.. So your wife covered up the Chávez’s crimes?”

“A part of it.” Eddie mumbled. “There’s more to the elite than we know, Anna had to burn her files after every case, so she couldn’t snitch or post them after she quits.”

His head turns. “… I see.”

He sees the boy shift, weirdly, fidgety. He couldn’t particularly describe the unease this young vigilante conveyed. It was almost like he was on the verge of asking something, but his mask made it harder to read what he was desperate to know about.

“.. So can you tell me?”

A simmering silence sunk into the gaps of their conversation.

“What’s in it for me?” Eddie asked, knowing he shouldn’t have, as it was obvious and painstakingly accusatory.

“Why do we have to have transactions when it comes to justice?”

Eddie paced. “Capitalism.”

“Fair point.” The Prowler sighed, rocking on the ends of his neon shoes. “Well, what d’ya want?”

Eddie thinks, and thinks. What could a conspiracy theorist— no, a journalist want? Could he ask for a man’s death? The head of Barlowe? The head of Chávez? Or could that only be achieved after this gamble? He looked at this boy, and Eddie pictured this teenager basking his hands in blood.

What would make him any different from the elites?

“… When you went to the warehouse, you guys.. Took evidence? Even a USB, right?”

He stared. “Yeah, we dug it up and we tried sending it to every news outlet we could find.. All of them rejected the information.”

“Why?” Eddie furrowed his brow. “Was the information incomplete? Did you send the evidence beneath a credible name as a source?”

“Credible name?”

“Yeah, if the information comes from a credible source, they might do something about it. Likewise, if the information is complete, they might take the risk, after all, the Chávez’s are old money, and they have a lot of influence in regard to politics. If they publish anything against them, without complete information, or if you’re just a bunch of trespassers regarded as criminals by the media,” Eddie held out a finger. “Someone will get shot.”

The boy swallowed.

“If not you, if not your partner, it’s the journalist. Always the journalist.”

And Eddie’s seen too much of his co-workers wound up as mere victims in a headline. ‘Journalist shot dead.’

And he didn’t want his name to be reduced to a John Doe in one of the many causes people are too afraid to fight for.

“… I’ll tell you all about the Chávez’s, if you give me the records you stole from the warehouse.”

The Prowler stood, seemingly caught up in his thoughts for a moment. “.. Okay, but I’m telling you, don’t make a large move without consulting me first.”

“I still want my head attached to my head, of course I’ll consult y’all first.” Eddie chuckled, his fingers pouring into his pockets. “Then, what do you want to know about the Chávez’s?”

Without missing a beat, he answered.

“You can give me all you got. Recent scandals, fuck ups.. Perhaps, you got anything from the collapse of the Aureum building three years ago?”

“The Aureum building,” Eddie echoed, reminiscing like a veteran released from war. “That was the messiest thing I’ve ever witnessed in the last ten years. The lawsuits, the bribes, and the social media mayhem—“

“The deaths.” Miles cringed, remembering his father. “Surely, that was the most fucked up thing.”

“Aside from the architecture? Sure.” Eddie pulled out a box of cigars from his pocket, wringing out a single stick. “Weak scaffolding, quick-dry cement.. Put two and two together, and everything collapsed as soon as the opening began.”

Miles wallowed, grimacing at the sight of the habit. “Could it have been planned?”

With a flick of his lighter, Eddie took one breath in and sighed. “Could? There’s no ‘could’, boy, it was planned.”

Planned? Planned by who?

Were the Chávez’s really masters at self-sabotage? Or were their enemies really just each other?

“You see, the Chávez’s specialize in human trafficking, slave trade, and child labor. The people they ship work tirelessly for other businesses without a fee— because we, you and I and the rest of us who had the freedom to earn education, refused to work under hellish circumstances and poor environments. Without us, precisely, without the poor, the rich are nothing.”

“Then the Aureum building?”

“The Aureum building was a cover-up for a bigger scandal.” Eddie tilted his head. “The people inside were likely witnesses, or people who knew about the human trafficking.. And when the building collapsed, they sued the construction companies involved, got the money, but damaged their reputation.. And I don’t see why they’d do all of that just to damage their reputation.”

Miles pondered and pondered.

“.. It was probably someone from inside the family who planned everything.”

“That’s what I think so too.” Eddie added, blowing off another puff of intoxicating smoke. “Someone who won’t suffer from the damaged reputation.. Yet someone who still manages to benefit from it all financially.”

“… Could it be.. Any one of the siblings?”

Eddie takes a step back, likely thinking about it. “.. Well, the other one’s in London, the other one’s too stupid, and the last’s a minor.”

“Minor?” Miles repeated. “How young are we talking?”

“.. Well, the last time I heard about the girl.. She was thirteen, and it’s been three years since then, so she’s probably fifteen to sixteen.”

It’s not as though a thirteen year old could possibly plan out such a meticulous plan… Well maybe, or maybe not, it’s not as though Miles was the only genius capable of great things.

“You know any of their names?”

“Names.” Eddie furrowed his brow. “The last girl’s protected by the law, since it’s illegal to paparazzi minors.. But the first two are Montrell and Anthony.”

Montrell. Mon. Three children. Two older brothers. One girl. Sixteen, sixteen years old just like you.

Miles swallowed.

It’s as though he could feel your hands blocking your vision, whispering sweet nothings into his ear.

He falters, alerting Eddie. “What’s wrong?”

“.. My head just hurts.” He mumbled, turning his head. “I think I kinda overworked myself. I still got a date.. Need to.. Rest.”

“Date?” Eddie blew. “That’s right. You’re quite famous, ain’t you?”

Miles rolled his eyes, able to freely express his distaste for the supposed compliment behind his mask. “I try not to be, don’t wanna make her think about it too much. The broad shoulders don’t help as much, though.”

“She know all ‘bout your..” With his cigarette squeezed between his ring, Eddie gestured at him. “Your little vigilante thing?”

Leaning his head against the brick wall, Miles crossed his arms and shrugged. “She better not. Don’t wanna make her daddy even madder.” He lowers his gaze a bit, his mask naturally zooming into the title of Eddie’s cigarette box. It was the same brand as your brother’s, likely a different flavor. Mint or something. Everyone around him smoked too much.

“She from the finer part of York or what?”

“The finest.” He recalls your brother’s luxury car. “.. But I think she’s tryna hide it.”

Eddie plucks the cigar out his teeth, a sort of accusatory yet mundane expression scribbled all over his scruffy face. Eventually, he laughs it off. “That’s all of what’s wrong with our society. The poor pretend to be rich and the rich pretend to be poor. They like romanticizing poverty but likely won’t be able to find comfort if they walked in our shoes for ‘bout a damn mile.”

“She ain’t nun like that.” Miles butted in. “She’s sweet, my girl. Cruel, sometimes, but that’s how ladies gotta be from time to time— seeing as how the world fucks them up every now and then.”

“.. That your first date?” Eddie asked.

“I guess. We’re kissing, but we got no label.”

Eddie scoffed an old man’s scoff. “Your generation’s got me fucked up. Y’all and your situationship bullshittery.”

“It ain’t like that.”

“It’s always like that.” Eddie narrowed his eyes. Miles similarly cringed, wondering how Eddie could be so bitter— having to remind himself seconds later that the man’s poor wife was dead. Dead as hell. As dead as his father. “If she can’t even be upfront about her wealth, she’s likely hiding something from you.”

“My man, I’m lucky she even looked my way. You know nun ‘bout her, don’t be like that.”

“And what if she’s from the oligarchy, huh?” Eddie exaggerated. “What if she’s a Fisk? A Barlowe? Hell, even worse, what if she’s a Chávez?”

Miles didn’t reply.

As the puff of smoke emanated through the damp air, suddenly, Miles pictured you holding a cigarette while grinning at him wickedly— and somehow, that tantalizing air.. Suited you like the slip of a glove.

“I’m just kidding w’ya, man.” Eddie laughed, flicking the cigarette away, crushing it with the sole of his wrinkled boot.

“Ain’t funny, Ed.” Miles grumbled. “People I loved died in Aureum.”

“But she’s still rich, though. You can never be too sure ‘bout the kind of secrets her family’s keeping. If push comes to shove, will you still be able to love her if you do find out that her family’s fucked up?”

“Stop it.” He angrily seethed. “Stop.”

Eddie watched with a certain stank in his eye.

“… Y’know, there’s a rumor that one of the Chávez kids are illegitimate.”

.. Miles left seconds after.

It’d not been his greatest day, and earnestly speaking, his gut’s been clamoring at him to listen, only for him to reject its pleas. He’d thought about listening— to whatever higher being was calling upon him to stray away from you.

His Mama told him to pray throughout his struggles. She’d not been a zealot, his mother. But she was no stranger to the novena, to pray and to call for help in such long days. He’d been subjected to it early on: the novenas, the masses, the lingering of frankincense in the air. Though she never truly coerced him to participate in the church, Miles simply titter-tottered throughout those dull Sunday evenings.

He didn’t want some higher being to stop him from becoming a horrible person; Miles wanted to be good on his own accord.

But you.. You made him question. Not you, but himself.

Though his dad always told him to question everything while he’s young, Miles couldn’t question you. How could ever question you?

An illegitimate child. Which one was it?

Your brothers, who had everything?

Or you, who had nothing?

And although Eddie left the alleyway unscathed, Miles felt that blood had stained his hands.

And you could still taste blood in your mouth.

You could still hear the crunch of that man’s neck echoing in your ears, his tiny pleads of self-preservation before the snap to his death. It rang and rang behind your eyes, between your ears, like a haunting melody you couldn’t help but repeat.

The memory of his fear merely energized your veins, but left you gawking in dauntness even as you worked your way through the hotel— showing Montrell the ropes and tending to the preparations for the upcoming charity event. The snap, the way it snapped— the way his neck snapped was a musical lyric that pulsed and pulsed in your mind.

Snap.

Snap.

ＳＮＡＰ.

The idea of fear intrigued you, cannibalism, however, not so much. The symbiote immensely argued with you, that it wasn’t your body in particular feasting on human flesh, but the symbiote itself. It needed to be fed, and it needed sustenance— but you didn’t know where else to find that sustenance.

“Miss?” Charlotte, the head housekeeper called out to you, snapping you back from the profanities of your mind.

Suddenly, you’re back staring at the new, tall, stained-glass windows— basking you in the glory of pale lights in shades of ethereal yellow and blue. It’s been under construction for quite a while now, but after your father had approved of the idea, you were willing to wait long enough to see its outcome. You’d only gotten the news just a few hours ago in regard to its completion, and now you’ve been staring at it for a while now.

“Yes?” You stifled airily, wallowing in a hundred emotions.

Charlotte bows her head for a moment, unveiling an approaching guest.

Before you could even process to question who it was, Montrell and his gentle eyes appeared before you. He seems to marvel at the windows before you as he takes another step up the stairs.

“Wow,” He huffed. “Is this.. Your design?”

You simply looked at the window with crossed arms and a smile. “I couldn’t forget about the windows when we went to Veronica’s wedding. I liked.. The colors and the drama it endowed.” You smiled, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “.. This was my final project in the hotel.. I’ve done so much to rebrand everything, but we still can’t do much ‘bout what happened in the past.”

The lights dawned upon the both of you.

“Does it hold any special meaning?” He asks.

You shrugged. “It varies on the person, I guess. I think, those who don’t really know me will try to put meaning into all that I do, but those who really know me know that my art is plainly.. Meant for aesthetic.”

Montrell frowned. “How can you make art without passion?”

“.. You pick up a pen.” You carved a smile. “And you just draw.”

You draw, and you draw. Carved it in, like how a knife would pierce a sack of flesh. Murder the canvas with each stroke, and if they ask you ‘why?’, answer with ‘why not?’.

“I think.. Only Miles can place meaning in my art. After all, my passion resides in him.”

“Like a proxy.” Montrell darkly laughed, shaking his head. “.. I wonder how hard you’d break once you lose him.”

You turned your head to look at your brother’s charming face.

“Is that a threat?”

“A warning,” He remarked. “After all, how could he ever love you once he realizes that our family’s responsible for his father’s death?”

You turned your head back to the windows. “… I feel guilty, actually. I don’t really know how to approach Miles if he ever comes to realize my identity.”

“.. Don’t you feel lonely having to constantly push away the people you love?”

You shrugged. “I’m a pretty girl. Pretty girls are never lonely.”

“Sure.”

Montrell looked at you. To be precise, he eyed you, and he looked at the way you casted your eyes downward. From a mile away, one would believe you fostered insecurity and shame in the way you’d stare, but knowing you and the way you were, that downcast gaze of yours imbued disinterest and a heightened sense of.. Superiority.

No matter how hard you try to appear empathetic, you were always and inevitably still a Chávez. Even in the way you pursed your rouged lips, or spoke with eloquence, or held your head high.. You and your siblings, who were forged to become heartless from the beginning, were never bound to be kind.. Or good.

But could Miles do it?

Could he actually change you? Humanize you?

Make you kind and loving, and normal?

You tightened your grip over your arm. “I.. Was going to escape tonight, originally.. For our date. He wanted us to have a halloween date. It’s so dorky. He’s so dorky.” The way you fawned was genuine, though. He could see it so clearly. “But after daddy mentioned the USB, I didn’t know how to face him without feeling guilty.. I came to meet Miles with the intention of using him to get his dead dad’s stuff but I ended up.. Falling for him. I never knew I was capable of feeling like this.”

“.. When we’re too busy to survive, it feels frustrating to have to care for someone else. That’s why our family doesn’t feel like one.” Montrell whispered.

“We’re not a Greek tragedy.”

“Exactly, which would mean,” He turns to you. “You’re likely still savable, [N/n].”

You lightly winced. “.. I haven’t heard that nickname since I was twelve.”

Your brother chuckles at the reminder. “.. We called you that since you couldn’t pronounce your name when you were three.” Montrell heaved a long breath, as though he were a dreamer reminiscing the times. Ah, he truly is a sucker for what’s long gone, huh? “Antonne and I were so excited to have you. Your first word was my name, actually, Mon. I had to sneak up into your cradle every night just to make you practice say my name. Mama used to hold you in her arms whenever I got home from school, and she used to read out my cards with you in her other hands ‘cause you were one energetic kid.”

Oh, so like a normal family?

We were capable of having that this whole time?

…

“[Y/n]?”

You snapped yourself back to reality, Montrell’s voice leading you out of your internal monologue. “Did you hear my question?” He queried. “You kinda zoned out there.”

“Sorry, I was thinking ‘bout something. You were saying?”

“Once you get the USB.. Are you going to leave him?”

The question seemed far fetched from the previous topic, which caught you off-guard. You turn your head. “.. I don’t know. I’d rather make him hate me, and have him leave me first, because I don’t think I can ever bring it upon myself to leave him.”

Such a romantic.

“Do you think you can handle it?”

“.. It’s not a question of whether I can handle it, it’s a question of whether Miles can handle it.”

Montrell murmured. “.. What if he gets revenge?”

“Revenge?” You repeated, the idea sounding funnily dramatic. “Revenge on me? I didn’t throw that building over his father’s head.”

“Ah, yes, but there’s a thing called karma.” Montrell spoke as thought to remind you. “It’ll be out there to get you, or at least, that’s what I’ve heard.”

You couldn’t help but aimlessly ponder. “… Why do poor people believe in futile things such as karma?”

The way you worded it, and the way it exited your tongue seemed unusually natural. Montrell, who’s been too used to such words, only shrugged. “Cause there’s nothing else to save them. That’s why they have a god, [Y/n]. They can’t save themselves, and so that’s why they believe something otherworldly will.”

Before you could speak, Montrell looked out into the glass windows before turning to you.

“Speaking of which, I think you should use daffodils for the upcoming party.”

“.. Daffodils?” You repeated.

Your brother nods. “Yes. I find them to be quite lovely.”

Since when did he have an interest in flowers? You internally squirmed. “Where the hell am I going to get daffodils in autumn?” You groaned. “We can use other yellow flowers for the golden theme.”

“Well, you’re not in charge anymore.” Was his attempt of a tease. “Surely there are still daffodils here in this season. We’ll have to find the best greenhouse in town.”

“But why?”

“Because I said so.”

You sweetly casted a glance at him, smiling as a thought crowed at you.

A sharp pain shoots through Miles’ head. A pulsing, familiar pain— resembling a bullet, dove straight into his subconscious.

He stumbles back as darkness clouds his vision, a sort of slithering and slimy feeling coursing through his system like a snake seething beneath his skin. His heart was hammering against his chest. It was like that time during the warehouse, where he felt genuinely uneasy and unsettled. The eyes of that figure behind the window, watching him tremulously stare back.

In the cage of his mind, Miles finds himself inside a dark void— where the silence was loud enough to hear the sound of a pin drop.

Then there was this drumming.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The melody was unfamiliar, but the voice nostalgic. Miles crawled amidst the darkness, searching for the voice, only to look up and catch the sight of a pristine, delicately made shoe. It kicked against the front of a desk, making a rhythmic pattern. Thump. Thump. Thump. With each passing moment, his eyes continued to linger upward, from the shoe, to a leg, to a waist, to your pretty face.

You sat there, above the desk, with your pretty hair and your pretty eyes, puckering up your pretty lips along with the song. You were so idly calm, so leisure while singing so softly, he could hardly make out the words exiting your mouth. A dim, green light cascaded against the silhouette of your figure, further accentuating the pink of your lips and the darkening of your gaze.

You smiled, but your eyes held nothing. Like you never knew what kindness was, even in his presence. You never looked at him like that before— like you hated him enough that you wanted him to die.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The thumping was growing faster and faster with each second. Upon seeing his struggle, a stifled laugh laces the lyrics.

Miles tried to move, but his whole body writhed in pain— like he was beaten, defeated. His arms itched in burns and scars. With the sound of your hum, Miles looks up, only to see you cross your arms before your chest, the tip of your shoe gently grazing against the skin of his temple. He feels as though he was being watched, idly, by an audience that had no interest at all in intervening. Like everyone was amused to see him.. Kneeling before you.

Click. Click. Click. The cutter clicked in your palm as the blade rose higher.

It’s like your presence alone was enough to blind him, and his conscience kept crawling back to you no matter how hard it tries to stray.

Really, who are you, [Y/n]?

Why was it whenever you lingered in his dreams, you were the cruelest person to exist?

And why was it that Miles knew that he’d probably still adore you with your hands around his neck?

“.. Miles?”

From a gentle shuffle, Miles awoke to the sound of his mother’s voice.

Miles jolted up, his skin half drenched with cold sweat. Unfortunately enough, his awakening was nothing avian. On the contrary, his awakening felt like a somber chore. The material clung onto him like glue, making him utter a groan. For a while, he helplessly looked around like a child lost between rows of linoleum aisles, his mind hopping from question to question. 'What just happened? What was I dreaming of?'

Like some hungover drunkard, he gently peeled himself away from the sweat-stained sheets and begrudgingly sat upright. Rio’s gentle hand cradled his aching head.

“Rest, mijo, you’re exhausted.”

“Mama, I—“ He broke, running a damp hand over his head. For a moment, he flinches, checking to see if his hands were covered in blood. “What happened?”

His mother’s dark curls lightly brushed against his temple. Her eyes were just as exhausted as he was, with dark circles rimming the doeness of her gaze. “I got home to you taking a nap but you kept squirming. I was so worried. Que paso?”

He looked around, realizing he’d dropped himself unconscious atop the sofa.

“.. Nightmare.”

Night terrors, to put it precisely. It’s been haunting him since the death of his father three years ago. He thought they’d long vanished after meeting you, but after his suspicions arose, his anxiety came crawling back like a dreadful stench.

Rio handed him a glass of water, to which he gulped down to its very last drop— like he’s been thirsting for all his life.

“Mama,” He called out. “… What do I do?”

His loving mother creased her brow, shaking her head. “What is it, mijo? What’s wrong?”

He runs his hand over his face, wondering how to begin. At that moment, Miles recalls your sweetest smiles, your loudest laughs, and your warmest hugs.

You held his hand, dragged him out of that maze, and you vandalized the hotel together. You tore yourself away from the expectations of your family, and went to him.

You chose him.

But could he go so far to assume that you loved him?

Rio shifted comfortably, trying to appear more welcoming to whatever catastrophe Miles was about to unleash. “What’s wrong, Miles?”

Miles couldn’t even admit it to himself, though he’d long noticed, he preferred to remain ignorant ‘til the truth was spilled from your own lips.. But he didn’t know how much longer he could last. Blood runs thicker than water, but both feel the same when your eyes are closed— and that could mean many things.

“A lot, ma.” He buried his head into his hands. “And Ionno if I could deal with it all.”

“You don’t have to deal with everything, Miles.” Rio frowned. “You’re only fifteen. Eres demasiado joven. Con el tiempo todo se arregla.”

“Me duele la cabeza.”

“Ponte vaporub.” Rio stood to grab the small, blue ointment. As she unscrews its green cap, Miles was immediately hit with its loud, minty scent. Digging her fingers into the substance, Rio smears the vaporub all over Miles’ forehead. “Sana sana colita de rana, si no sana hoy, sanará mañana.”

He lightly moved away with a sigh. “I’m not a kid anymore, ma.”

“I’m your mother, you’ll always be my kid.” As the cooling sensation sunk into his skin, he felt his mother’s palm cup his cheek. “And since you’re my kid, I always get worried about you. I know we ain’t got nothing much, but we got each other, Miles. You’re a great kid bound to achieve great things.”

He wasn’t too sure about that. That whole great kid thing. You had your fingers entangled all over his puppet strings, and it made him hesitate.

But what if that was exactly your plan? To ruin him entirely for your benefit?

“.. Ma, what would you do if the person you liked lied to you about their identity?”

Rio sat in silence.

“.. Que?”

Ah, fuck. That’s a stupid question.

“Nothing.” Miles turned his head. “Sorry, that was a stupid question—“

“No, Miles. I didn’t mean to— I just, you like someone? A girl?”

Miles shifted uncomfortably. Rio softened. “A boy?”

“No, ma!” He exclaimed, embarrassed. “I-It’s a girl. I like a girl.. Por los clavos de Cristo.”

“Oh, I was preparing myself.” Rio placed a hand over her heart. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d accept you no matter what, I just didn’t have a long wonderful speech prepared for it.. But what’s wrong with the girl?”

“Well, ma, it’s just..”

“Did she cheat on you!?”

“No! We’re not even together yet, ma. We were gonna have our first date today, but.. But her family’s been treating her horribly, and her older brother picked her up while we were out buying costumes for our halloween date only for him to directly tell me that it ain’t happening.”

“And then?”

“She talked ‘bout her dad throwing a fit, and now she hasn’t replied the whole day.” He slipped his fingers through his hair. “I even woke up at six in the morning just to get my braids redone at Tasha’s… And they invited me to a party at their house on Sunday.”

“Sunday? Then— that’s great!” Rio exclaimed, placing her hands over her son’s shoulders. “That would mean they’re open to getting to know you. Well, I think you can borrow some of your dad’s old clothes for the party, you two look great in suits anyway.”

“W-Well, ma, that ain’t entirely the problem, she’s..” He swallowed. “Ma, I think she comes from a very rich family.”

“Okay, and?” Rio raised a brow. “Did she ever make you feel inferior for having superior wealth?”

“.. No? Well, she’s been trying to keep it on the down low this whole time, but.. Whenever I see her, she acts so.. Proper and polite when she don’t even notice it. And her brother’s British too, and I— Ionno how the hell that happened, but he sound like the type to spit out tap water if I ever brought him to a restaurant.”

“Well, you’re dating the girl, Miles, not her brother.” Rio sighed. He thinks of it for a moment, then shrugs. Only then he notices his mother’s wide smile, her shoulder nearly glued onto his.

“So.. Who’s the girl?”

Miles fiddled awkwardly, unsure how to answer. Rio seemed adamant for an answer, so, after a while of internally mustering up sentences, Miles replied. “Her name.. [Y/n].”

“Mhm.”

“She uh.. Sixteen. I-I met her three months ago.. And we started doing graffiti together since then.”

“Oh, so she’s an artist?”

Miles gaped. “S… Sum like that, yeah.”

Your art varied. Your colors were blander while his, more vibrant. But there was something about the way you drew, that was so meaningfully realistic that it captured entirely how your mind pondered in its darkest moments. An art style that captured entirely the darkest of what life could bring.

He remembers going through your sketchpads, how your dabbles consisted of dull realism. Maybe it was only dull because it was exactly what New York’s become— cold and calloused.

But in contrast, you were able to set his world on fire in a way he’s never seen. Only you could paint over the dullness with scarlet, in a way that had him choking from the smoke emanating from your fire.

But he couldn’t tell his mother the way you’ve worsened him.

His mother wouldn’t let him get too close to someone as bright and dangerous as you.

“Why haven’t you mentioned about her before? I could’ve helped!” Rio tossed her dark curls to the side. They’d always reminded him of the dark sea. “Es puertorriqueña? Puede hablar español?”

“No,” Miles thinks about it for a minute. “I-Ionno, actually. She never told me anythin’ bout it, but she can’t speak Spanish so I ain’t sure.”

Rio attempted, no she really did try to attempt— to hide her disappointment. Were her grandkids bound to forever be free of her culture? How saddening.

“Pero creo que ella está estudiando español.”

“Oh?”

“Sí.” Mile seemed to lightened up. “She’s so cute. She can’t even pronounce ‘roja’.”

“But she’s trying.” Rio could not be any happier. “She’s trying! Eso es bueno! Ella ya me gusta. Not everyone tries these days, you know.”

He wondered if his mother was faking her enthusiasm just to ease him. He’d expected her to be more.. Angry about it.

“.. I’m surprised you’re not upset, ma.”

“Upset?” Rio furrowed her brows. “Miles, how could I get upset? You’re experiencing what every other teenager experiences, that’s great!.. I know you’ve been trying to act like an adult to help us, and you’ve given up so much just to keep us afloat. I’ve been getting worried that you’ve been focusing too much with adult responsibilities that you’re forgetting that you’re just a kid. You’re allowed to go around and be a kid. You’re allowed to like a girl— so long as she’s not a bad influence.”

Miles pushes back the thought of you being a smoker.

“She’s not a bad influence. She’s.. Just going through a lot.. She makes me happy, ma.”

Rio looked at him proudly. Only then, she wondered if her dearest husband ever brooded like this too upon realizing his feelings for her. She wondered if Jeff ever pouted the way Miles did, and looked out into the world with such admiration in his eyes as though he were shaping the void into an image of her.

Jeff loved, and thus, Miles could love too.

“If she makes you happy, then I’m happy.” She beamed. “So long as she’s not a brat or an alcoholic, or a racist, or any of those bad people, I’ll accept her.”

The mother shared a loving glimpse of her son, making out an image of her late husband in the way he smiled. Suddenly, she pats her lap and stands up. “Bueno, I’m making adobo.”

“I can help—“

“No, sit down, you’re tired.” Rio held out a finger. “Take a rest, Miles.”

“But Ma—“

“Rest.”

And he did.

Well, he tried. It was a subtle attempt. A poor one, at that. He sat upright by the sofa, listening to his mother chop up the potatoes. He tries to discreetly look into your messages, only to find you’ve finally texted back.

her ♡ || two minutes ago.

sorry i haven’t texted!! 😭😭

remember the party this sunday? my dad is making me help with the preparations so i couldn’t go to our date

i’m really sorry 🥺 don’t get mad

if you want, we can do it tomorrow.

Miles pouted. He didn’t want to reply immediately. He didn’t want to look desperate.

So he waited for another five minutes.

.. Even though you made him wait for six hours.

He switches the television on in attempt to distract himself from your message.

‘Last night, a horrific murder happened within Brooklyn, as the body of a beheaded man was discovered outside of a local bodega. Witnesses claim that an alien disguised as a teenage girl had ripped off, and eaten the man’s head.’

“The hell?” Miles burrowed his brows upon being greeted with the news on television. “An alien?”

He watches as the screen switches over towards one of the witnesses, a scruffy man with reddened eyes— evidently too lost in whatever he was taking to speak too calmly.

“.. They’re prolly high as hell.”

‘I’m ain’t even [censored] with y’all— some [censored] ripped off Kyle’s head— it was a horrific looking piece of [censored] made out of black goo or whatever the [censored]. The government’s [censored] making alien [censored]!

‘So far, there have been no records of the scene, as the cameras had been blacked out.’

“What the f—“ Miles grew mindful of his language upon realizing his mother was in the other room. “How the hell did that even happen!? Blacked out my ass.”

It was more or less, likely a murder related to the elites. One of their kids must’ve been hanging out with those junkies and killed a man for fun.

A phone begins to ring. Miles turns his head.

“Miles, can you get that for me?” He heard his mother, who was too busy chopping up something, call out.

He turns off the television, hops out of the sofa and heads straight into his mother’s room. As he flicks the light open, a king-sized bed greets him with its gray, large glory. He used to jump on that bed too much when he was a kid. Now, it looked.. Desolate, and almost deserted. With how large the bed was, he couldn’t help but ponder how lonely his mother must’ve felt, sleeping in a bed less warmer than three years ago.

Miles passes by the closet, and after foraging for a bit, he manages to find his mother’s phone atop a drawer— swiftly grabbing the gadget before turning to leave.

As he turns, his foot accidentally nudges against a box.

He peers through it, before kicking it away.

Making his way back to the kitchen, he hands the ringing phone over to his mother before curtly returning to the room to close the lights.

But as his hands reached out towards the switch, his eyes were drawn back to the sight of the box.

It looked like it’d been cast aside beside the closet.

Hearing his mother speak over the phone lightheartedly, something about something. Miles trudges towards the orange, cardboard box, kneeling by the floor with a single knee down on the wood. His hand curiously glazes over the top, feeling a pile of dust collect over his fingers.

Hesitantly, he takes off the lid, finding a familiar white, collared shirt. He pulls it up to the ceiling light and watches as it unfolds into a larger sheet.

This belonged to his father’s.

He looks right back into the box, finding a pair of black, dress pants neatly folded into a square. Meekly, he tugs on it, hoping he wouldn’t uncover anything sinister like a severed hand or an eyeball. After pulling the whole thing out, a longer line of black unravels.

A strange array of emotions lingered inside him.

Nostalgia. Wrath. Happiness.

It smelled like dust, and it was forever devoid of its owner’s scent and warmth.

“Miles, do you want juice?”

“Huh? Y-yeah.” He stammered. “Grape juice would be nice.”

His mother’s comment slips past his ears. For a moment, he pondered about wearing this to the Sunday party, but he couldn’t help but think how it likely wouldn’t fit him. His father was a giant, and he was quite lanky.

Upon hearing his mother’s footsteps, Miles hurriedly and clumsily attempts to refold the clothes, only then hearing a soft clatter. He pivots his head to the side.

There was a USB.

“For the florals, I think daffodils would be great.”

Your hands skimmed across the air in attempt of drafting an idea. From afar, you manage to earn a wider view of the banquet hall. Workers left and right helped with tidying up the refectory, scrubbing up windows and mopping up the floors. “It would match the golden theme, don’t you think?” You asked of Charlotte, who nodded wobbly with her dire age.

As of that moment, you’d been preparing for the layout of the party. As much as you didn’t want to listen to Montrell’s suggestion, you figured getting on his bad side would be a bad move.

The fundraiser, originally hosted by your aunt, was planned out to gather enough money to support Senator Barlowe’s projects. Your family was to auction off high-priced materials such as clothes, jewelry, paintings, and even estates for the sake of meeting the goal. Which would also mean that the highest of the elite would be attending the party.

And you were less than thrilled to be its co-host.

Charlotte marvels at your suggestion, taking it with a smile but a pique. “However, daffodils can’t usually be placed with other flowers, so I’ll have to make a special request to the florist to do the preparations extensively.”

You raised a brow. “Why can’t they be placed together with other flowers?”

One of the maids carrying a porcelain vase walk past you, making you gently remind her to put it aside.

Charlotte parts her palms. “They secrete toxins into the water. So whenever it’s placed among other flowers, the rest die.”

“Oh,” You widened your gaze, processing this newly found information. “How did you know that?”

Charlotte blinked, trying to think back. “.. Well, daffodils were used for your mother and father’s wedding. It was a struggle, since the day of the wedding, half of the bouquet had already wilted.”

You stood back in surprise, crossing your arms before your chest. “Mama must’ve been furious.”

Charlotte shook her head. “Your father plucked flowers out from the gardens and made her a bouquet himself.”

Wait. What? WHAT?

Wow, who knew your daddy was quite the romantic?

I’m just as shocked as every other person.

“M-My father?” You dumbly repeated. “My father plucked out the flowers himself? Or was it Mr. Nigel?”

“Your father, himself, Miss.” Charlotte laughed, finding your shock to be quite amusing. “He’s quite great at it too— flower arrangement. Your grandmother taught him from an early age.”

“My father truly arranged the bouquet for him and mama’s wedding?” You couldn’t believe your ears. “He has that sort of talent?”

“Why, of course!” She beamed a warm beam. “Like you, he used to oversee the interior of the hotel. He has great taste when it comes to color, and you’ve inherited that side of him.”

You tried to think about it, your father— who was now an old man with a permanent sneer on his wrinkled lip— arranging flowers in his youth, picking out pastel and cream curtains for the parties, and overseeing the menu. It didn’t seem like something he’d do, at all. Then again, your mother used to describe him in a way that made it tragic.

A good man, never a good father. Torn between yearning to be held in arms that never welcomed him and finding his worth beyond the standard of his own father.

You tried to sympathize with him. Your father.

Though he was who he was, he cared about you, in a twisted, fucked-up way. Your engagement with Richard Fisk was privately decided after the hotel went near-bankrupt had it not been for the Fisks and their mystical talent for cover-ups— and your father simply took most of your managing rights away just so the family you’d marry into wouldn’t use you for their own greed.

The fate wasn’t entirely horrible either. You’d marry into new money, sure, but their wealth would most definitely preserve the comfortable life you’re living right now.

It was your own greed that was worsening you.

Your desire to have a tantamount of power.

But what if you never needed it?

“Miss!”

What if all you needed was a peaceful life? Marry into the Fisks, host parties, and care no more about anything?

“Miss [Y/n]!”

.. But what about Miles?

He hadn’t answered any of your texts yet.

“Miss [Y/n], a call.” One of your secretaries came crashing through the doors with his phone. How you hated that word. Call. A signal of what would definitely exhaust you. Where was Montrell? Why weren’t they calling out for him? Were you really the only one able to handle all the messes in here? Workers left and right stopped as he trudged up the stairs, nearly tossing the phone over to you. You slip it close to your ear, making your way down with each click of your heel.

Charlotte watches as you listen to the caller with such intent. Silently, you eyed your surroundings before heading out.

As you reached the patio, you looked out into the dimming violet evening that was fading out along with the scarlet of the sun. The caller rambles on, something along about the recent incident.

“I’ve bribed the higher-ups to rush the investigation and to arrest the witnesses. We’ll release the story that they had murdered their friend after taking drugs.”

“Good.” You plucked out your vape from your pockets. “Report to me immediately once you find all the records about their families and their identities.”

“Understood.” You hear the sound of Morrison’s computer typing. Likely writing up a list. “I’ve also halted the investigation of the fire. I’ve told your father the information was tracked from an accidental leak after a delivery of the samples to one of the families had the address exposed. Sir Anthony will have to take up the blame since it was his idea.”

You took a long huff. “Good job. You did well.”

The smoke lingers, and you close your eyes.

Sorry, Antonne. You’ll live, I guess.

“Morrison,” You called out to him. “.. How’s Miles?”

The typing comes to a halt. For a moment, the two of you shared a moment of silence. You picture him pushing his glasses up higher off the bridge of his nose.

“.. I’ve spent most of my attention on other things, so I haven’t been able to check up on him yet.”

“Ah, is that so?” You mumbled. “Never mind then, just continue on with halting the investigation. I’ll take care of the rest, and remember, if any of the witnesses start describing my face—“

Clack.

You turned your head.

What was that?

ＳＯＭＥＯＮＥ‘Ｓ　ＨＥＲＥ

No shit.

Beyond the gardens, the skies were beginning to dim. That familiar shade of magenta, it lingered like a ghost and it haunted you like your past. There was a click that set your mind off, and suddenly you couldn’t help but feel like the world was integrating itself into a technicolor, dotted comic.

Then and there, spying on you from the top of the six Corinthian columns of the garden, sat the young Prowler.

“Miss [Y/n]? You were saying?” Morrison pried from you.

You parted your phone from you ear, a side of your grin heightening into a catty smirk.

“… If any of them start describing my face, take care of it.”

Then and there, you ended the call with one light tap. You remained stubborn with your posture, seemingly amused and befuddled by it all while keeping your head high. The boy watched you curiously but stiffly, as if he were unsure of what to do. You were mutually frozen, but you couldn’t allow any sort of weakness to seep through the cracks of your confidence.

You took a step close, and he tenses. The sound of your heel clicking against the tiles sends an echo into the garden.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” You greeted of him with sincere politeness, placing a hand over your hip. Was it an attempt to appear idle or what? “… It’s quite an honor to have you here as a guest.”

“Who are you?” The boy growled, voice delved baritones deep. “Really.”

You tilted your head.

“Who would you like me to be?”

His gauntlet unfolds, and suddenly, he launches himself at you, grabbing you by the neck.

[A/n: I PASSED MY FUCKING ENTRANCE EXAM GUYS]

[fryerdan]

A Proposal for Anthony

To: Mr. Anthony Burch, D.M.

Hello Mr. Burch,

You do not know me, I do not know you. However, it has come to my attention, (and I'm sure some others, possibly including yourself), that often you do not either have prepared, or want to have, a "interesting" dad-fact (your words not mine.)

And as such I have a proposal for you to consider.

During the course of these two seasons we have heard many facts about both 'The Dads' and 'The Teens', but I would like to propose that instead of having to rack your memory and dive back to the dreaded days of high school, you give the listeners a dad-fact, (or rad-fact), about the 'Kidads'. (Lark, Sparrow, Nicky, Grant, and Terry Jr.)

Providing dad-facts in this way would provide the listeners with either:

a. A small insight into the lives of these characters,

Or,

b. Some terrible emotionally devastating piece of information that will launch the listeners into a frenzy, or an immeasurably deep pit of sorrow. (*Insert any fact about Terry Jr. here*)

Of course I make no move to intrude on the structure that is the podcast. I simply felt as though when one has a kinda-lame, very-slim-chance-of-reaching-someone-who-can-do-something-about-it idea, it is one's duty to shout it into the void that is the discord.

Now you may be thinking, 

"Oh, heavens to Betsy! This sounds like more work that would have to be done every week!" And start comparing these to the facts of one (1) William Campos, written down with much forethought, but fear not! For, I need not remind you, you are the DM, you could literally say whatever random shit pops up in your head the second before you say it, and no one can dispute it. Imagine the power you could wield.

And so I leave this here, possibly never to be read, in the hope that it makes something easier, or that you at least get a chuckle out of it before you move on. 

Sincerely, (and with much love of the podcast),

Danthony Janthony W., Fellow DM and lover of putting way too much effort into jokes.

-Dan

(In actuality, I just thought this was an interesting idea and my sister agreed, so do what you want, it's not up to me. I do really like the podcast though, you guys do a great job. 👍 (Cast, please reiterate this praise to Anthony if he tries to deflect it.))

[diroxide]

Out of curiosity… what do you guys want to see from me? I’m just with college still but I’m always daydreaming and thinking about Aurora Knight, Galacta, Aeon, etc. I have some big storyline/plot ideas going on my chrome dome that I really want to get out or express.

I’m just wondering if I should show the process of me cooking it up as I go or try to organize these ideas into a cohesive story I can gradually put out via comics/ask blog/etc.

My baseline idea of a story I’ve been thinking of is focused on both Galacta Knight and Aurora (Morpho) Knight (Morpho’s origins being told through a fan character who is supposed to be her before she was transformed into the fluttering dream eater). It involves characters such as Aeon Knight, my fan character and ruler of the planet they live (Aegis), Void Termina, and Meta Knight. The story still primarily focuses on Galacta and his origins as well.

Again, I’m just gauging interest! I’m really passionate about the ideas and headcanons I’ve generated in my head and really think you guys would enjoy them. If you don’t, that’s okay too. Agree to disagree while still being able to be supportive.

[solradguy]

Do you play D&D and if so (or if you have an idea of them from memes/pop culture osmosis) what is your favorite class? Mine's Warlock, though Wizards and Sorcerers are up there with 'em.

I DOOOO PLAY D&D!!! My group and I have been playing together for 6 years now but me and some of my buddies from this group hopped DMs for a year or two before this.

I think I've made more paladins than any other class, but my favorite characters have been a Tiefling barbarian/fighter who was a vessel of Ilharg the Raze Boar from Magic the Gathering and an Aarakocra fighter that was pirate themed. Right now I'm playing a Dhampir (human base) monk (Konstantyn) that was from a space colony of bone-eating vampires and he's lowkey trying to make up for all the people he kidnapped/murdered while part of the space colony, and my other character is a Leonin (lion anthro, basically) wizard (Gringdor) going to Strixhaven (magic wizard college). Gringdor is useless, he's so bad and his dice hate him. Like his stats themselves aren't bad, there's no real reason FOR him to be bad, but he CONSTANTLY fails the absolute easiest rolls lmao

Warlocks are awesome. My character before Konstantyn was a pact of the old one half-Orc/half-Tiefling (Mirasaran/Mira) that had Nyarlathotep living in his brain. He died because he teleported on top of an enemy tentacle while the party was in a collapsing void realm and the tentacle flung him out into the abyss lol

Anyway, I'm a big fan of not thinking too hard and just bonking things over the head with a big metal stick 👍

[shiny-miltank]

why hello old friends, you’ve found me once again (it wasn’t a secret really lol). to start off myello. sorry for disappearing off the Mewcrew blog. It gets all kinda wordy so it’s under a readmore.

Long story short I suffered from a mental Illinois(tm) spiral of depression, work exhaustion, undiagnosed/untreated adhd and big time imposter syndrome + burnout. Zoom into today I’ve been in therapy for my big time sads with some new perspectives and management, got some adhd meds, my job quit on me (long story) so now I’m slinging it freelance artist style and seeing how it goes, and back with family cause living alone was expensive and very Not Good for my brain it turned out. Still working on new changes and learning about the anxious smorgasbord up in the head.

Now there’s still no guarantee? That Mewcrew stuff is going to come back in full force like it did. Im still trying to like it again cause I do miss them. It took a long time and effort just to draw them for the wips I got going in the bg after like the three years leaving. Tbh the blog became something I didn’t want and instead of casual, low effort, funny not serious Just Roomates on misadventures in a pink void comic it became long hours of planning and plotting and rendering and feeling it wasn’t enough with my nasty soup of brain ick continuing to make me feel bad for not keeping up with a constant pace and comparing my work to the artists around me (again it was my brain funguses making reality hard-no one else. The artists around me back then were legit the nicest peeps around-still are). I’m also still really nervous and anxious around big communities that seemed to have sprung up HELLO ALL OF YOU LOL. I remember when it was just three of us xD And I still have to sit with my imposter syndrome and understanding I have things to offer that people do want to see and to stop anxieties from comparing my work to others.

So for now if I am posting Mewcrew stuff it’s mostly going to be here on my main from now on and not an individual blog (me figuring it’s just a lot of effort to keep up with so many blogs and logins, I think any new project or direction I go is just gonna be slapped on my main from now on. The less effort the better for my energy.). It’ll be sporadic and in a much different direction that was more akin to what I wanted it to be and much more casual comedy (or my flat sense of humor-I’ll laugh at knock knock jokes fr) slice of life with very little, even parody “plot”. And most of it until im comfortable with releasing complete mewcrew/mewtwo content will be on my patreon with again spurts of it here on tumblr and on my other socials. And if any of you come into my inbox saying I’m paywalling my own content AGAIN I will come for your kneecaps no joke you are NOT entitled to my work ESPECIALLY when this is now my main form of income. Anything on my patreon is /extra/ and early works and for peeps who choose to/want to and or capable of supporting me. That was literally the final straw that made me take a step out way back then: there’s still somebody behind the screen please remember that. This is just for my anxieties and getting comfortable with my characters again at a slow pace👍 I do miss everyone I use to interact with and want to be part of the bigger community here that’s sprouted up. Just gotta walk slowly with my social anxiety and other things first.

Thanks for reading and choosing to stick around if you do!

[cartoonguy08]

So I saw this one board thing a while ago and I thought it’d be fun to do it just cuz, and also so you guys know me a bit better 🤙 (I should probably do that one pinned post where people intro themselves huh?)

More detail if you want, as well as the board I used to do this with 👍

Movie - Hunchback of Notre Dame: Guys this movie is my everything and my childhood I was TERRIFIED of it as a kid but now I watch it and admire every aspect of it every SPEC and crumb of this movie is everything to me. The animation to the soundtrack to the characters to the backgrounds—OMG CAN I MENTION THE BEAUTIFUL BACKGROUNDS FOR THIS MOVIE JESUS—everything, absolutely everything of this movie is beloved by me ESPECIALLY my all time favorite villain Claud Frollo, guys, I LOVE (HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE ABSOLUTELY HATE HIM I WANT TO PUT HIM IN A BLENDER SO BAD OMG YES TAKE HIM TO HELL GUYS I HATE THIS GUY I HATE HIM SO MUCH 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️) him so much you wouldn’t believe I am an absolute SUCKER for characters who are just the shittiest people ever and that are villains and that deserve everything that happens to them because they are massive hypocrites. Did I mention why I love Claud Frollo?

Hobby - Drawing: In general, I try and draw as much as I can. I’m pretty busy with school and friends and life in general but I will never pass up a moment to just doodle silly cartoon shit. I love cartoons, they are everything to me, and I will give me life to become in animator holy shit. I love it, I’ve been loving it since I was born dawg 🤙

Animal - Rhino: Literally no explanation for this except I love how majestic and cool asf they are. I went to the zoo once and I couldn’t stop admiring them guys, they’re absolutely gorgeous.

Character - Soldier: No specific Soldier for this cuz I love both of them. I wish he was real because I would die to meet him lol. My entire personality in a nutshell 💀 He is my life, he spins in my head on the daily and he makes me love being American lmao (RIP Rick May, you made such a lovable character, fly high man)

Color - Mustard Yellow: I have a beanie the same color as this and legit it made me love the color. That and I love mustard in general

Place - Quiet library: AND I MEAN QUIET, I love being social with people but sometimes I just wanna be left alone. Dawg, the library at my school is the shit, it’s so quiet in there and I can sit on a sofa and just chill. Great to relax 👍

Season - Winter: Unfortunately for me I live somewhere that does not snow at all. Which kinda sucks- BUT it sprinkle some snow every one and a while. It’s also just not about the snow but the weather, I like the breezy feel, the chilliness of it all. I can wear hoodies and beanies and my kickass baggy pants lol. And the blankets. My grandma got me this one comforter that’s immaculate, very comfortable, very soft. Love my grandma 🤙❤️

Song/Album - Void in Blue: WHERE DO I BEGIN WITH THIS SONG? The feeling I get actually has me ascending bro. The background instrumental the LYRICS THE ECHO, OMG THE ECHO THOUGH- my favorite part of any song is if it has an echoey effect to it, and THIS nails every part in the song. It’s great, please guys give it a listen it’s so good it’s like crack to me I listen to it on the DAILY

Food - Root beer Floats: I know technically it’s a drink but you could still eat it with a spoon, so I’d say it counts 👍 Anyways this shit is the bomb, love Rootbeer in general by FLOATS?? Amazing, I could eat them everyday if I could because they’re so good. Very refreshing. One time I actually went to Denny’s and asked if they had one and a nice waitress made me one lol, very sweet hole she’s going good 🙏 Also fun fact: I tried it in middle school and it became my LIFE

Pretty sure that’s all? Yeah that’s all. Thanks for reading if you wanted to, now you know a bit about me heh. Hope everyone’s having a good day 🤙🤙

[onlyplatonicirl]

i have so many error hcs because he is the silliest billiest guy to ever exist

this is more so just a hc i have about like every glitched skeledude and that is they function a lot similar to like computers/robots if you get what i mean? like they are very strict about their logic and any deviation can cause them to break down, i.e. crash and reboot

since they can peer into the code they can also use it to their advantage, whip out a command terminal and ask it all the questions youve ever wanted too such as why is my ex wifeboy such an annoying bitch?

error is a glitch he lives outside the code, code is often translated in binary, if he lives outside that he is then nonbinary, although i like to think he throws the idea of gender completely out the window, agender error real and true

he can speak both english, spanish and french, spanish because he felt he needed to watch his novellas in the og language (subs not dubs) to properly understand them, and french because he was paranoid ink was insulting him to his fave whenever he spoke in french in front of him

my guy has no senses, his eyesight, more like eyeshite, taste? nope, bro eats tin cans for breakfast, hearing? also poor, try having a million people screaming in your head day in day out, common sense? certainly not

he does however have a heightened tactile sense, all errors/glitches do, in a meta sense i suppose you could say his hurtbox is slightly too big because he'll flinch and pull away if you get a bit too close to him

on that note, autism, all skeletons originate from sans and that man is autistic

he will burn anything containing he doesnt like so if you wanna get him some nice clothes for his birthday, which he does not at all recall the day it was (he choose 4/04 because it was funny), you better make sure it isnt crush velvet or sherpa

he gets very easily overstumulated because hes spent years in the antivoid which is a blank white void that is always silent and nothing ever changes, i swear to god cq this man is so autistic was this intentional??

needs glasses, refuses to wear them

cant really feel temperature differences, he'll rock his stylish socks and sandals in -10°C (im sorry im british)

a lot of his old memories from his life before he became a glitch are gone, or are incredibly fuzzy, it also doesnt help that he's lived for so long since that there are plenty of more memories he can pull from, so for error a lot of things are new to him, the first time ink showed him a bath bro was flabbergasted, stayed in there for 6 hours didnt even care the water was cold

he had a cat but yknow the anitvoid is uhhh a big open, endlessly infinite void of white nothingness so he kinda lost it, he cried for 7 weeks straight and still does everytime hes reminded

error starts with negative friendship points with everyone, doesnt matter if youve done nothing untoward him, he hates your guts

as much as he hates to admit it, hes picked up a lot of inks traits, and he tries desperately to do the opposite of everything ink does because god no he cant be like him hes annoying and weird and silly and kinda funny and cute?

i like error 😐👍

ALL OF THESE ARE SO REAL AND TRUE AND A LOT OF THESE ALIGN WITH MY OWN HEADCANONS!!!!

BUT THE CAT ONE...... OUGH...... AUGH........... THATS SO SAD................ waAAAAAAAAAA

[omenics]

𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐌.

..cw for mentions of pregnancy, (seemingly) one-sided love, although i believe that’s it. very self indulgent.

› ..vittorio has left again, and you silently hope that your knight fills the void you had lost. fem reader. — hi dbd community. i am fulfilling my will to write for this mf even tho i dont play dbd 👍 but anyways enjoy the thing inspired by wolven storm from the witcher bc it slays and ignore how bad it is im bored and need to write stuff lmfao

Life was always filled with misfortunes, all being thrown at one over and over until sometimes it was too much. But to you, not everything was bad. The beating rays of the Italian sun rained down with relentless heat, and to those unfortunate enough to farm when the sun was at its peak, or to even dawn armour from head to toe gained your sympathies.

Although the keep was warm, it was not as hot as it was outside and you were thankful— but the layers of fabric that had adorned your bodice stuck to your skin and bound all heat to your body. Perhaps you were unfortunate as well, for your clothing was soaked and sticking to you; but such was normal for summers and as a lady of the house you had to endure. Vittorio was gone on yet another expedition, leaving you alone to your own devices. You wondered how he was managing through the hot summer, however you assumed well. He was smart, and had probably found a way to keep cool if he was still in this familiar climate.

Your mind wandered to the men clad in armour, how they had been feeling as the sun beat down upon the hot metal— they were nearly fainting you bet, and your eyes wandered to Tarhos.

He stood by the door alone, his back turned to you as you tried to relish the cool breeze flowing in from your window. It was much too hot to be doing anything, and you had chosen to sulk in your quarters. The knight at your door was tall, and you had known his armour was heavy just by its look. You wondered if he was suffocating as the hot, humid air never lifted just as you— but he was different, and was the Guardia Compagnia.

Your husband left them home this time instead of taking them on his journey, and you were happy.

Although rarely spoken to, you were fond of Tarhos. Perhaps you were drawn to him, to his tall stature and professional nature, more than a married lady should be— but you could not help it, as fantasies of your childhood sparked through your mind and heart while you gazed at him.

The thought of being a princess and having a knight in shining armour to come save you sent nostalgic excitement through you, remembering the storybooks you had grown to love and attach yourself to. When your marriage had come, you shook off the dreadful anxiety that came with it and hoped that you would live in a fairytale, in an ideal life that a lady would— however you had been wrong.

No child had barren your womb, and at times you were grateful— the others not. Perhaps you were only disappointed as that is what your life had groomed you to want, to carry children for your husband, or maybe you were disappointed because it caused a feeling of loneliness, of being loveless. You knew you loved your lord husband, but you wondered if he had loved you the same. He was busy, and had little time for your comforts— but that was what you had grown used to, and you solemnly accepted that you would have no children of your own, or a husband to fully love you.

At times you wondered if pursuing another would have been better, or if you had married another lord and became his lady wife you would not think such thoughts, but that is not what happened and you could not change it.

A slight creek from down below your window had made you focus back to the present. Staring was not ladylike, and you smiled at your moronic thoughts. You could not have the knight at your door, you knew it— however a small spark of childish hope brewed in your heart. Perhaps one day it would fade and fizzle, leave and be forgotten. Or maybe it would come true, to see your titles as Lady of Portoscuro relinquish and become a forgotten lady in the history books, happy with the unattainable man stationed outside of your chambers’ door, watching and guarding.

He was only something you could only hope for, but guilt nagged at your heart. He was honourable, chivalrous. He would not break vows, and nor would you.

[4trackcassette]

i saw her standing on her front lawn just twirling her baton me and her went for a ride sir and ten innocent people died from the town of lincoln nebraska with a sawed off four ten in my lap through to the badlands of wyoming i killed everything in my path i cant say that im sorry for the things that we done at least for a little while sir me and her we had us some fun now the jury brought in a guilty verdict and the judge he sentenced me to death midnight in a prison storeroom with leather straps across my chest sheriff when the man pulls that switch sir and snaps my poor head back you make sure my pretty baby is sitting right there on my lap they declared me unfit to live said into that great void my sould be hurled they wanted to know why i did what i did well sir i guess there's just a meanness in this world 👍

[stevieweevie71]

Posting this as a public service announcement. #Transparency #cardsfaceup #💯 #keepitreal #keepingitreal Lets go! #Gambling #🎰 #🎲 #🔢 #▶️ #Compulsivegambling also called #gamblingdisorder is classified as an #impulsecontroldisorder Be thoughtful on your comments 🏳️ It's been less than 2 weeks; but, 1st and foremost I'm "not" homeless, I got help, I'm safe and doing #🆗 #🙏 #🛐 #🤲 #📿 #👌#👍 Everybody post #livingmybestlife on social media nobody post #DebbieDowner That was my 2nd eviction. The 1st one was July 20, 2022; however, my #sister - #cousin (Nicole) stepped in and prevented it by 9am that morning. I was in my car 6am, I drove to Northern Virginia, lost & up in my head. I had my mother and my father's obituary in the front seat along with a bag of lottery tickets and some other memorabilia. That day could of went terribly wrong (If you know my story 🙏🏽) She said bring your ass back to Baltimore! I gotchu! Fast forward to my 2nd #eviction November 22, 2022; that actually took place, it was about to happen yet again if it wasn't for (Sabrina #♥️ ) 

Friday November 4th 5:26 p.m. I received a random phone call from a high school classmate of mine (Lorraine) she said that she was thinking about me for some reason and she had to call me and tell me everything was going to be okay. #🤙 #wow

Look 👀 at the reaction of the shorter Sheriff when he looked at the taller Sheriff when I mentioned #gambling His face/eyes lit up 🤔. Yeah, the taller one is all over it 😢. Is #Maryland @mdlottery ready for #sportsbetting #sportswagering & #dailyfantasysports that just went live on November 23, 2022 and all the #gamblingaddict #gamblingaddicts that will follow? I'm posting this to help save someone else from going thru this. I made it to the rooms of #alcoholicsanonymous May 17, 2015 with 2 black eyes and a knot on my forehead looking like a cross bread of a 🦝 and a 🦄 . My sobriety date is September 11, 2015 however other #💩 will show up to fill the void. Now I'm part of #GamblersAnonymous Gambling has the highest suicide rate of all addictions. You're not putting anything physically into your body. It's all mental 🤯🧠 which makes it even more dangerous. All of those near misses and me hitting Keno for $25,251.20 in 2019 is what kept me going. I almost hit Bonus Match 5 twice for $50,000 I was only one ball off each time. But what really kept me going was I almost hit Cash for Life; $1,000 a week for the rest of my life, I had four out of five white balls "and" the Cash Ball!!!!! I was only one ball away. Only got $2,500 for that 🤬 Now let's bring @uber @lyft into the mix. Being a #gigworker #ridesharedriver #rideshare I have access to 10 cashouts daily, 5 on #Uber and 5 on #Lyft platforms. I'm just going to leave this right here. It's not a good mix, trust me. I know there are other gig workers going thru this. Get help before it's too late. It's not like I didn't have the money to pay my rent it's just mentally you're constantly looking for that big come up ☹️ It never came! People have to #hitrockbottom #rockbottom to get that #realitycheck #me Twice now 🥺  #pleaseshare #share 

The Maryland Alliance for Responsible  Gambling #free #freehelp

https://www.mdgamblinghelp.org/ 

1-800-426-2537 

The Maryland Center of Excellence on Problem Gambling 

https://www.mdproblemgambling.com/

www.marylandga.org 

https://gamblersinrecovery.com/ 

https://dmvgamblinghelp.org/ 

Maryland Lottery and Gaming operates voluntary exclusion programs for individuals who wish to ban themselves from Maryland casinos, the Maryland Lottery, instant bingo halls, sports wagering, or daily fantasy sports. 

https://www.mdgamblinghelp.org/problem-gambling-info/voluntary-exclusion-program/

#avalon #avalonarundel #AVA #BWI #BWIbusinessdistrict #avalonbay #avalonarundelcrossing #avalonproperties #linthicum #linthicumHeights #21090 #baltimore #annearundel #annearundelcounty #dontgamble #gambler #gambling  #addict #addictionrecovery #recovery #recoverytok #recoverytiktok #gamblingtiktok #gamblingig #gamblinginstagram #gamblingtwitter #gamblingfacebook #gamblingaddiction #lotto #ihitthelottery #mdlottery #gamblingman #gamblers #gamblersoftiktok #bingo #bingohall #bingojunkiess #sportsfantasy #dailyfantasysports #sportswagering #sportswager #lottery #casino #casinos #sportsbet #sportsbettingtiktok #sportsbetting #sportsbets #kevinhart #jamiefoxx #fanduel #draftkings #betmgm #sportsbook #betting #bettingtips #bettingtiktok #counselor #counselorsoftiktok #counselors #clinicians #clinician #clinicianofcolor #cliniciansofcolor #therapy #therapist #therapists #psychology #psychiatrist #psychiatrists #addictioncounselor  #addictions #addictionscounselor #gamblers #psychiatristsoftiktok #psychiatristoftiktok   #therapistsontiktok  #fyp #fypages #fyi #fyip #fyipage #fyiviral #viral #makethisgoviral #stop #viralvideo #viraltiktok #viraltiktok #viral_video #viralvideos #fypbitch #fypシ #fypage #fypシ゚viral #fypdongggggggg #fypp #fyppppppppppppppppppppppp #fypdong #fypgakni #fypsounds #fypbetting #slotmachines #lasvegas #vegas #slots #casinolife #vegaslife #prevention #bbw #bbws #biggirls #biggirlsdoitbetter #lizzo #bbwsoftiktok #bbwoftiktok #biggirl #🥎 #⛸️ #🥏#⛹️ #🥍 #⛹️‍♀️ #🥌 #⛹️‍♂️ #⚽ #🎣 #⚾ #🎾 #⛷️ #🎿 #🏀 #🏉 #🏂 #🏏 #🏄 #🏐 #🏄‍♀️ #🏑 #🏄‍♂️ #🏒 #🏅 #🏓 #🏈 #🏟️ #🏸 #🚵 #🚡 #🤺 #🚤 #🤼 #🚲 #🤼‍♀️ #🚴 #🤼‍♂️ #🚴‍♀️ #🤽 #🚴‍♂️ #🤽‍♀️ #🤽‍♂️ #🚵‍♂️ #🤾 #🤾‍♀️ #🤾‍♂️ #🥅 #🥊 #🚵‍♀️ 

[fuckhouse2theelectricboogaloo]

This isn't anything serious or Shep related just a little RPC tip to finding peace in the rpc 👍

As I said I've been around the rpc since late 2014. When you're around for that long or even just around there's bound to be people who don't like you, some are gonna be more dickish then others and send asshole anons.

My issue was I was way too reactive to them, to the point people thought I was sending hate to myself. Which, no! Sending yourself anon hate is loser behavior through and through! And being reactive towards shitty anons is still something I'm trying my best to work on.

If you get shitty anons the key to true RPC happiness is, just yeeting them to the block void. Don't screenshot to "clown" on them or respond to them, just yeet them into the void! The fact that you live rent free in their heads is enough. Nowadays whatever asshole anon I get on my main rp blog just gets yeeted into the fuck void! They aren't worth any kind of response and all and all it's much better for you and your mental health! 👍👍

[doublekanble]

Fond

Alastor/reader (gnc)

platonic-romantic. (not specify, "i love you" are not strictly romantic)

word count: 8k.

reader is referred to once as short. Al loves calling you little in his head every other sentence, not meant to be how small you are. i do not care if you're 10 foot tall. Alastor goes on for a paragraph about how he would eat you near the end👍

(i am not a native english speaker! do excuses me for grammatical errors, words can only catch so much. the wordy part is me though:fire:)

You are an enigma. He decided. Living proof that once you fall below the earth, you can’t climb back up. If there is redemption, he’s sure, void of all the sarcastic charm he dressed himself in, on a particularly hot afternoon, you would’ve fly away from here already. Up there with the angels and the big city and their funny signs and attractive men (according to Charlie).

In the empty living space that usually packs itself with the lively guest and workers here (headcount of seven whole people! not including himself!) your small sigh would’ve echoes if not for the ever-present statics drowning it out, while you dutifully turn back to your electronic device and kept swiping. (a phone, you used to insist he called it such, until you quit. Hah. It’s less than an appropriate way to pass the time, or charming, but he digressed). He would’ve taken that as a sign of disrespect, but it’s you, so he waited for you to think about it.

“s ’not like I want to go up there either way, that sort of place felt wrong somehow.” A booing track accompanied this dismissive statement of yours. Your shoulder shakes a bit, he would only ever tell you in a way that leaves you with a little bit of doubt that you’re one of his favorite conversational partner. (because what is life without having a bit of fun and making people questioned your true intentions every step of the way? Truly, that’s not living at all!)

“And yet here you are! Surely a darling little thing like you should’ve been right up there! Either that, or…”  withering stares, he knew you mean nothing by it. He can feel his ever-living smile grows just a tiny bit when you look away. You’ll laugh too if you stare too long. “You’re withholding your grave sins! from us! Oh the drama! Was it murder? Did you run off with someone, leaving your beloved family behind and never look back? A loving suicide maybe? Come now my dear cohost, the suspense is too much! The audience is right on the edge of their seats waiting for you!”

You chuckle, making no attempts at hiding it other than covering your mouth. Moving his microphone that’s now held close to your face for the dramatic act away from you, “I wish I get to do something that cool. But no. Husk was pretty spot on with that reading he did on me, actually.”

‘you’ve walked to the end of the earth, only to do the same thing you did at the start.’

Alastor likes to think he doesn’t think about it that much. Only that he somewhat pressed you into repeating grumpy Whiskers words out of pure curiosity. Not that it ever takes much for you to tell him anything that is.

(you were his designated observer at the time while he was away, your insistence on repeating things exactly at it is with not a hair misplace amused him greatly even now. How he would’ve love to dissect your nifty little brain, one would simply pass you off as a boring little thing. How lucky is he.)

“I can’t drink. Can’t do drugs. I don’t tell people why I’m here because I just, genuinely don’t know. Unless…” eyes briefly glancing at him in thought, you added with a dry laugh. “-the Big Man upstairs hates it when someone doesn’t believe in him. Or he takes into account sins from when I was a kid and stoles my parent’s money? maybe that’s why?”

With a wave of his hand, head cocks to an exact 90 degree following a crack, holding onto a cane echoing the same sentiments, a chorus of scandalous gasp and oohs “Why, stealing?! How utterly despicable you are! Even I can’t deny that’s as good of a reason as any. Seems like you’ll be stuck down here with us for a long time then my dear!”

The conversation tapers off to another topic that Alastor simply doesn’t have the heart to recalled. Shamefully, confidently, Alastor indulges in the fact you look at him in his eyes with such mirth in yours, corners of your lips lifted up to simply give him a half-hearted smile, betrayed by the fondness in your tone. “I know.”

(how he would love to crack open your ribcages to be closer to your adorable little heart. Would you then look at him in the same way? Even though he’s sure of the answer, he finds himself hesitating over it. One thing for sure. If he were to even ask you in the first place, you would let him.)

-

You’ve been more distracted over the days. Unamused, he noted to himself. You’ve always been a fast walker, short legs making up for the distance with how you pretty much glide across the hotel at time, only the clacks of your shoes can give people a guide as to where you were. Your eyes, dark and silent, always open fully just to make sure people can be less put off by the fact you’ll inevitably scared someone half to double hell when you arrive without a sound.

(your logic as to how this works is yet another mystery, you also were very insistent on the fact this is not a mystery and he’s making it sounds like one because it gives you a reason to act like youre upset. You two still got a bet going on with zero way of knowing how it supposed to end.)

His little chump, naturally silent yet masked it with life, now haunts the hall with the way you're walking about. Your eyes droops in the way you would only let it in privates, but now in the open. Almost in a day, his lovely entertainment turns to someone he can’t get a lovely laugh out of anymore. He likes to think he missed having such an encouraging audience member who'd so eagerly waits for him just to listen to a joke or two. Now he gets why you always insisted your eyes is more like that of a dead fish. Unnerving in a way akin to locking eyes with a doll, perching up high on your shelf, nearly falling off, but never close enough.

Beyond all of that, Alastor is nothing if not a man in need of entertainment. Something to keep him on his tipsy toes. And with everyone at the hotel moving around on their feet like rats in a race. There’s simply not that much to do, that is, if he wants to chip in on the defense reinforcement. The reinforcement he’s sure to rid the hotel of once all of this is over, that is. Effort be damned! This place is his stage, not a war bunker!

 (Also, he can only watch them for so long, and Charlie with her skilled feet can only last her so long before she trips on a stray piece of wood in her mad dash to get everything in check, if only dear Vaggie isn’t there, he could’ve gotten a chuckle or two then.)

Thusly, with everyone so busy, and his part already planned out, all he get to go off of is the upcoming show, and excitement for a fun show where he also gets to play both the main character and hero can, unfortunately, only last this poor wayward soul for so long. So, for the fun of it, he thinks more about what could’ve gotten you so down.

 Maybe it’s the increasing heat. Maybe you’ve been eating at odd hours and skipping meals again (he needs to check up on that more). Maybe it’s the date of the early extermination drawing ever closer and closer with each passing seconds, and how Charlie managed to snag the entire hotel a front row ticket to meet the ever-elusive lady Death and the casket bound to her body(s). Or maybe you haven’t been drinking water again, relying on disgusting modern sugary drink to keep you up and awake for as long as you can (something he also needs to keep in check).

It could be anything, really.

And yet he still finds himself standing next to you, who’ve remain hush by an open window with a heavy gaze even before he’d arrive. Eyes chasing the burning sky line, only turning to him for a moment following a greeting, then right back at staring. Below you, nails and wooden boards that realistically will provide zero comfort in this sort of situations sitting haphazardly in a row.

“Do you think we can actually do this?” you asked with nothing more than a sigh. Your tone could’ve been seen as rude in any other case. “If something goes wrong, what do we do about it?”

‘What do I do about it?’ growing so used to you, he can read you like an open book. He would’ve shed a tear and a cheer for your display of a bleeding heart. If only he ever had any.

Alastor likes to think that his life was always his to controlled. Ever since he dropped down this god forsaken land. with style and with grace, he’d crushed everyone and everything that stands in his way. That was always how it goes. Someone stands up to him like a fool, either full of themselves or underestimating him, and he would walk away with nothing more than the muscles and flesh pulls at the end of his shoes. Alastor is strong, he knows he is. Even with the chain around him, he wouldn’t falter.

Thusly, with an odd crinkled at the corner of his eyes, and a smile that barely pulls at his aching skin. One of his hands reaches out for your face, the other takes your hand. You letting him lead you into whatever odd sort of dance he got in him today, which is just him spinning you around like a ragdoll in his hands. He, in a voice that could almost be seen as loving (to you or to him?). “You, don’t need to do anything my dear.”

“The show will end before the overtures ever starts. Unless you think your old pal Alastor won’t be able to pull his own weight?” leaving your face alone, he clutches at the air, feigning distresses “What a tragedy, my most precious friend, doubting ME!”

“It’s not that. I just, don’t know.” Almost like looking through him, to the hallway behind him, you look so much smaller than usual like this. You looked small and hopeless. Despite loving it on anyone else, on you, it looks like a stranger overstaying its welcome.

“Then tell me dear, what is it that you don’t know?” In any other case, if only you were a doll. “Whatever it is that you’re uncertain of in that brilliant brain of yours, do tell me! You know that I’m always here to assist you Cher.” He could’ve cleared that lost expression off your brow and painted you a new one.

“I trust you, I think,” your hand still firmly in his, a habit Alastor soon got used to once he started it “It’s just that I’m still sort of terrified about this. What if we lose something?” but he grips it just a tad tighter. Although trying his best to be careful with such a gesture, his claws still draw into your skin, just a tad bit too much.

(if only you were a doll.)

“Well, we certainly can’t help your little dreamy head from drifting off to faraway lands with such terrible worries! But how about this?” shaking his head to the beat of his own words, he knows just what will get you to freshen up. And right on beat, at that, you look at him, really look at him. “Let’s us make a deal then, no handshaking business needed.”

“I’ll make sure that everything will be spotless and clean. You’ll ended up finding that there wouldn’t even be a hair misplaced on my head! And you,”

Being someone who stays by Alastor’s side for a considerable amount of time means you’ll stop minding the blood of strangers that simply, came as a package with him. Though, your blood is always a different story. It’s not that he’s sorry about accidentally swiping you at time when you’re too closed and you both aren’t aware of it. It’s that you always laugh with a laughter coming from the inside of your innards that let him finds you a delightful little thing.

“Lift your chin up my dear. You’ve always look positively lovely with a smile.” it’s something he absolutely adores about you. You can’t stop yourself from smiling. And just like that, like always, you did.

(if only you are one, maybe he would finally be content let you fall from the shelves you hide yourself on and shattered on the ground, with nothing inside. Like that, there won’t be red.

Alas, you still bleed, no matter how much he wishes you can’t. And upsettingly, he also bleeds, no matter how much he wishes it would stop.)

--

Red is Alastor’s favorite color, for various reason, all throughout his life (and after), it follows after him faithfully like a little playful friend.

(sinking into the dark, he can’t feel anything, but he knew after this it’s going to be hard to walk around, or move around, for that matter. He would’ve laugh.)

First, there’s his dear old mother and her most favorite dress. The lovely shade of carmine enraptured him from the first moment he saw it. And it doesn’t help at all that his mother always smiles so, so bright when she has it on. His first ever love, and his second, his mother and the beautiful shade of carmine hanging in the closet.

(almost like dragging himself, Alastor lost track of time, he can’t feel his smile, he knows it’s still there. The blood lost, admittingly, getting to him a bit. He stumbled out of the shadow, the cacophony of the on-going battle and the rushing of his boiling blood all sounds like white noise to his own ears.)

After that, it’s the color of his first tailored suit. Alastor likes to think that he’s a simple man with simple taste, but even then, when thinking back on it, that suit was extremely plain and modest compared to anything else he gets in the future. A simple cardinal red for all its worth, he still remembers the last time he sees it. Buried deep in his ever-growing collection, he only ever wore it twice. Despite being fond of the suit itself at the time, there seems to never be another right occasion aside from those two dates.

(his new job and his first kill.)

Without fail, its also the color of blood. It still amazed him that the dirtiest rat on the street and in the dirt both shared the same shade of bright red. Time and time again, he expected at least one of them would bleed mud and oil and tar, none ever did. That bright red haunted his eyelids and it dragged him down to hell on unsteady feet and Alastor gladly follows it down there.

(something like that flashes to the back of his mind. He shakes it off and continued on unsteady feet.)

Red is his favorite color; it usually follows under the bottom of his shoe and stained his outercoat. At the end of his cane and on his fingertips, never his. It wasn’t supposed to be his.

(after who knows how long, on unsteady legs, while madly rambling to himself). He opens the trapdoor to the radio tower, his tower. He pulls himself in, more aware of his surroundings now, more aware of his broken cane and the busted microphone in his hand.

For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t sure where to put his hand after this. For the first time in a long time, he nearly stumbled into his control panel. For the first time in a long time, Alastor can smell his own, bright red blood, and he’s afraid. Surely there have to be a way out of this. Surely he can run. He wants out.

His ties to the hotel were always kept to a minimum, as best as he can possibly kept it. But he knows he’s getting too close, to them, to you. He’s getting more loose ends. More weakness. He can’t have more. Almost like a madman, he spat out with fervor. He almost died for them. Oh, what a show. He wants out.

But if he manages to held onto Husk for this long without him being able to pull away for a second, what can he do.

He blinks away the blood. Briefly, he thought of you, who waved at him before all of this starts.

He needs out.

(On much more steady legs, someone stand outside, under the shadow and simply listened. He must really be out of it if he’s this careless. You dragged yourself back. At least he’s not that hurt, you think.

Once you made it back to the group, you all but passed out. The spearhead logged in your left side taking a toll on you. Before you close your eyes, though. Amongst the panic chattering of everyone else, you thought about how he basically lost the deal.

Too bad you aren’t going to do anything about it. You’re suddenly are reminded of the little mark he left on your hand, it already healed.)

---

You two had a little game you played, started halfway through knowing (actually knowing) each other. You make small little deals about things, inconsequential and trivial things.

You would ask him something, or get him to follow a ridiculous joke as your straight man, and he would force you to join him on his outing, visiting meat shop or a trip to cannibal colony. If one of you failed to held up the other end of the small verbal deal, then out of pure moral obligation, you have to do one thing the other person asked for under all circumstances.

(you always ask him for something silly. Teleporting a cookie from the cookie jar right next to him, a notebook for your ever-growing collection of unused notebooks, a canvas you will never paint on and an easel that none of the canvas ever fits on, etc. in his case? Making you try his lovingly handmade meals with different type of meat in them. Your various talks about the human psychic and how people react differently to the same food when they can identify them versus when they can’t help landed you a spot as his number one lab rat. What’s more cannibalistic? You eating a venison demon, or him making it for you (and also eating it)? Who knows!)

Such a transaction with such a dangerous man would’ve been advised against, and Husk did warn you. But you, ever the jolly and charming fellow, put your heart into trusting him, and he was utterly delighted knowing you did. As much as he likes his own voice, he can’t come up with half the (quite frankly) insane thing you did to keep you both entertained on the trip to and fro. Usually, you would find your way to him the moment he breaks the deal, your shoes clacking in an unknown beat to everyone but him with a snake like grin, self-assuredly, you’d be declared the winner of this silly affair with the audience cheering for you, preening like a little cat. He’d act a shirker and you two would spend the evening joining in whatever antics you come up with for the fun of it.

That’s how it usually goes, but he only came back around when the hotel is done with its renovations (no thanks to him, really) in the middle of the group celebrating. Then afterwards he was given a tour of the new hotel, courtesy of Charlie, who he simply let pulled him away, mind on another problem he picks up immediately the moment he saw you again.

You’ve been avoiding him, plain and simple. Almost like making an effort not to even spare him a glance. With the way you’re rushing around with the influx of new guests, it would’ve been less suspicious if not for you not even looking his way when he calls for you, opting to cocking your head half way all wide eye and doe like and spat out excuses after excuses only to ran off again. If it was anyone else, you would’ve played them for a fool, you’re good at acting clueless. But he knows you, and he knows you know. Alastor noted with a slight bit of distaste. He would love to chalk this up to the fact you’ve lost two of your acquaintances (not friend) in a day, or that you’re simply upset with him for…retreating. But he knows you.

(was he offended over the notion of you rather wasting your nights away sitting next to the golden statue of the dragon guard talking about whatever you would’ve talk to him, with 100% less the audience? Or that you would stand and watch that blasted portrait with that same glance he’d works so hard to get rid of, over spending your time showing him whatever you were working on that day? Or that you still have enough free time to indulges Charlie’s silly games and exercises, or jest around with Angels, or doing quite literally anything else except from sparing him a glance? Never, he convinced himself that he simply finds things a bit more boring without you by his side.)

Lucky for him, as it was, he (only him) can only ever find you around when you’re off in your room doing whatever you do in there, or under the portrait and by the statue’s side. He would love to crashed in your room as he usually does, but noting how far off you are from him in the moment, it’ll only ever serves to push you further away. Hands gracefully behind his back, Alastor takes his time walking towards the tacky golden memorial outside, not seeing you in the hotel itself. And there you are.

Already hauled yourself up to sit next to it, your hands curl around a cup, staring off into space. Softly, you were mumbling about your day to Dazzle before his static and the song of the day (Leave a little for me, a little thing that always got you tapping your pointed shoes) became clearer and clearer as he creeped up right next to you. Then, you rasped out an odd greeting in return to his enthusiastic salutation and opted to stay silent afterward. He can feel his eye twitched as you seemingly folded into yourself, this game of yours is getting more ridiculous by the hour.

“I supposed you have an inquiry for me cher?”

You’ve always been hard to read to others, almost to a fault, yet nobody ever knows. Alastor prides himself on the fact only he alone can seamlessly pick up small tells and little quirks you show, only he knows when you’re truly uncomfortable with something, he knows when you’re not listening. And he knows, by the simple way your eyebrows knitted together just a bit, by how you sat up a tad, you’re wary of him (again), holding doubts about this friendly back and forth you two have before he slink off for weeks (just like how you were when he first arrived) and it drives him up the walls because he cannot for the dead lives he took remember a single thing that he say or did throughout this entire ordeal that could’ve sent you so far away.

You’ve always been an enigma, but he always manages well against your silly little antics. This isn’t it. You’ve never felt further apart from him. Even when he hurts you, or say something that catches you on the wrong side, all you ever need is a little bit of time to reprocessed the fact he’s simply like that, then you’re back again. Learning day by day the art of being by his side and weathering his sense of humor that sometimes felt like a knife. But now, you’re staring off with a sigh, mouth opening and closing, trying to say something but failed.

(what a darling thing you always are. Even while struggling with your word. Even while so far away.)

Your cup now slightly on the side (allowing him to peek the content, in the cup he gifted you sat a dark, semi steaming liquid, it’s coffee, he can’t deny he preens a bit at that), one hand to your face, resigning from whatever you were trying to say. A deep sigh draws from the bottom of your throat, but before he can break the silence, you stab it with a knife.

“What do you mean by all of that, back at the Radio tower?”

The static screeches, the music comes to a raging halt. At that, he can feel all of his restraint nearly broke. Insignificant and small and silly little you, would’ve never threatened him with anything other than some harmless jests, but he can feel the dark from every corner gathered and calling to him, the tears and wears of his stiches. His bones creaks as he leans just a bit forward to you, trying to collect himself. He hates how patient you are even through all of this, still faithfully waits for him to collect himself, trusting that he will listen and not immediately skewered you like some dirty disrespectful rodent on the streets. But he can’t help himself from croaking out a laugh and stares at you. Visions red, he must look like a piece of work right now.

“Well, darling-” you are so incredibly lucky you have his favor “Have anyone ever told you it’s rude to eavesdrop!?” still holding your shoulder blade as gently as he can afford, he forced you to look at him, he can feel your heart beating under his hand.

In the brief moment your eyes were on him, he saw radio dials, red, staring back within. He despises how it makes him feel. So he spats at you. “Was it fun then? Watching me writhes in pain, listening to my probes.” Even though he knows you enough, he still can’t let himself trust you with this version of him.

The Alastor you’ve seen all this time, no matter how much you want to believe it, it’s more of a facade derived of the ‘real’ him. The ever-pleasant Alastor who seeks you out and laugh with you and give you space and time are all part of him, but not all of him. The Alastor who cowered and run away and hide and drags himself through that trapdoor is the him he never wants you to see.

(you’ve never tried to pick apart his mask of confident. But in the quiet moment when you two simply sits together, you sometimes, without asking, would crack open your heart and let him see the little bit and pieces that makes up ‘you’ as you are. “I love you”. Alastor have always believed that if someone expressed something over and over again, perhaps they're simply trying to convinced themselves or the other person. Why must someone confess their love everyday when they can simply show it.)

“Did you have fun? I hope you did little doe. So all this is for that then? Well? Are you going to run off to dearest Charlie and tells her all about what your dear old Alastor is up to? Tell her about,” He can’t feel himself again, the pain flaring up and the phantom coil around his neck like it’s begging him to stop. Something on his face, maybe the way his stretches grin twitch, must’ve kick starts you on actually trying to talk to him.

(you can’t ever pick him apart, even if you were to try. That isn’t what he’s afraid of.)

“Alastor, I’m not going to tell her anything.” At that, he physically paused. You waited for him to say anything, and when all he can give you is a weakened confusion, you’ll bow your head, averted your eyes, and continue. “I won’t…I… don’t know what you mean by any of it. And I know I’m an idiot, but I still…sort of trust you.” At that, instead of thinking about how your skin must’ve been burning under his hand, he chased himself further from you, as if holding onto a coal too hot. You simply stay put, the coffee cup fell from your hand and broke under the foot of the statue.

“You…still? trust me?” he laughs, and laughs, and laughs. A jokester you always are. “Dear, that’s no way to talk to me. What have I ever done for you to ever treated me like this?” mockingly, he cranes his head and tries to shake off the unwelcomed feelings that he’s rudely reminded existed in the first place.

“Are you afraid that I’ll kill you? Pummeled you into the streets below? Drag your body through gravel and skinned you alive?”

(it’s that he unsure of whether he would gladly break himself open to show you his everything too.)

“I don’t think you can reasonably do that without Charlie kicking you out and ruins your plan.” You’re upset now, sitting straight and staring at him. You’ve always lacked a bit of that ability to react with your face. It’s hard for people to tell when you’re upset with just your face. But he can tell. You’re staring at him. He can see himself in your eyes. He looks so vile in your eyes. “Whatever your plan was, I start to get a bit dizzy so I try to find my way back to everyone before I conked out.”

(it should’ve never even be in for consideration, yet here it is.)

He looks so foul in your eyes. “Then what did you hear?”

“Enough to know I probably shouldn’t bother you from now on.”

(So vile, so foul, a beast in a prey getup. By all means he always have been and always will be, yet you look at him like he’s the only love you’ve ever felt and yet you have to let go of him before dinner time.)

“I feel like, you don’t…like...you're not my friend? Or something. I don’t know, maybe I overstep.” He can’t help but stare at you like you’re a headless chicken running through the street of New York. All of this, for something so small. He almost laughs, but now that the dam is open, you continue to talk. “I like to know what people would consider me as, Alastor. And this is so ridiculous when yeah, you were ramblings about something that honestly pretty concerning? But I just, don’t care enough about that. If you hurt everyone else, I’ll be worried. But you didn’t, actually hurt any of us.” Pray tell you’ll never find out about how he’d dragged dear Husker on the floor by a chain then.

“You’re a pretty, mean person but I like you, you don’t hurt any of us and you’re kind to me. You were nice to me.”

He remembers your definition of being nice and being kind.

Hands on your knees, your fingers dig into your pants, you haven’t even changed out of it, your uniform, opted to come here night after night right after work to just sit by yourself. He would’ve felt a bit of guilt for interrupting if he were anyone else. But he’s always him, and you’re only you. You and your gaze on the ground, on the glinting shards of ceramic below you. He let you speak.

“I don’t want to be close to someone who doesn’t really, return the energy, I guess. I like hanging out with you though.” You’re ever only you, and you’re so small and fragile, a silly little thing that he’s taken to keep by his side for fun.

“Oh well, I’ll live, haha…”

And now you’re saying you want to leave. It’s funny how you think you ever get to pick to be in his company.

“…Alastor?”

Alastor thinks you’re a funny little thing, an entertainer at heart. He should let you know one day, what a jokester you are.

“Thank you for letting me hang around.”

(he won’t let you.)

“Now where are you going dear?” a hand on your back, your confused gaze amused him. He should’ve been livid at your little proclamation. If he truly wants to, Charlie won’t ever know where you went. But you, his little doe eye…thing, his little friend. “So fast to rush right off, won’t you let me speak my peace?” with your silly humor and your little games. You’re the only person he would let dancing and prancing in the palm of his hand without crushing you at moment notice.

But he can never crush you, alive or dead.

So, in a voice that can almost be considered loving, akin to placating a friend from birth, a family member you’re especially fond of, a lover in heart and mind, he breathes, “I thought you’re smarter than this.” he held onto your hands, cupping them together, like praying, “If I were to ever want you to leave my side, I would’ve let you know so already, haven’t I? You know I don’t dance around my words cher.” You both know he does, but not so much around you.

That’s what he always likes about you, you’ve always been especially understanding, even when upset.

“Half the thing you did dear, if it was anyone else, I would’ve never let them live.” You poured tea on him once, it wasn’t a joke, and you were actually petrified. You should’ve been dead. “All the things you said, if it was anyone else, their head would’ve been parade on a spike.” The chatter and cackle of the audience goes deaf on both of your ears, your eyes trained on the grip he held you in, tight, he breaks people’s bones before.

“If I sincerely wanted you gone, I could’ve done so, and you would have zero say in it my dear. And yet…”

And yet, you’re alive. And it’s not enough to hurt.

His dear friend Rosie talks about this to him before. On the one outing where he takes you to the prettiest park in Cannibal Colony, he let you run around like a dog and send a shadow or two to watch over you, trusting everyone there will behave themselves around the thing that visibly resembles him hanging behind you while you walk aimlessly. She stands and watch him bid you off after fixing the string bowtie he forced on you with a bright smile. As you stumble right off the trail and into the denser part of the park, trees covering you from his sight, he turns to his friend, all teeth and grinning brightly at him.

She never really addressed anything beyond a few light poking here and there about you, and he indulges her with anything she wants to. But he’s painfully aware of how he really looks at you, he knows she want to questioned him about it too. It’s far beyond anything he would grant to anyone around him, you have nothing of genuine worth to offer him, and he have nothing he truly needs from you. But he would tell Rosie, and himself, that you’re a funny thing to have around. Honest enough so that it can be a fault, but as cautious as a rabbit with its spawn at all time. A little pet to keep around and to fawn over when he wants to and drop at a moment notice once it got too old. Even if he stops seeing you as one.

(fond, Alastor is extremely fond of you. Rosie’s sure everyone in the hotel must’ve caught onto it by now. Moreover, people don’t look at a pet the same way he looks at you. Or maybe they do, if they’re willing to climb the 9 circles of hell for the pet that is.)

It’s no wonder to him then, that he would soon also grow to be patient with you.

(you’d came back to them both in 15 minutes top with blood on your face and a bewildered gaze, Alastor’s little friend trailing behind you cackling silently to itself. Rosie gets why he would get attached the moment you laugh.)

----

Alastor is not a loving man. Nor is he a good one. Generous? Perhaps. But not enough to the point of kindness. The only person he can proudly say he truly loves with all of his heart is his mother. The women who gave him his everything. In fact, he’s much more warry of chumps who claimed they love everything, or love too easily. One’s a liar, the other fool.

Sometimes he would remember what you say on that day, where Vaggie urges you to help her partner out and explain your idea of a good life. He remembers the audience heckling and him laughing at such a notion. To love everything with all of your heart and be ready to let it go when you need to, he can still recall the slight disinterest looks you gave him. A simple one over and then nothing else. The same one you’ve been given him the entire time he was there. As if you already expected him to laugh and mock you.

Back when you two are nothing more than two strangers living under the same roof. He would’ve taught you a lesson or two about respecting someone, if not for your immediate word after. Standing in front of everyone, with almost none of the confident, drawing into yourself, yet with almost a fondness in your eyes, like recalling an old story.

“I love everything I don’t know in a general sense, but I like to still think it’s love. And when you choose to love something, or specifically, someone. You’re essentially putting your heart into their hand, and you held onto their hand, and you asked them to please, don’t break my heart. I do that, I think.” Your eyes are distant, looking at something nobody there can see. “I put my heart into the hands of the people I love, and I tell them to keep it safe. And I’m not good at trusting people, not as good as I hope I can be. But I hope they know I really do trust them.”

An egg raises it hand and immediately spoke up afterward “But what if they do break it though?” and another one chimes in “Yeah, do you break them back?” and you tilted your head in the same way you always did and you laugh, covering your mouth all the while. “Of course not, if they do then uh, shame on them, I guess. I usually just move on after raging about them for like some day. It’s not really your fault people decides to be a dick about you being open to them.”

Eyes glancing to the other side, almost like contemplating “I mean, I like to just take my friends word at face values when I think they’re not joking. Otherwise, there’s not a real fault to loving too much you know?” then you look at the eggs, and your face could’ve been seen as anything but a smile, but it is a smile to him.

“People who say they hate love are afraid they’ll lose something, or maybe they already have, and they don’t want to go through the same thing again. If there’s something you love, held it with both of your hands, and held it close to your heart. So that when you have to let go, if you ever have to, you’ll be able to live knowing that you’ve love it so much-oof”

Charlie, who was tearing up throughout your whole rambling, pulls you into a hug and almost taking the both of you down, sobbing about how much she loves you. With a quiet resignation, you settled for patting Charlie on the back, hesitantly returning her hugs. Ever vigilant Vaggie shouted at everyone to get themselves up and go do something. Angel slinkered off to the bar, trying to charmed Husk in for the night. The snake stays back, trying to interject Charlie’s sniffles to ask you about something, but got distracted by his ‘army’ hugging him and refusing to let go. Nifty already disappeared for the night, probably still chasing after bugs as she always does.

And him? He was at the top of the stairs by the time Vaggie have Charlie in her arms, with the latter trying to bring you four into a group hug (Pentious awkwardly put his hands around you three, not knowing what to do but doing it with enthusiasm). But his eyes were on you, and for the first time in all the time you both been in the same room, you look at him, really look at him. Nodding your head to wish him a good night, you simply turn back to the ongoing chattering. Eyes off him.

And he spent the rest of the night going back and forth between what you were saying.

(Later on, way later on, you told him you were hoping he would catch on to you essentially calling him a dick, a coward, and a loser. He only laughs at that and tells you how brave you are.)

He is not a loving man. And you are everything he’s not and everything he is. He soon learns your idealistic world view is much more realistic than he ever imagines. With the same tongue you use to sung praises to the top of a soda can, you spat out every cursed known to mankind about some guy that nearly drive mud onto his coat. With the hand that trembles in rage at someone’s distasteful remarks about your friend, you would simply use it to comforts them instead. You’ve prayed death on people who slightly inconvenienced you before, and it’s never going to stop. Short burst of rages that almost seems like they were kept inside for eons before exploding. If you were anyone else with less self-control, you would’ve actually killed more than he ever could.

(you hate with a fervor and love as if it’s the last day of your life, he’d told you on a calm evening. While a modern cover of an old song you both love playing from your laptop, you laugh at the remark. He takes it that he absolutely spot on, you thought he was ridiculous.)

You said your first option for everything that hurts you is hate, and the thing you try your best to pick is always love. And he wishes he could show you just how much he detested your life, but all he can do is to quietly disagree on the nights when it gets too hard for you to move, he would listened in on you from the other side of the door, talking to no one, sobbing to yourself. It would’ve been impossible for anyone to realized something was wrong with you aside from you waking up later in the morning, but he knows you, he always has. But never enough to knock on your door. So he stays outside until you fell asleep. Because you pick to love, and someone have to protect you in the case you die of a broken heart.

(he likes to think you can hear his everlasting statics and the songs he handpicked for you from outside the door, you’ve always calm down much faster around him ever since he started his little pastime.)

You, ever loving you, readily tells everyone how much you truly care for them when asked to. And he indulges in your heartfelt phrases more than he admits he usually would, but your eagerness to pleased and the way you always take the time to think it over truly won him over so he never stops you. Your consideration for him is always a wonderful thing to experience, coming from the heart, rather than fear. So, having been waiting for you to tell him what you can freely tell (almost) everyone at the hotel. Imagine his utter delight when you eventually did, with a glint in your eyes but a face like attending a funeral that you love him (he let you know, you reply that you know. He almost can’t hear the sounds of your shared mirth over the beating of his own rotted heart), he indulges himself and tell a lie. To you? To himself? He still is slowly figuring it out.

‘maybe I love you too’

Has he ever truly told you that? Maybe he has, maybe he hasn’t.

Alastor is not a loving man. It is not in his nature to be so. But now, after all the trouble he go through, simply sitting and watching you nodding off to sleep after everything. He wondered, what would he ever do if you were to die. Of course, one simply can’t die that easily down here, especially when it’s you, he would never let you die under anyone else’s hand.

But what if he were to kill you one day? Would he actually do it? How much would he put you through? Would you like it if he actually cracks open your ribcage? He thinks about the ethics of eating someone you care about (not love, even in his head, he nearly slipped. He would’ve laugh, if not for how utterly miserable this is making him), then he thinks about how funny is it that a cannibal is considering this sort of ethical dilemma when in reality he has done so much worse to so many people.

(but you’re not just anyone)

Holding onto the idea of you in his head, he stares out the window in the library space he seated you two into. Alastor stands up and dust himself off, moving to take you back to your room. While he slowly moves a particularly gaudy cup from your lap to his hand and place them on the side table, (you can panic in the morning about losing it as a lesson about not asking him for such tacky décor, even have enough guts to say it looks better than the first one) he thinks about the fact that if he were to ever kills you for good, he will eat you, raw, every part of you, past the bones and the inside of it. He will soak himself in your blood, and drinks every other last drop of it. He’ll crushed your bones into dust by hand, and inhaled it like drugs. Drinks your brain fluids, and swallowed your hair. Making sure not a single part of you is left. Making sure not a single part of you is anyone else’s. Ensuring you safe.

Like that of your love for him, that you never elaborate on. Whether it was like your love for collecting notebooks you’ll never used, or like your love for Charlie who by now considered you family. He only knows your love for him is his alone, a special love that nothing can capture. Going to the end of the world and back. Holding onto that idea, he carries you back to your room, and as he gently tucks you into your messy bed, making sure his claws won’t leave a scratch. He’d assured himself, that when the time came, he will make sure you’ll never be alone in the void beyond heaven and hell.

He thinks you thought a bit too highly of yourself, so much so that you think you can understand the depth of what he feels. Distancing yourself so quickly from him out of a misunderstanding. Of all the things he’s ready to let go of, you were never a part of.

(you’ve become the only thing he swore he’ll held onto until the day he rots away to dust)

You placed your still-beating heart in his hand, after all. What else can he do but to place his thoroughly dead and rotting one in yours, or whatever is left of it. He Is quite fond of you and your little jokes, after all.

(and you’re right, he does find your little acts funny.)

[viksalos]

4, 7, 11, 12, 15, 20, 31, 40, 46, 48, 56, 57, and 58

so understandably this got very long lol

(ask game)

4. thing i'm looking forward to: hmmm short term i'd probably say for Skinny Puppy to reschedule their Pittsburgh show, and for a friend's wedding coming up at the beginning of next month :) longer term to graduate with my fking doctorate aughhh

7. what my life was like last year: about the same? i hadn't made as much progress in my degree but i did hit a few important milestones at least, so it was frustrating but i was getting somewhere. last year was definitely the year that live music *really* started back up since the pandemic began, so i started getting out and doing that a lot more. was a bit nervous to get back into crowds but i thought it was really good for me to have a hobby where i get to see other human beings regularly and slowly make friends in the local music scene 👍

11. music i'm listening to rn: ya i got the thou/ragana split repress in the mail yesterday so i'm spinning that

12. something i want rn: i mean most of my immediate needs are taken care of so i feel like this kind of ties in with 4 lol--skinny puppy show, my doctorate, cure for my chronic illness maybe idk

15. personality description: hmm!! well shy but friendly, tries to be careful with my words but ultimately a chatterbox, sad sometimes but full of love for others & tries to be compassionate in all things. duality of woman or whatever

20. favorite song rn: ohhh that is hard, my favorite song changes like every day lol. i guess since i'm listening to the thou/ragana split rn and it just came on i'd say The Void. i know the void!!

31. 3 random facts: uhhh off the top of my head. 1.) have skydived 2.) when i was a teenager i went to an "explosives camp" which was billed as a way for troubled kids to get out their destructive urges but really it was just a way for the local mining & engineering school to recruit people to its program lol. but i did learn how to set up & detonate C4 among other stuff 3.) was a member of a local cult/megachurch for a few months as a kid

40. favorite memory: ohhh this is HARD. i feel like i have to say my wedding though. there was a lot of stuff leading up to the wedding that was difficult & painful but it was mostly like, pandemic and terrible relatives, but our friends really showed up for us and the actual day went as well as it could have :)

46. last text: "none really"

48. turn offs: idk, like sexually or personally? sexually i guess not much shocks me but there's plenty i'm not willing to do, including discussing this too much on tumblr lol. on an interpersonal level though i'd say my turnoffs are mostly just like, making being a hater your whole personality i guess? like you could otherwise be a totally decent person, have politics that completely align with mine etc., but if everything you say or post is about how X harmless phenomenon or group of people is annoying or trash or whatever then i'm not gonna want to be around you, even if X harmless phenomenon is something i also don't like. wish you the best tho

56. answered

57. favorite domestic animal is probably the humble kitty cat :) favorite wild animals are probably servals and snakes. i think all animals are cool tho & i like learning about them

58. description of my best friend: uhhh physically he looks somewhere between kaidan alenko and harvey guillen. he likes podcasts, video games, and synthpop. also kind of a shy-but-friendly personality, maybe a bit shyer than me tho. normal human man, keeps me sane 👍

[lifesteal-headcanons]

so, the non humans r funky amirite so here have ideas/headcanons for what they are. also some of these may be really random because most of them are just little ideas that i thought of

so leo has a microwave (or monitor) for a head and i won't (and can't) elaborate.

clown is a fucking god of death (i have no idea where this came from). also no elaboration.

zam is kinda like,, ink?? he's just living ink, kinda like bendy from bendy and the ink machine. also a shapeshifter.

vitalasy is just a creation of the void. like. just a fucking creature from the void. ive had this headcanon since i joined the fandom and it has my heart in a tight grasp. i don't even know where it came from, i think it's because a headmate of mine thought his skin looked like an enderman or the void. also probably a shapeshifter as well.

reddoons is just,,, something. nobody knows what he is. he's just something. probably just a shapeshifter or smth

spoke and planet are just clouds/smoke. they have actual physical human forms, but they're just made of clouds/smoke.

vortex is a dragon hybrid but like 80% dragon

subz is also a dragon hybrid. specifically ender dragon.

ro is,, yeah 😊👍 ro is just ro. no but seriously ro is a demonic entity of sorts that can change their appearance to a more humanoid and friendly appearance so people aren't as scared of them. he doesnt tell anyone he isn’t human and nobody has actually realised that he isn't human (some have thought about it about him not being human, but ro convinces them that he is human)

spepticle is kinda like zam except he's not ink-

yeah these r just some funky little ideas/headcanons! i didn't do everyone though bc i just didn't know what to do with them- feel free to do whatever with these btw :D -👁