#this is perfectly exactly what i want to say every time someone says “yeah its so basic i already knew that”

[xsaltburnx]

It's always been you

(Farleigh takes your virginity)

a/n: so here it is, I'm sorry it took so long, I hope you'll like it

warning: swearing, pure smut, using the word baby a lot (sorry not sorry), P in V, creampie, just basically being obsessed with Farleigh

word count: 3,589

His arms were wrapped around your body and his head buried in the crook of your neck. You inhaled deeply as tears fell from your eyes and rolled down your cheeks, soaking his grey t-shirt. You quietly sobbed into his chest, his one hand gently rubbed your back, comforting you while the other was stroking your hair.

"You know I'll always come back, we'll see each other very soon." He said quietly, and felt your body press up against him even more, if that was possible.

"I know but you're leaving now and the worst part is that you'll be half way across the world and even the time difference, what will I do without you?" You said through sobs, another tear rolling down your cheek, your eyes looking up at him. He looked at you and wiped away your tears with his thumb, his lips curling up into a smile.

"Don't worry, I'll come back soon and you'll join me out there next year anyway and we'll make up for all the lost time while I'm at Oxford. Maybe you'll find someone new to mess with while I'm gone." He teased you and wiped another tear from your chin.

"Yeah right, that's not possible." You hugged him again, this time tighter, your face pressed against his chest. "I'm gonna miss you so much." You whispered.

"I'm gonna miss you too, but I really have to go now." He took a step back as he fixed the bag strap on his right shoulder. "I'll call you when I land, okay?"

"Okay." You nodded and looked at him one last time before he turned around and walked away towards the escalator, getting further and further away from you.

You and Farleigh literally grew up together. His mother and your mother instantly became friends when Frederica moved to America. It helped that you were both living on the same street only a few houses away from each other. Kindergarten, high school, literally inseparable. You did everything together, often spent nights at each other's houses, even in high school.

In 7th grade you were each other's first kiss. It wasn't like you two were in love, you just wanted to experiment a little bit and since you felt comfortable around him, why not. That was the only kiss you two have ever shared. You were never romantically involved and never planned on doing so until his senior year.

You watched him around all these girls and suddenly started to get a little bit jealous. Every time he came to you to say how he's going out with someone, you kinda always wished it was you and that's how you knew you had very strong feelings for Farleigh but you never said anything because you were afraid it would ruin your friendship. You tried to hide it as much as possible, keeping it cool when you were next to him, where you spent the night in his room smoking or just talking until 3 am, it was something you got used to.

You loved watching him focus on his homework, how his curls always stayed perfectly in place, his fingers twirling that yellow pencil over and over again, his eyes scanning the pages carefully. How his eyebrows furrowed when he didn't understand something, but even when he was busy, he always found the time to look at you, even for a second but it was enough to bring out a smile on your face. And a year later, that's exactly what you two were doing, only you were now officially at Oxford.

He was laying on his bed, his head right at the foot of the bed, hanging a little bit down as he placed a cigarette between his lips and took a deep drag, the smoke coming out of his lips in circular shapes. You swallowed hard, your heartbeat picking up its pace inside your chest. God, he's so damn beautiful. You completely got lost in your thoughts, Farleigh's deep voice spreading through the quiet room, but to you it sounded like a muffle.

"You okay?" He turned around so he was laying on his stomach, his hands under his jawline, supporting his head, his feet dangling. You shook your head and snapped out of it, a smile plastered on your face.

"Yeah, of course, I was just, um, thinking about... something." You trailed off and ran your fingers through your hair.

"It's your turn. Truth or dare?" He asked and took another drag, again blowing out the smoke as you watched it slowly evaporate.

"Truth." He chuckled and cleared his throat, a smile on his face. He looked like a child who just got offered their favourite candy.

"Okay, okay!" He jumped up and now sat on the bed, his legs crossed. "The weirdest place you've had sex?" He trailed off, his question catching you totally off guard. Was it personal? Yes. But that was Farleigh so it didn't matter. Little did he know that you actually were still a virgin. You went through thousands of scenarios on how you could ever answer this question. Judging by the look on his face and how long it took you to answer it and how much you stuttered, he figured it out on his own.

"Are you still a virgin?" He leaned forward, a cigarette still burning in his hand, a straight line of smoke slowly disappearing into thin air. You looked down and played with your ring on your middle finger. You started feeling really nervous, thinking Farleigh would mock you for it because let's face it, most of your friends lost their virginity at the beginning of high school but you didn't want to.

"Yes." You answered so quietly that Farleigh barely heard you. He put the cigarette on the white ashtray that was beside him and got off the bed. He sat right next to you, crossing his legs.

"What's wrong?" He saw you looking down at your fingers and how you played with your ring and he knew that you felt uncomfortable. He knew you too well and could always tell when something was bothering you.

"Nothing." You answered quickly.

"C'mon, it's me." He placed a finger under your chin, lifting your head up to look at him, his big brown eyes now looking straight into yours. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat before speaking.

"Can I tell you something?" You asked gently and felt like your heart literally skipped a beat. His hand fell down to his knee, his fingers picking on a single string sticking out the side of his pants. You don't know what has gotten into you but suddenly you felt like you had all the courage in the world just form inside your body, ready to admit how you felt about him for so long.

"Of course you can." He leaned back, supporting his weight with his arms, his legs stretched out in front of him.

"I always thought I would lose my virginity to you. I don't know, it was always in my head how you would be the one because honestly you're the only one I feel comfortable enough to do it with, even if it's just like a friend helping another friend and nothing more."

You watched him just stare at you, his lips slightly parted and you didn't know if he was shocked by what he heard, if he even wanted to have something with you or he would just laugh in your face. But he didn't. He opened his mouth, looking like he wanted to say something, then closed it again and then opened again, unsure of what to do.

"Do you still want me to be the one to do it?" He asked all of a sudden, catching you totally off guard. You clearly didn't expect that from him, never even dream of this actually becoming a reality but the thought of this leading somewhere, to what you wanted for so long was bewildering.

You kept playing with your fingers, an unpleasant feeling in your stomach, was it because you were nervous or was it from the couple of drinks you had a few hours ago, you weren't sure, but you did know that it felt like your heart was literally in your throat. You stuttered and couldn't take your eyes off him. Looking at him like that, sitting on the floor as the moonlight fell so perfectly on his face, illuminating his right side. God, you were so in love with him. He was so damn perfect. No one compared to him, but frankly, you didn't even care about anybody else.

"Yes." was all you managed to let out. 

"Are you sure?" The look on his face was so soft, he wanted to make sure that it was exactly what you wanted before making a move, before he even touched you.

"There's no one else I'd rather do this with. Only you, Farleigh" you trailed off and swallowed hard, your palms getting a little bit sweaty because of the way he was looking at you.

"Come here." He stretched out his hand and gently caught your wrist, pulling you closer to him. You got up and walked over to him, his hands guiding you on top of him, your legs on each side of him as you sat down and wrapped your legs around him. You swallowed hard and took a deep breath, a hint of goosebumps rolling down your back. 

"Farleigh, I need to tell you something first." You said quietly and looked down, your heart beating so loud in your chest, you were sure Farleigh could definitely hear it.

"I'm listening." His eyes were fixated on you so much that it made you weak in the knees. A sparkle in his chocolate brown eyes, his full lips so kissable and you were definitely having a hard time controlling yourself. 

"I-... What if-..." you stuttered, having trouble finding the words.  "I've always liked you Farleigh. I mean, for the last few years, I've grown some kind of feelings towards you and now I'm sure that you were more than just a crush." 

You watched as his lips slowly curl up into a smile, his thumb brushing your cheek first and then started slowly moving towards your bottom lip, pressing on it gently as he pulled it down a little, separating your lips.

"I've been in love with you since, well it's been a few years now." He trailed off, never taking his eyes off you. "I was scared you didn't want me that way so I never said anything." He somehow looked defeated. His brows furrowed, his lips parted as he sighed loudly, fear somehow creeped its way into his body.

"Farleigh?" You said quietly, his head bent down a little bit, looking at your legs wrapped around him. 

"Farleigh, please look at me." You placed a finger under his chin and lifted his head up to lock his eyes with yours. "How could I not want you? You're absolutely perfect." 

You slowly inched closer, his lips parted and you felt his hot breath on your face. You caressed his cheek gently, a hint of stubble under your fingertips. You enjoyed that feeling, being so close to him, such an intimate moment and it was finally just the two of you in a way you have always imagined. 

"I want you in every human way possible." You pressed your lips against his, his arms instantly pulling you closer, heat from his body radiating off him and onto you, the room instantly getting much hotter. He pulled on your bottom lip with his teeth, a silent moan escaping your mouth as he slipped his tongue inside your mouth. 

"If at any point you want to stop, just tell me, ok?" He whispered and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers grazing your flushed cheek. 

"Okay." He placed his hands under your thighs and got up with you in his arms, your legs still wrapped around him. He walked you both to his bed and gently placed you down as you sunk into a soft and comfortable bed, a few pillows surrounding you. He untied your shoes and placed them neatly next to his bed, while he kicked his, one shoe on one side and the other on the other side of his room. You laughed out loud at his actions, not really understanding what was the point of that. 

You stretched out your arms as a signal for him to come back to you and he did just that. He laid on top, his one arm supporting his weight, while the other cupped your face as he kissed you so gently, with so much passion and then rushed and hungry with lust at the same time. You craved him and you were not letting him get away this time. 

He trailed his hand from your face to your neck and then to your waist, careful to feel every inch of you, not wanting to miss anything. You bucked your hips a little bit and suddenly felt his bulge in his pants, a moan falling from his lips. He smirked at you, your eagerness clearly very amusing to him in some way.

"You're wearing too much." You whispered between kisses, a chuckle escaping his lips as you tugged on his shirt, desperate to take it off.

"Then maybe you should take it off." He replied and moved back, allowing you to grab the hem of his t-shirt and slowly lift it up and over his head before you threw it god knows where. You took a few seconds to admire his beautiful body, everything about him was perfect. The way the hair on his body travelled from his belly button to the place underneath his pants and boxers. You sat up and placed a gentle kiss on his stomach, your fingers grazing the skin on his hips as you wanted to touch every inch of him and worship him like he deserves.You hooked your fingers inside his pants and pulled them down with his boxers, revealing his already hard cock. Your eyes widened at the sight of him because the only thing that was in your mind was how could he possibly fit inside you, You tensed up and swallowed hard, feeling more nervous than before and Farleigh saw that immediately. He bent down and looked you directly in the eyes before he gave you a kiss on the lips, trying to calm you down.

"You don't have to do anything, this night is about you." He whispered in your ear and then took your shirt off followed by his fingers skillfully unhooking your bra, revealing your breasts to his eyes. You slowly laid down on the bed and lifted up your hips, allowing him to take off your jeans and your panties, your naked form now exposed completely to him. "You're so fucking beautiful." he whispered under his breath and swallowed hard. Your gaze fell down to his cock as you saw it hard as a rock, his body shivering a little bit. 

"You ok?" he just nodded and placed a kiss to your lips and then moved to your neck, sucking on your sweet spot as you threw your head back, giving him more access. He nibbled on your neck slightly, his hand roaming over your body, drawing invisible shapes over your stomach before he moved it slightly down to your inner thigh. A feeling you thought you would never feel travel through your body and then even a better feeling suddenly took over. His finger grazed your clit as he slowly started moving it in small circles, the pressure just right. 

You touched yourself before quite often, always imagining what it would be like if someone else was doing it and now there it was, Farleigh touching you like this, you completely succumbing to his being. His eyes were on you the entire time he was touching your clit, getting you closer to your release as each second passed, slowly getting desperate to feel you wrapped around him so beautifully. Your breathing started getting louder, quicker and more shallow and he instantly knew you were getting so close. 

"You can let go, baby." he whispered in your ear and it even turned you even more, if that was even possible. How could those four words have such an impact on you, how could he have so much control over you, have you in such a vulnerable moment and have you think how you would never want anyone else to see you like this. To see how your body convulsed and your inner walls clenched as an orgasm travelled through your body, the feeling of so much euphoria almost too much for you. "That's it." 

You calmed down after a few seconds, his body pressed up against yours, his pelvis constantly grinding up against your hip, desperate for some friction. 

"I want to try something, okay?" He said and you just nodded as you felt his finger travelling down to your opening and slowly breach your cunt. You fingered yourself many times before but his long fingers definitely felt better inside of you. He added another one, gently stretching you out, preparing you for his thick cock. "Damn, you're wet." He whispered and kept moving his fingers,in a scissoring motion.

"Farleigh, I really need you. Please." You practically cried out, clearly so desperate for him and you just wanted to feel him whole, to have him buried inside of you for hours if needed, you just wanted him. 

"Are you sure?" He asked again for like the tenth time that night, but you really appreciated it and at least he wasn't rushing anything and respected your boundaries. You just nodded and pulled him closer, your legs wrapping around his waist as he positioned himself , his tip touching your entrance.  "If it hurts too much, tell me and I'll stop."  He trailed off and then you felt his tip slowly enter you, stretching you out completely. The feeling was somehow hard to describe. Did it hurt? Maybe a little bit, but it definitely did sting a lot. You whimpered quietly as he kept going deeper as you felt every inch of him and suddenly felt so damn full. He bottomed out and then stopped, completely buried inside you. 

"Hey, are you okay?" he saw a single tear roll down your cheek, his thumb wiping it away before he pressed around fifteen kisses all over your face, trying to take your mind off the pain happening in the lower half of your body. You nodded and chuckled and after a few minutes felt the pain slowly fade away. It still stung maybe a little bit but now it wasn't unbearable and you wanted him to move. You bucked your hips again and clenched your walls, a groan falling from his lips.

"Farleigh please move." His hips pulled back almost all the way and then went back in at a painfully slow pace, his cock completely nestled inside of you. He pulled back again and then thrusted inside, each time faster and faster until he set a perfect pace, careful not to go too hard because he didn't want to hurt you in any way. 

"Holy fuck, you're tight." He threw his head back in pleasure, his hips repeatedly slamming into you, his tip grazing that beautiful spot inside of you with each of his thrust. You arched your back and wrapped your legs around his body even tighter, trying to get him closer even though that wasn't possible because you two were as close as you could possibly be. "You're taking me so well. baby," 

You moaned out loud and bit your lip so hard you drew blood because you started feeling that incredible and sweet release building up inside you again. Those words, those goddamn words he whispered in your ear turned you on even more and made you want to fuck him like there's no tomorrow. You reached down to your clit and started massaging it in slow circles just as Farleigh did it before, desperate to reach your orgasms while he was still inside of you. 

"Farleigh, I'm gonna cum- fuck!" You threw your head back and arched your back again as you felt your orgasm tearing through your body, your cunt squeezing Farleigh's cock and a few moments later, he let out the loudest moan possible, his hot cum filling you up to the very last drop. He thrusted inside you a couple more times before he pulled out and collapsed next to you, your hearts the only thing that could be heard in that room at that very moment. 

"Are you ok?" He asked and propped himself up on his elbow, his fingers tucking a strand of your hair behing your ear again. 

"Perfect, actually." He leaned in and kissed you gently a couple times before he wrapped his arms around you, your sweaty bodies pressed up against each other. "And we're definitely doing this again and again and again and-" 

"Again?" He interrupted you and watched you as you laughed and nodded. "I agree, but first we need to talk about something."

"I know." You trailed off, your eyes already closed.

"In the morning." He placed a kiss on your forehead and covered both of you with a blanket as you both drifted off to sleep, 

[logysworld]

Ouch! | Vi x Reader

You're a tattoo artist and Vi wants a tattoo.

Fluff?, suggestive, kissing, flirty, casual! F!reader.

-

Music played on the radio beside your table, balancing on the plethora of papers and pens that you had scattered around your table. A sketch was finally coming together, just a little something that popped into your mind after months of an artist's block that kept your sketchbooks dry. It was a small yet profound design, depicting two hands just shy of touch. One hand robotic and slender, ripples of metal flowing around each curve that were shaded perfectly in depth. The other appeared normal at first, but upon closer inspection revealed a tension, fingers taut and desperate, scared, as if the other hand was impossible to reach. You sketched a galaxy around the hands, streaks of the sky and swirling stars surrounding them, like the universe itself was gently forcing the hands apart.

The familiar twinkle of your door chimes echoed as someone entered the shop and you peered over your shoulder briefly, not long enough to see who came in.

"Hey, you got an appointment?" You called out, twisting the dial of the radio to lower the volume of the music with one hand while the other continued sketching.

"Do I need one? You don't look very busy in here." She said mockingly, the thump of her boots echoing around the empty room. She was right, the shop had been really really slow lately, it was just a habit to ask each time someone came in.

"Yeah you're right, have a seat on that leather chair. Could you give me a minute- sorry- what's your name?" You looked over at her as she settled into the seat, a pale and bruised (also muscular) hand running through her dark pink hair.

"Vi. And you? What's your name gorgeous?" she asked, turning sideways on the chair to manspread.

"Y/n." you replied, a blush creeping onto your cheeks. Her ice blue eyes scanned your figure when you stood up, following the sway of your hips as you walked towards her.

"Cute name. You're real cute." She tilted her head at you, a curiosity flashing in her expression.

You laughed. "How can I help you, Vi?"

"I want a tattoo. a small one, right here on my finger." She spoke low, lifting the red sleeve of her jacket and tracing the side of her left pointer finger. You noticed a tattoo on her forearm, which seemed to lead all the way up. You leaned in closer, nodding as you took in her request.

"and," her voice went quieter, almost a whisper.

"and I want it to say 'POW!', with the mark thingy on the end?" You nodded and scribbled in your sketchbook for a minute or two. Her hand dropped while you sketched and her shoulders hung slightly. You looked up at her, feeling somewhat sad at the sudden change in demeanor, leaning in even closer instinctively.

"Okay, I can do that. What's the occasion? Or... would you rather not talk about it?" You had already drawn three versions of the design in your book, facing the page towards her for approval.

"That," she said pointing at the second design, "..and its not much. Just for somethin' important to me. I'd actually rather talk about you, gorgeous." she sat forward in her seat, resting her elbows on her knees while she watched you turn away from her. You playfully scoffed at the quick switch in attitude, brushing off her previous show of vulnerability as to not make her uncomfortable. You started tracing the design on paper using the tray behind you.

"Is that so? What exactly do you want to talk about?" You span back around in your seat, now scooting closer to her and grabbing her hand. She bit on the inside of her cheek at your touch, letting her hand rest in yours as you pressed the stencil into her finger.

"With that pretty voice? And that face? I could talk about anything with you, babe."

"You use that corny line on every girl?" you cringed, smiling, eyes glued to her hand as you applied the design.

You heard a laugh, and her chest dropped further towards you.

"Mmm.. no? I only see one girl infront of me right now, and she's just. So. Fucking. Gorgeous. What else am I supposed to say?" she came closer with each word, warmth emitting from her mouth as she spoke.

"Are you gonna keep calling me that?" you rasped, not realising you were holding onto your breath. You tried to appear unfazed, but the red flush on the tips of your ears already gave Vi the sense of satisfaction she was craving.

"Yeah I might. Why? You like it?" she tucked a stray hair behind your ear, her hand lingering on the skin of your neck just below your jawline. You felt chills. she was so close, whispering as if it was sinful for anyone to hear.

You coughed and shrugged it off, pressing the design hard into her finger, causing her to sit up slightly. Her hand was calloused and rough, scarred, knuckles red and blue from fighting you presumed. A dirty bandage wrapped around her palm and ended at the wrist, frayed at the edges.

"What? Pretty girl doesn't wanna talk now? Did I get you all nervous?" her stenciled hand turned to stroke yours and she looked at you with a pout.

You pulled your hand away. She's a troublemaker for sure.

"Vi, please. I work better when im not under pressure, okay?" you sighed, turning to grab the needle and dipping it into the black ink.

"Alright, so you are nervous. Got it." So cocky, you thought. She winked at you, putting her hand in yours before you could grab it from her.

You couldn't help but laugh. "God."

"Damn, gorgeous. I know I'm all great and that, but you don't have to call me God."

"Please shut up, Vi."

"Whatever you say, pretty."

You brought the needle to her skin and started drawing over the stencil. You licked your lips and she sucked in a breath, despite her having such detailed, and definitely more painful, tattoos already painted across her arms.

Her gaze was like a heat wave, so hot and so harsh you felt like you were about to start sweating. She watched you carefully, not your hands but everything and anything else. She watched how you tilted your head back and forth to see how the tattoo looked from afar, and how your legs squeezed together everytime you did so. You bit and squeezed your lips as you pressed the needle into her. God your lips. She let her gaze lower further down, admiring the perfect tone of your skin. You really were gorgeous. She didn't even realize how long she was staring at you until she felt the sting of antiseptic being wiped across her finger.

"All done!" you beamed, standing up and walking away to clean off your needle.

She inspected the fresh tattoo.

You heard her swallow harshly, and turned to see her sad smile.

Her smile morphed quickly into mischief and she looked up at you. "Someone has fast hands."

"It comes from practice, Vi." you smiled feeling proud, turning back around to put away your equipment into their designated sections.

"Oh yeah?"

She stood up from the chair, taking a few steps forward until the space behind you felt nearly gone.

"I'm sure you practice a lot, huh?" she teased.

She raised her arm, allowing her fingers to dance on your shoulder, falling lower and lower, drawing lines on your bare skin. your breath hitched and you looked at her hand. She dropped it to rest on your hip, gripping at the skin free from your cropped tee.

"You're so pretty. Let me look at you." Her voice tickled your ear, sending a shiver through your entire body.

"Vi." Your heart rate picked up.

"Turn around, gorgeous. Please."

It sounded like a command, desperate, but soft, all at the same time. You turned to face her and she smiled, now placing both hands on your hips and squeezing gently at the start of the bone.

"Look at that pretty face."

She forced you backwards as she stepped closer, letting your lower back hit the table with a pang. Your hands came up through hers and you shyly let them lay on her chest, not daring to look into her eyes. Then, her hands left your hips and came around the backs of your thighs, wrapping and bringing you upwards onto the metal table without struggle, spreading your legs around her as she did so.

"Hmm. So pretty." she cooed. The cool of the metal felt like ice on your skin and you shivered, leaning into her. She caged her arms around you on the table and leaned forward, brushing her nose against yours.

"Can I kiss you, gorgeous?" She asked, barely audible. You looked into her eyes and she stared back at you, so so sweetly. You let yourself lean in closer, your lips touching but not together just yet. She sighed into your mouth, the tension so strong you could feel it on your tongue. When you licked your lips she pushed herself onto you and kissed you, hands now holding your jaw. The kiss was soft at first, her lips caressing yours so gently it sent a wave flutters to your chest and stomach. But, when you wrapped your hands around her neck and moaned into the kiss, she couldn't hold back a grunt. She licked into your mouth, hands on your ass as she pulled you impossibly close. You stayed just like that for a while, but a growing frustration played out in her kisses, eventually taking over her hands which were squeezing so hard you swore they could leave marks. Your back arched in response, letting Vi push you further onto the table until you had to support yourself with one hand, the other tangled in her hair.

The twinkle of your door chimes interrupted the kiss and you hesitantly pulled back, but Vi was determined, lowering her kisses to suck on your jaw and neck. You peered over her shoulder, fighting the hands which pushed you back down.

"Vi, just- one sec-"

A nice looking man stepped inside, looking at the designs on the walls before landing his eyes on you, or Vi covering you more so.

"Vi-, shit," you swore under your breath, her teeth nipping on your collarbone.

"Hey! I have an appointm- oh, SHIT, hey, it's fine! It's fine it's fine I'll come back later, tomorrow! Im so so sorry! Shit!

The door chimes clinked against eachother as he ran out and you cursed to yourself. Vi finally paused on the marking of your skin when you threw your head back in guilt.

"Hey, don't worry gorgeous. Atleast you have me."

"Shut up Vi." You rolled your eyes, bringing your hand up to flick your nail on her ear.

"Ouch!"

Any requests send in the inbox 😛 this is my first ever fic so I hope my fellow arcane family approves ♡ rizz #vi forever

[charlietheepicwriter7]

V The Mysterious Wayne Family

Dick Grayson V Gotham - Chapter 2

“Why can’t I sit in the front seat?” Danny demanded to know, crossing his arms from the back of Dick’s car. 

Dick sighed, peering back at him with the rearview mirror. He’d been shaky as they escaped the apartment without getting attacked by the media. Did the idiot get sick? Was the media in this dimension such a big threat? 

Truthfully, Danny didn’t know a lot about this dimension, despite having lived in it for around a year. That year was spent almost entirely homeless, spending only the last few weeks with Dick. Otherwise, he was sleeping where he could, spending his days in libraries and conning people out of cash as a child medium. 

…Well, calling it “conning” was a bit of an overstatement. He did get people in contact with dead relatives and the like. He just… didn’t always quote them exactly, especially when it meant he could get enough money to eat for the day. 

“It’s unsafe, Danny, you know that.”

Danny glared at him from his booster seat, which put him perfectly at eye level so he could lock eyes with Dick with the rear-view mirror. He hated this whole situation: the booster seat, his age, needing to rely on an adult, the stupid media, the stupid police, the stupid Dick… Okay, he kinda liked the booster seat. It was based off of some hero—Superbman—who was an alien? But looked like a human?

That may be one of the biggest differences between this dimension and his hom–the dimension he was born in. Danny had been one of the only heroes back there, along with Valerie and Dani, if you could even call them heroes. In this dimension? There were hundreds. There were space aliens to normal people in costumes to other humans with powers, and while not all of them were heroes, a lot of them were. 

And Danny hated how easy they had it. 

Every day back in Amity Park was a fight for acceptance, a battle to convince people that yes, he was a ghost with good intentions, only for that trust to be lost the moment he wasn’t fast enough to stop a ghost from hurting someone, or got thrown through a wall trying to protect people. It was constantly one step forward and one step back, and nothing Sam or Tucker or Jazz said ever truly made him okay with it.

Despite everything, he hoped Amity Park was doing alright without him. He couldn’t go back—wouldn’t go back, even if he had an open portal and his powers, not after what happened—but hopefully they were doing okay. 

He hoped his rogues had listened and stayed away from the Fenton portal. For their own safety.

Like every time he thought of his pa–the Fentons, the scars across his chest flared up. They might have been long-healed, but the pain always lingered, a sharp lance that lingered in the thin skin of his wound. Fiddling around in his pocket, Danny found his juul and puffed. Exhaling, a bubble gum smoke filled the cabin as the CBD started to work its way into his blood. 

Dick coughed. “You know you won’t be able to do that in the manor, right?”

Danny grumbled, rolling down the window a crack. 

“I’m serious, Danny. I know you need it, but the rules are different at the manor. You’ll need to go outside to smoke.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll smoke outside. Wouldn’t want your gramps to get bent out of shape.”

He laughed. “I think Alfred would be alright, once we explain your medical issues. It’s Bruce we’ll have to worry about. He’s got this thing about drugs… once he learns what’s in your juul, he do whatever it takes to get you off it. He won’t even listen if we tell him about your chronic pain, he’ll just think you’re lying!” Dick threw his hand up in the air. “Honestly, it’s just lecture after lecture with him.”

“He can suck a cock then!”

Dick laughed, all traces of anger gone as his bright eyes glanced at him through the mirror. “Say that to his face, and you get ice cream for a week.”

“Done!”

The illusive Bruce Wayne. Danny had heard the name from the TV that morning, and apparently he was Dick’s dad. Not that Dick ever mentioned him in the months they knew each other. Not that this Bruce guy ever visited on the occasions Dick managed to convince him to stay the night, nor in the weeks after his foster placement was finalized. Danny didn’t even know Dick had a dad until this morning, so clearly something was going on here. 

If he focused on this case—the mystery behind the estrangement of Dick and Bruce—then he’d finally be able to get his mind off Mrs. Bennett’s case. The Shade had approached him early that morning, flickering in the moonlight, barely visible and just formed. Her case was so easy too; her killer was her son-in-law, she’d been awake when he killed her and he’d definitely left behind evidence too, but there was no telling if the other detectives at Bludhaven PD would find it. Or would care enough to find it. 

Corrupt bastards. 

Speaking of which—”Are we actually going to be able to consult on cases while we’re in Gotham, or was that just something you said to make me feel better?”

“I believe I said case, as in the singular one with Mrs. Bennett. But yes, I’ve already arranged it with the Commissioner.” 

“But she works for the Damir family! We can’t trust her.”

“We can’t trust her when it comes to cases related to the Damir family,” Dick corrected. “Other than that, she’s decent at her job.”

“That’s not a compliment.”

“She’s better than the other officers in our department?” he tried again.

“Also not a compliment. I’ve met dead guys that are better cops.”

They bantered back and forth, but the closer they got to Gotham, the tenser Dick became. Dick wasn’t the type to get serious out of nowhere—the only times Danny could remember were when a case involved a gang or that one terrible time when some ugly-ass assassin with a stupid-ass name came to town—but whatever was waiting for them… must be bad. Right? 

Gotham, Danny noticed as they drove through town, looked better than Bludhaven, like how rats look better than turds. Danny had heard the rumors about Gotham, mostly about all the dangerous villains, but there was clearly some money going into infrastructure. Beautiful gothic buildings dripping with gargoyles towered overhead, and there weren’t nearly as many boarded up shops and potholes. 

It wouldn’t have been a bad place to set up shop if it weren’t for all the Shades around.

The ghost population of this dimension mostly comprised of Shades with the occasional Poltergeists and Wraiths. Ectoplasm wasn’t as accessible here; just traveling to this dimension had stripped Danny of almost all the ectoplasm in his body and he still hadn’t recovered, so his powers barely worked. But Shades were shadows of humans when they were alive, weak and incorporeal unless you were a ghost too, barely kept together with their obsession.

Bludhaven had a lot of Shades. That’s why Danny settled down there when he first arrived. He wanted to help people move on if he could, either by solving their murder or contacting their loved ones. 

If Bludhaven had a lot of Shades, Gotham had a colossal number. 

Shades clogged the walkways and the streets, dissipating when someone or something went through them and reforming in an instant. Some alleys were plugged with them and some alleys were empty. Danny watched with wide eyes. Ghosts were supposed to be rare. He’d thought ghosts were rare. But Gotham was plagued with violent crime… violent, unique, indescribable crime, worse in intensity from Bludhaven, but not quite there in frequency. There were women with their faces melted off, men ripped in half down the center, children blown to bits, creeping around the streets of Gotham. 

Danny sunk down in his booster seat. “I want to go home,” he admitted quietly. 

Dick sighed. “I know, kiddo. I want to go home too.”

He blinked away stubborn tears. Dick didn’t understand. This wasn’t Danny’s home, this dimension wasn’t Danny’s home, Dick wasn’t Danny’s home (as much as Danny appreciated Dick, he wanted his family, but they hated him, they attacked him, they—)

Dick continued talking. “But you know what? Everything’s going to be okay. Because my grandfather is going to love you. And Bruce— He’s a little rough around the edges and we might not get along right now, but he’s going to love you too.” Dick sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than Danny. “Tim’s going to adore you; he’s told me that he’s always wanted a younger sibling and I can’t blame him; his house looks so lonely and his parents were always gone. He’s staying with Bruce now as a foster since his dad’s in a coma, but he’s been family long before that…”

He listened to Dick continue to ramble about his family. Bruce was rarely touched upon in his stories, but Alfred was spoken of with unmistakable love (Danny never knew his grandparents, Mom and Dad were disowned years before he was born, he could probably guess why), and he clearly adored Tim (He could understand that, Danny loved Jazz with his entire soul, but what would it have been like if he had a younger sibling? Would his relationship with Dani have turned into this if they could’ve spent time together?). Dick continued with stories about his best friend and ex-girlfriend, Barabra (Sam and Tuck, Tuck and Sam, his friends were dead and it's his fault—), and even a few including Tim’s ex-girlfriend too.

He closed his eyes and tried not to think. 

Before long, the car slowed to a stop. Ahead of them was a grand manor, the kind shown in those regency tv shows that Jazz loved watching, with obsessively maintained gardens and beautiful, clean exterior. A stone staircase led up to larger-than-life wooden doors; Danny couldn’t identify what kind of wood, but it was probably something expensive and old. Mahogany? That sounded like an expensive wood. 

Dick put the car in park before turning around in his seat to look at Danny. “Alright, buddy. Are you ready to meet our family?”

“Your family,” Danny corrected mulishly, unbuckling his seat belt. 

“Our family,” Dick said again, smiling. “They’re good people, and they’re going to be here for you.”

“Sure.” Sliding out of his seat and out of the car, Danny stayed slightly behind Dick as they walked up the steps and to the front door. Before Dick could knock or find the doorbell, the doors opened to reveal an old stereotypical butler. He even had a British accent! “Master Grayson,” he addressed Dick coolly, but when he looked at Danny, his expression softened. “And Young Master Daniel. It is good to finally meet you, and welcome to Wayne Manor. I am the family butler, Alfred Pennyworth.”

Danny ducked away. “Danny’s fine,” came his muttered response. 

Alfred smiled. “Young Master Danny, then. Come along; Master Bruce is waiting for you both in the foyer.” 

Dick grimaced. Did that mean something bad? What was a foyer, a fancy word for office? Was Dick going to get scolded?

They followed Alfred into the house (although, calling it a house felt like an understatement). It was even fancier inside, with marble floors and a glistening chandelier overhead. Danny felt significantly out of place in his jeans and ratty coat he’d pulled out of the trash.

There was a man pacing in the room (was this the foyer?). He was dressed in a fancy suit and built like a brick house, but looked similar enough to Dick in a weird funhouse-mirror way. The moment he saw them, his face smoothed into a banal smile and Danny immediately didn’t like him. “Dick! You’re home.” Striding up to them, the man immediately hugged Dick, who stiffly returned it. “Welcome back, chum. And who’s this?”

Dick’s smile was strained. “This is my foster son, Danny. Danny, this is Bruce; I was his ward until I turned 18.” Ouch. Not even a foster son, but a ward? That sounded like a significant step down from fostering. Danny glared at Bruce, who seemed taken aback by his hostility. Dick laughed nervously. “Sorry about him, he’s shy.” Now Danny glared at Dick. 

Bruce’s smiled evened out as he crouched down, like that would hide his fucking massive body. “It’s nice to meet you, Danny,” he said. “I’m very happy you're here. Hopefully it’ll be a lot more peaceful now that you’re staying with us.”

Danny scowled. “Suck a cock, douchebag.”

Bruce’s smile dropped as Dick smothered a laugh. “Watch your mouth,” Dick scolded without any heat behind it. Danny smirked. 

“It’s okay, Dick,” Bruce said, straightening up. “I’m sure Danny’s just shaken up from the sudden change. I’m feel the same, since you didn’t tell any of your friends or family that you were taking in a child.”

“Oh, so you can adopt a child without telling anyone, but when I do it—”

Alfred stepped in. “If you both could contain yourselves a minute longer, I can get the Young Masters settled in. I’ve already arranged a room for you in the family ward, Young Master Danny, if you’d like to rest? It is still rather early in the morning.”

“It might be better to give him a tour of the manor before anything else,” Dick said, eyeing Danny warrily. 

“I’m not going to get lost.”

“Mhmm.” Dick didn’t believe him. 

“I’m not!”

“Just like how you didn’t get lost at the precinct? Or at the morgue? Or at—”

“I never got lost on the streets!” Danny thought that was rather impressive. Besides, it’s not his fault the morgue was just empty hallways that all looked the same!

“The streets are labeled. Besides, you’ll never know where the in-house theater is without a tour.” Dick winked, like that was a big selling point. 

Bruce interrupted them. “Why don't you give him a tour after we talk, Dick? It’s been a long time since we last spoke and I was hoping to ask you about your… recent life change.”

Dick pinched the bridge of nose. “Of course you want to start the interrogation right away,” he muttered, eyebrows furrowed. “Alright, but I don’t want Danny to hear this. Alfie, could you– Tim!” Following Dick’s glance, Danny found a teenager in his fancy pajamas standing on the stairs leading to the second floor. The teen, who looked enough like Dick to be his brother and Bruce’s son, rubbed his eyes like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Tim can take you on the tour! Come on, Danny.” 

Dick ushered Danny up the stairs to Tim. “Will you be okay without me?” Danny asked, not wanting to leave Dick alone with Bruce.

He got a bright smile in return. Danny didn’t trust it. “Of course I will, kiddo. Don’t worry about me, just focus on having fun with Timmy.”

Tim looked blearily between them. “What is going on?”

“You’re taking Danny on a tour so he doesn’t hear me and Bruce fight,” Dick told him plainly. “Danny, this is my brother and Bruce’s foster son, Tim. Tim, this is my foster son, Danny. You two have fun!”

Ignoring Tim’s protests that he hadn’t had breakfast yet, Dick pushed them up the stairs and into the immediate hallway, closing the door behind him. They stared at each other for a moment before Danny pressed his ear against the crack in the door. “When did Dick get a kid?” Tim asked.

“Like, three weeks ago, keep up.” Tim tried to say something again, but Danny shushed him. After a moment, Tim joined him in eavesdropping by the door. 

Dick spoke. “I’ll start. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you both I was fostering a kid. I was planning to inform you after the two month mark and Danny had settled in a bit more, but obviously that plan is out the window.”

“I accept your apology, Master Dick,” Alfred said, and there was a sigh of relief. “However, I would still like to know how this happened in the first place.”

“I’m more interested in knowing how you managed to foster him without us being interviewed as character references.”

“...I may have used my boss’ influence to make sure that only my co-workers were interviewed?” Dick admitted.

“Master Richard.”

“I’m sorry, Alfie, but he’s a flight risk! Do you know how many times I managed to get him to come home with me only for him to disappear in the middle of the night!? Fourteen times! Danny’s admitted that he ran away from his previous home, he still hasn’t told me his real last name, and he’s paranoid enough to give Bruce a run for his money! I’ve just barely managed to gain his trust. I didn’t need Bruce being Bruce to ruin it for us—”

“If you had asked me to stay away, I would have—”

“No you wouldn’t, Bruce! You’d pick and prod and try to uncover his every little secret because you don’t trust me to figure it out myself! If Danny had suspected that someone was looking into his past, he would have bolted, B. And I would have lost him forever.”

Danny nodded. He would have. Not that Bruce would have found anything about his past–the perks of getting stuck in an alternate dimension–but some rich asshole poking his nose in his business? Danny would have snuck onto the next bus out of the city.

“You can barely take care of yourself, Dick!” Bruce insisted. “If it was such a dire situation, then you could have contacted me and I would have–”

“–Lost him immediately because he has a strange hatred for billionaires?” Dick scoffed. “He wouldn’t let you get within six feet of him if you tried to take custody.”

“I–”

“He bites too.”

“Dick–”

“Hard.”

“Richard–”

“And it’s pretty bold of you to say I can’t take care of myself. Have you looked in the mirror recently? Because the word hypocrite is written across your forehead in crayon.”

“But I’m not the one who struggles to make rent each month.” Danny flinched. He’d known that Dick didn’t get paid that much, but was it really that bad? Didn’t Dick get a pay increase when he was made detective? Or was Danny taking so much money that it negated the pay increase— “Nevertheless, I’m not trying to take custody away from you, Dick. I’m just… trying to figure out how we got to this point.”

“We got to this point by not trusting each other,” Dick said tiredly. “And I still don’t trust you, not after what you did.”

Dick, I–”

“No, Bruce. This is my life. Besides you were only a few years older than me when my parents died and you decided to raise me on your own. It’s hypocritical for you to complain that I’m doing the same. Look, I’ve known Danny for over a year–”

“You mean you’ve hid this from me for over a year?”

“Bruce–”

“I knew I should have been suspicious when you got that foster license. You’ve been planning this for months–”

“Bruce!” Dick snapped, and Danny had never heard Dick that mad before, not even the first time they met. “Obviously I’ve been planning this for months! I’ve been planning this since the first week I met Danny! The only reason I got that damn license was for him!” He felt… warm. Danny knew that foster licenses were hard to get, but Dick had really wanted him since the week they met. Danny had been so… feral back then, he couldn’t imagine anyone wanting him, not even Jazz. Dick continued, voice barely audible through the door. “He’s a good kid. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

A sigh. “I just… don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret, that’s all.”

“Are you saying you regret adopting me?” The angry voice was back. “Adopting Jason?”

“That’s not what I meant—!”

Tim pulled him away from the door. “We shouldn’t be listening to this. Come on, let’s start that tour you need.”

Danny tried to pull away, but Tim was deceptively strong for his thin frame. Despite his struggles, he was halfway down the hall before he knew it. “Let me go, cocksleeve!”

“You don’t need to hear that,” Tim said. “Trust me, things always get… heated between them, when Jason is brought up. That’s not something you need to witness.”

Jason, huh? That must be the linchpin in this entire investigation. Dick had never mentioned a Jason before, but he was clearly important if the entire family got bent out of shape for him. Did Dick cut contact with Bruce because of this Jason? Did Jason force Dick to do it? Dick would never abandon his family like that, Danny knew this had to be true because of his determination in trying to take Danny home, but if he was forced to stay away… Maybe Jason is an associate of Bruce that Dick hates?

Danny finally managed to jerk his arm away. His entire hand ached. “You don’t have to drag me!”

Shock crossed Tim’s face, like he’d finally realized what he was doing, before it fell. “I’m sorry, Danny. I shouldn’t have pulled you. It’s just… Jason isn’t something you should hear about, at your age. I would appreciate it if you didn’t bring him up, especially around Bruce. Okay?”

Studying the boy, Danny agreed. Sounds like Jason’s some sort of criminal contact, so it was best to behave carefully. Danny kicked at the ground, scraping dirt off onto the carpet that ran in the center of the hall. “So, what do you guys do for fun around here?” He asked. “I don’t need a tour, I’m not a baby.”

Tim rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I just spent the night in the library, working on a case? If you want to lend a hand with that?”

Danny narrowed his eyes. “I thought you just woke up?”

“...Just because I was in the library doesn’t mean I was awake the entire time.”

Ah, a fellow insomniac. His eyes narrowed further. “I only like interesting cases. What kind are we talking about? Fraud? Robbery? Some dinky school kid project?”

“Multiple homicides. If that’s interesting enough for you?”

“...Carry on.”

A/N: Anyway, I’m using @/jedipirateking’s age chart for the ages of Batman characters. Since we’re right before Under the Red Hood, that makes Dick 24. Danny is roughly a year younger than Damian, but was originally 17 before he was deaged. 

Dick: Yes, this is my feral street child. Danny: *foaming at the mouth, swearing*

Tim, internally: Oh! Dick must have already informed Danny about our identities! They work on cases together too, maybe we can work on one to bond? Danny, internally: Wow, rich people have weird ass hobbies

Danny: *so close, yet so far from figuring out the Jason thing* Red Hood: Did someone just walk over my fucking grave again?

Yes, some things are being kept vague on purpose. That’s for a better reveal in the future.

@starlightcat04 @maeashryver @widderwise @darkstarsapocalypse @sisma @luminanightfall @storm-fire98 @amyheart19 @collectingthegoods @redhoneysugarorange @lordfirecat2004 @screechingnoises @meira-3919 @dannyphannypack @satisfactionbroughtmeback @rowanaway-fromthisbs @i-always-say-yea @avelnfear @some-rotten-nest @ark12 @heirxofxtime @akikkobara @blep-23 @skulld3mort-1fan @markus209 @stargirl1331 @onlyhereforthechaos @inth3world @awkwardmaiden @fantasticbluebirdfan @currant-owo @alice-hazelwood @screamingtofillthevoid @crystalqueertea @gaelicholiday @gmkelz11 @mattybook1987-blog @bytheoldwillowtree @apointlessbox @chemical-pepis @ghostface3100 @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit @bathildaburp @boo-ghosties @bubblemixer @halfalix @lyra689 @dragon-dancer16 @lunadoll36 @mimilikey @hellomygay @frogs-are-pretty-awesom @overtherose @cyrwrites @your-emo-nightmare @lexdamo @roman4517 @a-slytherinish-gryffindor @raginblastocyst @thegatorsgoose @fisticuffsatapplebees @olivethetreebitch @vixen-uchiha @ae-vixrose @joseph557 @kisatamao @gin2212 @thewondersoflebanon @d4ydr34min9 @malice-of-the-sunrise @tiblii @that-awkward-fae-nerd @aph-mable @dolfay @ghostreblogging @wackyattack @writer-extraordinaire @boo-ghosties @coruscateselene @emergentpanda-blog

[swifty-fox]

What Comes After

blacked out. wrote 1.7k fic for @bcolfanfic's Young vets AU.

Fanfic/Sequel of

Tw for aftermath of a suicide attempt and all that may entail

Nobody tells you what to do in the hours after your husband tries to take his life. Nobody says you’re going to be angry.

Nobody tells Gale how much he’ll have to pay for gas to the only Hospital for miles, seven hours tailing the red ominous lights of an ambulance there seven hours back all alone for the first time in a long while (one-hundred-twenty-seven dollars and fifty-three cents).

There’s nobody to tell him how to smile at his husband as he’s led away in a stunned daze. Does he smile at all? Small and painful and fake? 

And who can he ask what to do as he comes home to a now empty home, dawn well past finished and a hole the size of a man's life in the wall. A hole, no bigger than a nickel and just perfectly at eye level. The difference between a happy ending and a tragedy; the scales tipped kindly in his favor this time. 

You never wrestle for a gun. That’s the easiest way to get your own damn self shot.

A coin flip. Heads for John, Tails for Gale. 

“Guess the quarter got stuck in a crack.” he mutters. He knows his thought patterns aren’t quite clear, confused and weighed down by exhaustion and shock. 

Somewhere an animal is in pain. It gasps raggedly; sharp and raw. Someone should put that animal out of its misery, nothing deserved to be driven to sounds like that. Gale knows he is that animal. He swipes at his suddenly-tear soaked cheeks with a rough palm and sits down on the floor hard. 

His phone is in his hand, it’s first instinct to want to call John, hear his teasing voice (it hadn’t been teasing in a long time Gale Cleven don’t you lie). Bucky wouldn’t answer. He knew it would be a day or two before he would get an update on his husband. Not until observation was over, until paperwork was filed and permission was given. The nurse had explained it all through the ringing in Gale’s ears.

“Curt.” Buck says, shocked by the steadiness in his voice even as more tears trail their acidic way down his face. 

“Hey Buck, y’just caught me on break what’s up?” The familiar voice, clipping all it’s ‘T’s  away to nothingness devastates Gale. He lets out a sob with all the violence of vomiting.

“Gale?” 

“Ah fuck Curt, John had a gun.” Gale moans, covering his eyes and trying to breathe. The gun, now tossed carelessly on their bed like a stray shirt. 

Nobody tells him how to inform their friends of what has happened.

“What.” Curts voice is so strangled, so tiny that Gale realizes his fatal error immediately. 

“He’s okay. He’s okay Curt the gun- it went into the wall. He’s at a hospital right now. He’s where he needs to be.” 

Gale had heard that phrase a lot; spoken by people trying to reassure themselves that their loved ones would come home whole and healed. Now he was one of those people whispering the phrase with false confidence.

John needed to be Home. 

Curt devolves into a mess of swearing, punctuated with a passionate “Fffffucking VA!”

“I woke up and he wasn’t next to me. I thought maybe he had gotten out somehow, past the alarms. I’d already gotten my gun out of the house Curt I didn’t think-”

There's muffled voices on the other line, Curt talking to someone else, “- No I’m sick can’t you see? Gotta go Sean sorry. Fuck the client pardon my fucking french I gotta family emergency.” A car door slams, the sound of keys in an ignition. “You didn’t know Buck. It’s not your fault you did exactly what ya should’ve.”

“He had the gun to his chin,” Gale says numbly. 

Is there anyone to tell him how to get that single heart-stopping image out from behind his eyelids? He saw it every time he closed his eyes. 

“Fuck, Gale.” Curt exhales. “He’s okay?” so vulnerable, so sad, needing to double check just in case. 

“He’s in fucking psych ward. I can’t even call him.” 

“Yeah dumb question.” A pause where Gale just tries to breathe, looks up at that hole in the wall. It could be a woodpecker's hole on any tree outside. It was in his home and smelled faintly of gunpowder and terror. “I’m looking up plane tickets right now.” 

“Y’don’t have t-”

“G’fuck yourself, I’m coming.” 

Gale has no strength to argue, he’s got nothing left, really. 

“I almost lost him, Curt.”

“But you didn’t.” Curt still sounds stressed and Gale feels a twinge of guilt for ruining the guy's day just because he wasn’t able to help his own partner. “You did everything right. And you’re going to go to bed, then you’re going to wake up and I’mma be there. And we’ll deal with things together.”

“Together,” he echoes. 

“Get some sleep Buck. I’ll send you a text when my flight lands.” Curt orders before hanging up.

The thought of going into the bedroom; to the bed he shared with John. To have to see that fucking gun again. 

Nobody tells him how to handle that.

Gale falls asleep on the couch instead. 

-*~*-

When he awakes it’s night again and he feels such a violent sense of deja-vu that he has to do a walk-through of the whole house just to make sure that saving John hadn’t actually been a dream. That his body wasn’t lying somewhere with horrifying finality. 

Nobody tells you that maybe your husband's trauma-based decisions might cause a little trauma themselves.

Even though he knows there will be nothing - John's phone kept safely in a plastic bag along with the rest of his personal effects- Gale checks their messages first. Scans them for any sign, any slip that he may have missed that told him what Bucky was planning. ‘Love You’s’ and ‘Be Home Soons’ and ‘Get There Safes’. Bucky had been struggling, but he hadn’t seemed quite that bad yet.

Or maybe Gale just hadn’t wanted to see it. 

There’s a text from Curt showing his seven hour direct flight was only a half hour from landing. 

Exhaustion still claws at Gale as he shuffles out to the truck, clothes rumbled and sweaty from sleep, from stress; from wrestling a fucking firearm from a man determined to end his life and Gale’s in the same action. The truck is too silent. John usually sat to his right, hand on his thigh or the back of his neck; always touching Gale in a way the blonde allowed no other man to do.

He has to pull over to stop himself from hyperventilating.

When he pulls into the pick-up zone at the Airport it’s nearly deserted aside from a short familiar man in a windbreaker and military boots. 

Curt takes one look at his pale face and walks around the nose of the car to the driver's side.

“Budge over.” He says, opening the door and waving an impatient hand at Gale. 

Gale didn’t think he could, felt like his hands were glued to the smooth leather of the wheel. Just twenty-four hours ago he’d driven Bucky to the hospital in this car. He wondered at how quickly he’d gone from seeing the next steps so clearly in front of him to having to remember how to even speak. He was a puppet, his strings cut the moment John had entered the doors of the hospital. Through security guard checkpoints and metal detectors and locked doors. It was like being back in the desert with that level of protective diligence; or perhaps a prison

That can’t be very good for Bucky.

Nobody told him it might have been a good idea to inform the hospital why sometimes the glint of metal in the light made John do a double take.

When Gale still hasn’t moved, Curt lets out a tender sigh and unclips Gale’s seatbelt for him like the other man is a child.

“Come on Cleven, scoot on down the line.” He says gently, gives him a light push.

This is enough for him to move his wooden limbs, shuffle awkwardly over the center console and collapse gracelessly into the passenger seat. Curt hauls himself into the truck with an awkward grunt. He takes a second to maneuver his leg, move the seat upwards and the wheel down, and adjust the mirrors.

Gale sits there, opening and closing his hands. John had sat here last. Cried here not because he was alive and safe like Gale had cried; but for the opposite. 

Nobody told him how to sit in a puddle of his husband’s shed grief. 

“Here,” Curt tosses his phone into Gales lap. “Text Kenny for me will ya? Tell him I got y- got  here safe” 

“Does he know?” 

Curt pulls out of the airport, opens a window and leans his arm out as if he could air out the stuffy melancholy of the truck. “He asked where I was going. I didn’t-”

“John’s gonna hate it.” Gale mumbles “He won’t want anyone to know.” 

“Yeah, well, if he didn’t want people to know, maybe he shoulda woken you up. Shoulda called m-” Curt cuts himself off, presses sturdy boxer’s fingers to his mouth. “Fucking VA.” he curses again.

“Fucking VA.” Gale agrees. And it feels a little good. 

-*~*-

When they arrive back at the house It’s Curt that leads them inside. Curt, who picks up the gun, carefully disassembles it and puts it safely in the lock-box to be gotten rid of later. Curt who makes them a simple dinner of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

They stand at the counter, eating silently. Gale feels wired and too awake, his sleep schedule beyond to fucked. 

He’d have to call out of work tomorrow. Maybe take a short leave. How could he even pretend to be okay for the kids?

“This is- In here right?” Curt’s eyes are jumping around the dark room, searching searching. 

Nobody tells you the shame that curls in one's belly when you have to show your best friend the bullet hole that nearly ruined all their lives. 

Curt puts his hands on his hips, bread crumbs stuck to the corner of his mouth and brow furrowed. Neither of them say much for a long time. Curt surveying and Gale staring a little blankly and replaying the sound of the gunshot over and over in his head.

“Well,” Curt finally drawls, “That’s an easy fix. You got any spackle?” he turns and smiles at Gale, crooked and reassuring, 

Gale thinks he’d like to tell someone about this part. The part where people show up for you.

[loser-jpg]

me copy pasting my leona rant from that reblog in a separate post for all to see because i can

bro is just the smartest most cunning and intelligent guy ever. like yeah hes hot and strong but we NEED to talk more about just how much of a strategical GENIUS this man is. he knows just how strong and skilled he is which means in any situation he can immediately judge whoever hes up against and instantly know just how much strength and power to use to win. like he knew in book 6 the second he wasnt gonna win against the styx ppl and knew when to back down but every other situation he knows just how much power to use to win which they like confirm in book 6 he uses just enough to win and never more because he can perfectly judge a situation and like ik on the surface what most people notice about leona is how strong and powerful he is and i mean yeah hes like one of THE strongest people in nrc (in my personal opinion second only to malleus in magic but still more physically strong and more strategic than him) BUT WE NEVER TALK ENOUGH ABOUT THE CUNNING GENIUS THIS MAN IS he is so aware all the time and always knows exactly whats going on, so many events and chapters hes always mentally 5 steps ahead and knows whats going on well before anyone else. i cant remember the exact example but like in the halloween event from this year or smthn he like had a total understanding of the situation long before anyone else cuz hes just so smart and like hes smart like book smart but more importantly hes just aware in ways no one else really is. and about him being book smart i fully believe leona would have some of the highest grades in nrc if he applied himself. the few times he does he does like better than everyone else AND THATS W HIM SKIPPING CLASS SO MUCH imagine if he actually tried and went to class hed 100% have the best grade this man is so intelligent he just sees no reason to go to class because it is frankly useless to him he already knows all that stuff which is why he skips he already knows it so whats the point. like everyone sees leona as lazy but the stuff leonas lazy about is stuff that theres no point to try because he already knows hes better than everyone and thats his thing he doesnt need anyone elses approval he knows where he stands and feels no need to prove his worth to anyone else and i think thats actually so admirable. like for how much we say his low effort is depression (which it deff in part is) its also definitely him not feeling the need to prove himself to anyone because he knows how great he is and doesnt care if anyone thinks other wise because he knows theyre wrong so who cares. and i know he has a big ego but like.. HE CAN BACK IT UP. his ego is all from his own skill and talent this man NEVER claims something he cant back up which its like... ur ego is annoying but whats more annoying is theres valid reasoning behind it because HE JUST IS THAT GREAT

so i fully believe if leona had a significant other hed do everything to give them anything they could want. a lot of fics i read paint leona as this guy who wont really do something for his partner, or will just make someone else do it, and while in some cases i do believe hed deff like make ruggie go grab something or smthn i also believe hed want to take care of his partner. like sometimes its difficult to take care of yourself, but oh so easy to take care of someone else because its not you. and i fully believe this would apply to leona. if he has something, and its his he 100% takes care of it. he will put in the effort for someone else. he wont put in the effort for himself but for his partner? in a heartbeat. like even somethin small and typically annoying to do the only complaints youd hear are joking ones while hes already doing whatever you asked. and he also deff knows what to do for his partner before even they know. like i said before this man is canonically sooooo aware and that would deff hold up in a relationship. rarely have to ask for anything because hes already guessed what you want and is on it. also a lot of time i see people saying leona would want to brag about their partner and while i think this is true to an extent i also feel like hed want to keep his partner all to himself. something for just him that no one else needs to know about, or have their own opinions, or make their own comments.

[xxmrs-waynexx]

Gloss & Glasses: Chapter Two (1091 words)

Pairing: Clark Kent x reader

Warnings: none for this chapter

---

The clack of your keyboard was drowned out by your playlist. You were so focused on finishing this personality quiz for your magazine that you hadn’t heard the knock on your office door. 

Figuring this was the case, Lois opened the door and spoke over your music, “(Y/N)! Hello!” 

With a quick look her way, you smiled and paused your music. This did not deter you from continuing your work, “Hey! Do you think people’s favorite cat breed says something about their personality? I wrote this whole article about Catwoman and what cat breed she is and-”

“Love it. I really do, but I need your help. Johnny got this picture of Superman and as someone who knows everyone, can you tell me if he looks familiar at all?” After shutting your door, she walked over to your incredibly messy yet, to you, incredibly organized desk and showed you the picture on her phone.

“Lois, I have no idea who he is. If I did, don’t you think I would’ve said something by now?” You didn’t even look at the picture. Your eyes were glued to your computer screen.

While yes, you and Lois were friends, she didn’t always take your work seriously. You couldn’t really blame her, though. She had a sense of adventure. The city and its problems called her name. You, on the other hand, were perfectly content attending galas, and parties, interviewing celebrities, and any scandals that popped up. She was very much “Let’s go see what that giant alien robot wants.”

She sighed, more groaned, “Will you please at least look?”

You took your hands off your keyboard and looked at her phone. You couldn’t help but laugh, “That’s literally every white guy in America. Handsome, sure, but come on. Do you expect anyone to identify him? Like seventy men could win a look-alike contest for that guy. Be so serious.”

Lois groaned and turned off her phone, “That’s exactly why this is difficult.”

“Why are you so obsessed with figuring out who he is? Him being the average guy is what makes him an inspiration. I mean, think about it. Anyone could be Superman. That’s what gives people hope,” you went right back to typing. “Besides, obsessing over heroes’ identity is such a Gotham move. You don’t wanna be like Gotham, ew.”

— In the lounge, you made your second coffee of the day. You were stirring in the creamer in your bejeweled cup when a familiar voice caught your attention.

“Hey,” Clark smiled that shy smile at you. It had been about a month since he started here and the two of you had become fast friends. In fact, the days he was out sick or out with Lois and Johnny were some of your most boring days. You always looked forward to talking to him.

“Clark!” you turned quickly, knocking over your cup which did not have a lid on it just yet.

With a speed you couldn’t quite comprehend, he managed to save it before anything spilled. He chuckled awkwardly, adjusting his glasses and giving you another crooked smile, “Uh… be careful.”

“Heh… thanks…” you gasped out a laugh. “You’re so fast.”

“Uh, yeah,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “Helped my pa out on the farm so… I guess that’s why?” he seemed like he wasn’t quite convinced himself. 

You smiled at him and shook your head. Giggling, you asked, “How do you take your coffee? I’ll make you some for saving my life.”

“Saving your life? I’ve never-” he spoke so quickly, you thought he might beat Trisha Paytas at her speedreading. 

“My coffee,” you corrected. “I meant the coffee, ‘cause you… saved my coffee.”

“Right, sorry. Uh, just make me whatever you’ve got and I’ll drink it,” he smiled. He always seemed to be smiling. So were you every time you saw him. 

“Caramel latte?” 

With slight hesitation, he nodded, “Yes?”

“Order for Clark coming right up,” you winked, screwing on the lid to your cup before starting on his. He didn’t bring his own cup so you resorted to the cheap paper ones the lounge provided. 

He sat at the table closest to the counter you were at, positioning himself sideways on the chair to face you. “So, what are you working on today?”

You chuckled softly, waiting for the water to heat up in the coffeemaker, “Oh it’s nothing serious.”

“I wanna hear about it anyway,” Clark leaned into the back of the chair. 

You faced him, darting your eyes across his frame before looking back into his eyes, “Um- Okay!” you were more than happy to tell anyone about your work, though no one in this office building seemed to care. Clark always cared, though. That was something you were going to have to get used to. “I finished my Catwoman article and now I’m trying to come up with a bunch of questions and how they’ll relate to cat breeds. Sounds kind of dumb but-”

“That’s not dumb. That sounds fun. I personally like Maine Coons. What does that say about me?” he crossed his arms and by god, you could see the shirt struggling not to rip on his massive arms- have they always been so big?

You admired him for no more than a second before you came to your senses. The water had heated up and you focused back on his coffee to hide your blush. “It means you’re a really kind person and you’re a bit of a gentle giant.”

“Sounds about right,” he laughed softly. “I’ll take your quiz when you’re done if you want.”

You almost verbally squeaked as you poured in the flavoring and creamer. “You really don’t have to, Clark.”

“I know, but I want to,” he assured you.

—

After you finished your quiz, you clapped your hands together, “Perfect- no, purrfect.” you laughed at your own joke before realizing how dumb that sounded. 

When you opened your office door, you were expecting to see Clark sitting at his desk which was positioned right outside your door. However, you were met with an empty seat. He wasn’t supposed to go home yet. You frowned and shifted your gaze to Lois’ desk next to his. When you realized she was gone too, you sighed. The two of them seemed to do stories together more and more often. They worked well together.

You then went to put everything back in your purse. Knocking on your dad’s doorframe you smiled softly, “I’m headed home for the day.”

[reachartwork]

Back in his room, Judas sets up his chess board—figuratively, of course. The actual game is being played across millions of kilometers, his moves transmitted via laser communication to a Jovian mathematician with an annoyingly superior attitude.

Each move takes thirty minutes to transmit, and the match has been going for days now. Judas enjoys it, partly because it requires so little actual effort on his part and partly because it lets him flex his intellect in a way his job rarely demands. The chessboard on his console gleams faintly, pieces caught mid-battle in a position that Samson had politely described as “suboptimal.”

Judas scrolls through the chat history between moves, his finger idly flicking the screen. The logs are sparse, mostly terse exchanges about the game, but every now and then, a thread of genuine conversation breaks through.

A thread from a couple of days ago catches his eye:

Elijah: What exactly is a “union”?

Judas had been half-distracted when the question came through, trying to focus on the game. His response had been automatic:

Judas: A union’s like… a group of workers getting together to make sure they’re treated fairly. You know, better conditions, more say in how things are run.

The Jovian’s reply had come back almost instantly, or as instant as the thirty minute round trip could make it.

Elijah: Treated fairly? What do you mean? Who treats you unfairly?

Judas smirks at the memory, shaking his head. The Jovian’s genuine curiosity had been baffling, almost childlike, and Judas hadn’t been in the mood to dig into it. He scrolls closer to the present day.

Elijah: Why does someone need a union? Is it a survival thing? Like a co-op for food?

Judas: It’s not just about food. It’s about... everything. Rations, time off, workload, who gets what. A union’s a way to make sure Management doesn’t decide everything for us.

Elijah: But isn’t that Management’s job?

Judas: Yeah, but that’s the problem. If they screw us over, what’re we supposed to do? Just sit there?

Elijah: Why would they screw you over? Doesn’t everyone have the same goal? Don't your centrals keep track of all the resource allocation?

Judas: In theory, sure. In practice? People in charge don’t always think about what’s best for everyone. A union’s like... insurance. Keeps them honest.

Elijah: But if they haven’t done anything wrong, why do you need the insurance?

Judas exhales, leaning back and rubbing his temples. The Jovian’s questions had been relentless, and he’d quickly realized the gulf between their perspectives. It wasn’t naivety, exactly. It was more like the Jovian had never encountered the idea that work could be anything other than perfectly structured and collaborative.

Samson’s voice breaks the silence, light and conversational. “Your queen is under threat, by the way.”

Judas glares at the board. “No kidding. Thanks for the heads-up.”

“You’ve been distracted,” Samson observes. “Are you sure you don’t want me to offer a suggestion?”

“No backseat chess,” Judas mutters, moving a pawn to block the queen. He knows it’s a weak move, but his focus is elsewhere.

The Jovian’s latest message blinks onto the screen, cutting through Judas’s thoughts:

Elijah: Do you have an example of a time when Management made a mistake?

Judas stares at the text for a moment, then types back:

Judas: Not really. They’ve been fine so far. But it’s not about what they’ve done—it’s about what they could do. You don’t wait for the fire before you build the extinguisher.

The reply takes its usual fifteen minutes to send, and their reply, the fifteen minutes to arrive, but when it does, it’s as direct as ever:

Elijah: I don’t understand. What’s the difference between being prepared and being paranoid?

Judas laughs softly, despite himself. “What’s the difference, Samson?”

“Between preparedness and paranoia?” Samson asks. “A reasonable question. The answer likely depends on the individual’s tolerance for risk.”

“Great,” Judas mutters, typing back a response:

Judas: Paranoia is thinking Management is already planning to screw us over. Preparedness is making sure they don’t get the chance.

<Read more KRAKOOM!!! over on RoyalRoad>

[ryuunchi]

Between the Pages Pt.3

Through ink and silence both of them discover something that’s been written all along the lines and pages.

Jotaro Kujo x Reader

Part 1 | Part 2| Part 3| Part 4.1 | Part 4.2

It had been a few days since the whole incident with the page you ate. The Crusaders, still teasing you from time to time and had learned to be a little more careful with their jokes, especially after the "Pen Incident" where you’d been quick to defend your notebook. It wasn’t that they didn’t still find the whole thing amusing, but everyone knew now: Y/N’s notebook was off-limits—unless you were Polnareff, of course.

One afternoon, you had been caught up in a discussion with the group about their next destination. With everyone distracted, you absentmindedly placed your notebook on the table near the others. It was a rare moment where you weren't clutching it to your chest, and for Polnareff, it was the perfect opportunity.

He leaned over, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he spotted the open notebook. The temptation was just too much. He reached for it, just about to peek inside, when a voice cut through the air, cool and calm.

“Polnareff,” Jotaro said sharply, eyes narrowing. “If you touch that notebook, I won't help you if Y/N stabs you.”

Polnareff paused, looking up at Jotaro with an exaggerated look of innocence. “Oh, come on, Jotaro! You don’t really think she’ll mind, do you? It’s just a little peek...”

But Polnareff wasn’t one to drop things so easily. “Jotaro,” he said, still grinning. “Are you curious, too? What’s inside that notebook? I mean, you’ve gotta be, right? You’ve seen how much time she spends writing in it. You’re always so stoic, but don’t tell me you're not interested in her poetry or whatever.”

Jotaro stared at him, unamused. He wasn’t about to admit to anything. “I don’t like to pry into other people’s business, Polnareff. It’s none of my concern.”

Polnareff’s grin faded, his expression turning thoughtful for a moment. He was about to say something else when Jotaro turned his back and walked away, the conversation was clearly over.

Left alone with the notebook, Polnareff sighed, but he wasn’t ready to give up yet. There was another thing he wants to know based what just happened now. Was Jotaro lying? Was he really not curious? He looked around the room quickly—no one was paying attention—and then, with a quiet breath, he picked up the notebook.

For a moment, he hesitated, remembering Jotaro’s warning. But the temptation was too strong. He flipped open the first page and began to skim.

The first few lines were exactly as he expected—poetry. Beautiful, heartfelt words that seemed to come from the depths of the heart. Polnareff was starting to feel like he might be intruding on something personal when he turned to the next page.

This time, it wasn’t a poem. It was a drawing of Jotaro.

It was simple, yet incredibly detailed. The shading was precise, the likeness uncanny. But what caught Polnareff off guard was the emotion conveyed in the piece—the care and admiration in every line of the sketch. He had to admit, it was impressive. Even Jotaro’s aloof, distant nature was captured perfectly in your art.

The realization hit Polnareff all at once. You weren’t just writing about Jotaro for fun, or because he was the easiest subject to write about. You had real feelings for him. He was just too dense to see it before.

“Damn,” Polnareff muttered to himself. “Y/N’s got it bad.”

The notebook slipped from his hands, and he quickly put it back in its place on the table, just as someone else walked into the room. It was Jotaro. His eyes flicked to the notebook for a second before moving back to Polnareff, who had been caught mid-suspicion.

"Don't even think about it," Jotaro said, his voice stern.

Polnareff grinned sheepishly, not daring to tease Jotaro any further. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I wasn’t gonna do anything.”

But the seed of curiosity had been planted. Polnareff wasn’t the only one who’d been curious about the notebook. The thoughts Polnareff had briefly skimmed through lingered in Jotaro’s mind. Why had she been so protective of it? What was so special about the notebook? More than that, Jotaro found himself thinking about the words he had caught glimpses of when Polnareff had been teasing him.

But the more he thought about it, the more his mind drifted back to the words you had written, the way you had hidden so much in those lines. It was... intriguing. He hadn’t expected to feel this way. And, frankly, it bothered him a little. You were someone who kept to it yourself, so why was he feeling this strange urge to know more about you?

Jotaro couldn’t stop thinking about your writing.

A few days later, after an intense battle and some down time with the group, Jotaro found himself alone with your notebook, which had been carelessly left on the table again.

His heart pounded as he glanced around the room. The others were still talking, distracted. His hands hovered over the notebook for a moment before he quickly flipped it open, scanning the pages. The words, once again, were beautiful—but this time, he didn’t just read them. He absorbed them.

The second poem he read felt oddly familiar. It was almost as if you were speaking directly to him, as though you had captured his essence in your words.

There was no denying it anymore—he was fascinated. But what should he do about it?

Without overthinking, Jotaro grabbed a pen from his pocket and started writing.

For the first time, he found himself creating something of his own. He wasn’t sure where it was going, but he wanted to write something back. Something to show you that he understood, or maybe just to respond to the feelings you had shared in your poem.

He scribbled quickly:

"I’m not one for words, but sometimes... silence says more than any poem ever could."

He stared at it for a long moment, unsure if he’d even have the courage to give it to you. What if it was too much? What if you saw it as some kind of strange intrusion?

But then again... wasn’t that what you did? You shared your feelings in writing, so maybe this was just another way of communicating, even if it was unconventional.

With a sigh, Jotaro folded the paper and slipped it into your notebook. He felt a strange mix of embarrassment and anticipation. Would you read it? Would you understand what he was trying to say?

The next day, you would find a note tucked carefully inside in your notebook, and for a moment, neither of you would know quite what to say. But that, Jotaro thought, was the start of something new.

[chaifootsteps]

my fucked up way of making s2 ep7 work without changing the way fizz acts:

make it so that mammon made fizzarolis robo limbs, instead of ozzie.

fizzarolis prothestics made by mammon could work like an apple phone: they work slower over time and after a year, they need to be replaced. and every year, after the competition, fizzes prize for winning mammons clown pageant is a new pair of robo limbs. his payment is basically a necessity thats treated like a privilege by mammon. its obvious to anyone who finds out (like blitz and ozzie) that whats going on is REALLY fucked up.

itd justify all fizzes anxiety in the episode. you could even keep the line of fizz saying to oz "mammon gave me this life. he gave me security, wealth, and i wouldn't be here without him", and itd be all the more bittersweet.. because to an extent, itd be true. fizz probably thought his career, his LIFE was over when he lost his limbs, and mammon couldve been a light in his darkest moment, being kind for a brief moment, just to manipulate him for the rest of his career to make up for that one act of kindness.

in this rewritten version, fizz won't let oz make him new prothestics. he tells oz that his prothestics were given to him by someone "special and important to him", but never says who. since oz said "not my story to tell," i think oz would 100% respect this boundary.

.. until he finds out WHO has been gifting fizz these limbs. maybe he finds a trash can full of unusable, unsafe mammon made limbs under the pile of fizz merch in his dressing room. maybe oz is angry at fizz for lying to him for nearly a decade, until fizz explains thru tears that he cant lose the ability to move like he used to before the accident, and he HAS to do this. because yeah! of course hed feel that way! oz offers to make him a new set of limbs again, without wanting anything from fizz.

the episode could stay almost exactly the same with these changes. the only thing id changed after crooked is to have ozzie ACTUALLY hit mammon, at least once. id make it play out like that one scene from south park, where kyle slaps cartman ONCE, and cartman starts wailing for his mom. replace kyle with ozzie, and cartman with mammon, and itd play out perfectly. i just really like fanart where mammon cries tbh

you could even keep blitz (who isnt 100% necessary to the plot despite his connection to fizz), and the twins, creepzo, oliver, and theyd feel a lot less useless with higher stakes relating to fizzes disability/abilities to perform.

this episode always felt really weak to me on a first viewing and rewriting it made me figure out why. the stakes are REALLY low, compared to how the episode (and fizz) insists that theres so much on the line to lose. fizz was always going to be ok if he quit working for mammon since he has ozzie, and that fact is painfully obvious to the audience and blitz. it crushes all the believability of fizz acting like he does in the actual episode.

anyway thank you for listening to me ramble about my blorbos :3

Oh, my heart.

Those are some thick, juicy stakes, Anon, the kind Fizz's conflict with Mammon so desperately needed. Thank you for sharing this!

[vellichorom]

Hello Discord User Vellichorom AKA Twinkie AKA Velli AKA individual who’s character I love so much who has consumed my literal every day for the last year plus that I have not stopped thinking about (literally, over three hundred and sixty five days have gone buy and every single one of them I’ve had this man in my head, Vellichorom, do you know what you’ve done Vellichorom, you did this to me.) 

NOW I MAY BE UNHINGED ABOUT THIS MAN but how about I take a step back for a moment to just, talk about it? To discuss the absolute mastery I feel has been carefully and lovingly crafted into him? 

I’m really picky about the characters I like. Yeah I am fond of characters, I’ll like them and talk about them and whatever, but NOT ONCE has a character CONSUMED MY LITERAL BRAIN CELLS like Thierry has. Of course he has an amazing base to go off of, he IS THE NARRATOR, and I will admit that I absolutely ADORE TSP and all of the lore that has been crafted into him... but that alone was not enough for me to be purely interested in him for a long period of time (cough: see me not doing much tsp stuff aside from Thierry cough) 

The way that you have woven in every aspect of TSP and its canon into him, and then MADE IT EVEN BETTER AND MENTAL-ILLNESS-INDUCING has got me gripping the edge of my seat like a feral goblin every time you post literally ANYTHING about him ever. You blended TSP/TSPCC/adjacent lore together in a way that makes Thierry his own thing and also the perfect embodiment of the Narrator.

I have hyper fixations that wane and grow over time, things that I have enjoyed for long stints, but NEVER, EVER, Has there been ONE CHARACTER that has captured my attention so wholly. 

Looking at just him as a character, I adore the way you actually embrace and show off his flaws in a way that feels so human and also just like the weird fucking creature that The Narrator obviously is. You paid SO MUCH attention to detail and THAT SHOWS! IT DOES!! The Narrator is EGOTISTICAL, he is AN ASSHOLE, HE IS NOT PERFECT! EVER!I won’t shit on other people for wanting that for their own interpretations, but by god if you aren’t one of the like, two other people I’ve seen PERFECTLY capture that in his actions and behavior. You interpret the scenes in TSP/UD with such a nuanced and in depth eye with Thierry that I actually ENVY YOU FOR IT because I WANT TO DO THAT TOO. The expression of his ego balanced with his simultaneous self-loathing is just a perfect coat of icing on the proverbial cake. You miraculously made this man exactly as loveable and hateable as the straight up copy-pasted canon. I want him to suffer, and I love him so much, and I feel awful for him, and I think he’s an asshole. 

His relationship with Rosemary? Do I even HAVE to say anything? No, I don’t, but IM GOING TO. 

I seriously have never understood how you and Tomie so amazingly captured that Stanley/Narrator relationship through Gore/Guts in such an AWE INSPIRING, BEAUTIFUL, AND HORRIFIC way. Like, I genuinely do not know how to put into words the way that I absolutely ADORE this interpretation of it. The never ending spiral of desperation, need and reliance that the Narrator has on Stanley (and vice versa) is FLAWLESSLY executed and showcased with Rosemary/Thierry. I know I don’t really talk about Gogu as much as I talk about Thierry, but I have said it before and I will say it again, they are AMAZING, THEY ARE BEAUTIFUL, AND I CANNOT THINK OF ANY LITERALLY ANY NARRATOR X  RELATIONSHIP THAT PERFECTLY EXEMPLIFIES THE WAY THAT THE NARRATOR WOULD BE WITH SOMEONE, AND THE HORRORS THAT COME WITH IT. EVER. 

And the most amazing part is that you, YOU, a fucking EXCELLENT, BEAUTIFUL, TALENTED ARTIST, have made THE design ever. THE. DESIGN. EVER. No exceptions. OBVIOUSLY the enjoyment of a design of a character of such a nature is mostly up to personal taste, but for one second can we stand back and think about who the fuck we’re talking about? 

We can go based off of a few things:

His VA, Kevan Brighting: Mr. Brighting is a fat, old man. He has JOWLS, he has WRINKLES, he has WEIGHT not only to himself, but his voice. OBVIOUSLY not all VAs match their characters, but when you consider someone’s voice and the voice you assign TO a character, you usually want it to mimic that, and The voice that Mr. Brighting does for the Narrator is literally just that. And old, crotchety, fat british man. 

Specifically based on his Voice: Again, to piggy back off of what I was just saying, a character is meant to match the voice, you can hear the way he slightly slurs/mushes his words together, (which, by the way, if people didn’t know, slight lisps can be caused by more weight/fat being in the face! :D) You can hear him creaking around in his chair!

Based on context clues/general ideas of what the character is doing/does: The Narrator, as described in the game, is old (context clues people, context clues), codes/can create things using code, is not human (‘various human sensibilities’ gives that RIGHT away) and sits in a chair coding/reading shit most of the time. If anyone looks me in the eyes and tells me that a person who does that would not at least be heavy set, I will wack them with a stick. 

ALL OF THAT BEING SAID: this means that YOU MADE HIM! Look at him! Look at that man! It’s FUCKING HIM, ITS THE NARRATOR REAL! HE’S REALLL!!! I don’t give a flying fuck what my bias says, if I think of the Narrator I am going to think of someone that looks either like Kevan Brighting, or Thierry Ellis-Baker. There is no other thing for me. I can kinda smush other designs into it, and see it that way via The Square Hole /ref - but it will ALWAYS AND FOREVER be that. He’s an omnipresent voice that doesn’t show himself, when he’s not, he is NOT WEARING A SUIT. But he is FASHIONABLE, WHO is looking at him, seeing the fact that he wears a fucking fancy, flowing, stylish cardigan WITH A GOLD CHAIN, and saying NO He LOokS lIke A sLOb??? Because you are literally wrong, I would AND HAVE worn things that are LESS FANCY than that in professional settings. He’s wearing a turtleneck sweater, dress pants, and some comfy BUT PRESENTABLE shoes. If someone thinks he looks slobby they’re delusional. Like what do they think? That that old man should be wearing a suit for whatever fucking reason??? In his Office??? In his chair while sitting on his fat ass? (NOT TO SAY THAT HE CAN’T, AND I KNOW THIERRY HAS, AND CAN, AND WOULD IF HE NEEDED TO, BUT WHO ON GOD’S GREEN EARTH, ESPECIALLY WHEN CODING AND SHIT, WANTS TO WEAR A SUIT 24/7)  Also, tacking this on here at the end, you have helped SO much with my comfort with acknowledging my own body weight, accepting it, and liking myself more than literally anyone could ever have, and Thierry is a HUGE part of that for SO many reasons.

I love everything about him, Vellichorom, and it is of my humble opinion that everyone who does not and looks at him like he is anything less than what The Narrator is at his most basic, are dirty little liars who are jealous

TL;DR: Anyone who is disrespectful and disregards the expert care, craft, and love that has gone into Thierry lore and design wise can go and suck the fattest, dirtiest rock they find outside in a river, and report back to me in fourteen business days with their illnesses so I can laugh at them :)

Thank you for coming to my two+ page essay/TED Talk Uh... oh yeah this is an ask box... uh... what's your favorite fun fact about Thierry/Romary? :)

ujm jm, umm um that they love you

[am-i-interrupting]

Nsfw profesor college Silco ?

Improve

Tags: vibrators, dom/sub, voyeurism, praise, slight degradation

He knew what he was doing. He knew exactly what he was doing and he’d been smug the entire time. He stood in front of everyone with the remote tucked away in the palm of his hand, perfectly shielded away from everyone from many times of practice. Every time he switched the setting he found an excuse to look your way.

You had to shift, bite your lip, and hold your tongue, in order to not make a sound because if you did, it’d all be over. There was so much trouble to be made if people found out, so many things that could happen and that’s what made this fun, interesting, was the risk. One wrong move from either of you and this could be over.

People slowly exited the class, the last of the day, and he, of course, asked you to stay behind under the pretense of talking about grades when you both knew it was a lie. The door closed shut with a bang and the voices of others began to drift down the hall.

Silco walked from out behind his desk, hand trailing across the edge until he got to you. He brushed your hair out of your face as he approached you.

“You did so good today,” he said as he used the hand that cradled your jaw to move your head.

“Yeah?” you breathed in question.

“Oh, yes,” he said as he began to press your skin with quick kisses.

His fingers made slow work of the buttons of your shirt. He took his time, slow and considerate. He kissed down your neck with each button that popped undone. He mouthed at your pulse. He gave the faintest brush to the skin hidden beneath your shirt.

“But were you good enough to earn a reward?” he asked as he untucked your shirt from your pants.

“Yes,” you told him.

“Oh, really? I’m not convinced,” he said. “I do recall hearing some noise from you today.”

You grabbed his hands in the lightest but most desperate hold, “I can make up for it.”

He loomed over you, leaning close to your face. “What do you say?”

“Please.” He raised an unamused eyebrow. “Please, professor, let me make up for it.”

He pulled away from your touch and turned away from you. He picked up the remote to the vibrator still lodged inside you, held in place inside your wet, loose walls by your surely stained underwear as it pressed against your clit.

He weighed the vibrator in his hand. “Prove it,” he said as he turned it to its highest setting, nearly making your knees buckle underneath you as you struggled to bite back the hitched noise your body wanted to make.

He placed the remote on his desk as he moved his attention to his belt. “I have a meeting with Sylvika in an hour.” He turned towards you as he pulled his pants down just enough to get himself out. “Prove to me you deserve to cum by then and maybe you can.”

You nodded. He raised an eyebrow. “Yes, professor,” you said as you dropped to your knees in front of him, causing more friction to be put on your clit.

You took his half hard form in your hands and began to stroke at it. Slowly you tried to coax it into hardness.

“Let me hear you,” he said, “but don’t let them.”

His gaze and yours turned to the wide window on the door, uncovered by the curtain. If someone looked in they could see you. Perhaps they couldn’t see what you were doing fully, being partially hidden by the desk, but it wouldn’t be hard to assume.

The thought of being walked in on caused both fear and arousal to spike within you. They’d see you, on the floor, like the slut you are sucking off your professor. You moaned slightly just at the thought.

“Fuck,” you said with a whining tone in your voice. “I want them to hear.”

“I know,” he said as he began to thread his fingers in your hair. “I do too but we can’t let them know. Not now but as soon as you graduate I’ll take you right here and you can be as loud as you want, I promise. You just have to wait. Can you do that?” You nodded. “Good. Now, let me feel that pretty mouth of yours.”

You leaned forward and the dial on the remote was turned down so the vibrations weren’t so intense. Still, you moaned as you ran your tongue up and down his length. Your eyes rolled back when you let him stretch your mouth.

It felt good, right to have him inside you. It didn’t matter what way. The stretch was perfect, just teetering the line between pleasure and painful. You knew when you pulled off him your mouth would be sore but you looked forward to the lingering presence, the reminder that it was real.

You dragged your tongue along the underside of him. He sighed and his head tilted back as his fingers twitched in your hair.

He lightly pulled on it. You followed his instruction and moved your head back before you went back down.

“Good, so good,” he praised.

You moved the tip of your tongue around his head. His nails scratched your scalp and he bucked forward in your mouth, nearly choking you. You drew back and did it again. Only this time when his hips moved forward, so did you head. He moved down your throat, a welcome invader. You forced yourself to relax enough so that when you did choke, you stayed in place. You steadied your breathing, you relaxed your throat, you moaned around him.

“That’s it,” he said as he petted your head. “Just like that, so good for me, darling.”

You stayed like that for a moment before you pulled back and teased his tip and shaft with a combination of tongue and teeth. You could feel him twitch inside your mouth and you moaned at the slightly bitter taste that came with it.

He pulled out of your mouth and switched off the vibrator. He pulled his pants further down as he sat in his chair.

“Take off your pants and come here,” he said.

You obliged, looking at him— fully clothed save for his cock which was out and standing tall with the slightest curved to it— as you did so.

When you stood halfway nude in front of him with merely an unbuttoned shirt for decency, he reached down and pulled the vibrator from you. It left you slowly and wanting, causing you to moan.

“What do you want?” he asked as he brought the vibrator to his lips to be licked clean.

“You, I want you,” you told him.

“Mmm? How?”

“Inside me.”

“Beg for me.”

“Please, professor, please. I want you so bad. You’ve teased me all day and I’ve tried to be so good for you, so so good. I want you inside me, fill me up. Fuck me like a whore, please, professor, please.”

He grabbed your hips and pulled you closer. “That’s enough,” he told you.

He moved you so you could straddle him as he slowly guided himself inside you. You closed your eyes with pleasure as he filled you the way a toy simply couldn’t. He was warm inside you. You clenched without meaning to and he let out a pleased sigh.

He thrust up into you and you lost your breath. He did it again and again and again, finding a pace rather quickly. What started out slow quickly became the opposite. He was hard and fast as he thrust inside you.

“You make such pretty noises,” he said as his hand went to find your clit. “I wish others could hear them.”

You wanted to scream out when his fingers started moving in tandem with his thrusts but you but your lip and settled on a whine as you clenched around him.

“You feel so good, Professor,” you told him. “Like you were made to fill me up. No one’s ever been so good to me.”

He groaned as he buried his head in the crook of your neck and picked you up to lay you across his desk. He bit at your neck as his hands sped up on your clit and his thrusts quickened.

“Cum for me, darling,” he commanded. “Cum for me.”

And you did. You clenched around him and your legs wrapped around his back to pull him further inside. Your eyes squeezed shut as he bit hard enough at your jaw to bruise.

His hand left your clit and instead he pinned your arms above your head with one hand as the other held you in place. He thrust inside you at a ruthless pace that made you continue to see stars for several moments after you came down from your peak.

Eventually he stalled and orgasmed inside you. You could feel him twitch and his seed spill. You moaned as you were filled even further and his grip on you tightened.

He stayed on top of you for several moments, simply breathing. Then he stood and pulled out of you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. He dug through his drawer for a cloth he used to wipe himself clean.

He hesitated for a moment, debating before he tossed the cloth back into the drawer and picked up the vibrator again. He pushed it inside you, plugging his release inside you as well. He bent down and licked at the seed which spilled out.

He then kissed you, letting you taste him while he buttoned up your shirt. When he was finished he tucked himself back in his pants and helped steady you on your feet. He pressed another kiss to your temple as he handed you your underwear and pants.

“I do believe that concludes our discussion,” he said as he began to fix the papers that had been made askew, effectively dismissing you in the process. “Ms. Selvika should be here at any moment, I suggest you leave soon.”

Your head still reeled but nonetheless you managed to say, “Yes, professor.”

“Good.”

You out on your clothes and had just begun walking towards the door when it opened and Selvika came in.

“I do hope to see you improve,” Silco said as she walked past you. “You have such potential, I’d truly hate to see it wasted.”

Just then the vibrator turned in again and you barely succeeded in concealing a squeak due to overstimulation.

[jasontoddsmommyissues]

Daisies

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Femme!Henderson!Reader

Summary: Eddie comes to school acting strangely and you’re determined to figure out why 

Warnings: Mentions of parent death and mourning, allusions to suicide and abuse, Eddie's guilt/insecurity, swearing, reader uses she/her pronouns, Reader is Dustin’s sister but no physical descriptions are used and you can read it as an adopted sibling if you want

A/N: I’ve had this idea forever and finally finished it! But yeah, please do mind the warnings, there’s some heavy stuff in here. 

My Master List | Ao3

You hum to yourself as you gather the necessary supplies from your locker. It’s a cold, gray day in late fall and a chill hangs heavy in the air. Normally this would bother you more, but you’re currently swathed in an oversized flannel Eddie had left at your place the other day. 

Admittedly, you and Eddie haven’t been together all that long, but in that time, you’ve grown extremely close. The two of you just fit together in a way you never have with someone before. Most people in Hawkins don’t really get Eddie, but you like to think you understand him in a way that a lot of people can’t, or maybe just won't take the time to. 

That’s how you know, when he comes trudging into English class several minutes late, that something’s up. Eddie being late to class isn’t exactly out of character on its own, but him blowing you off is. You like to think you’ve been a good influence on him, his tendency to cut class has certainly lessened with you around. You almost always walk to your shared English class together, usually with Eddie practically hanging off of you, so him not showing up without telling you is odd. 

“Mr. Munson, you’re late”, Mrs. O’Donnell says, affixing him with a stern glare. 

“Sorry”, he mutters, making his way to his desk. That’s strange too. He’s usually got a clever remark lined up for these situations. 

You look over at him as he plops down at his usual spot beside you. He doesn’t say anything to you, probably because Mrs. O’Donnell has started back in on her lecture, although he normally wouldn’t let that stop him. 

Your immediate thought is that maybe you’d upset him somehow, even if you can’t imagine what you possibly could’ve done. The last interaction you’d had with him had been perfectly normal, and even if it hadn’t, he usually was the type to speak his mind, especially to you. 

Maybe you’re over thinking things. Maybe he was just running late. He’s never exactly been known for being organized or having good time management skills. 

You try to tell yourself that, but as the class period wears on, you get more concerned. Normally Eddie spends class making faces at you and muttering snarky comments about Mrs. O’Donnell’s lecture under his breath. He’s quiet today, doesn’t look over at you, just stares ahead, though you can tell from the distant look in his eye, he isn’t paying attention to what Mrs. O’Donnell is saying either. 

Your worrying makes class seem to go on longer than usual. It feels like a miracle when the bell finally rings.

“Hey”, you say to Eddie as he gathers up his stuff, “I missed you earlier.”

“Hm?” he says, “oh yeah, sorry. I was running late this morning.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah of course, why?”

“I don’t know, you seem kind of…off today.”

“I’m fine”, he insists. 

You don’t really believe him, but it doesn’t seem like he’s planning on talking to you about it, so there isn’t anything else you can do. He’s still quiet when he walks you to your locker. You get your books and lean in to give the customary kiss on the lips you always share. Usually Eddie would respond enthusiastically, but he just kind of stands there this time. 

-

You don’t see Eddie again until lunch, and that ends up being more of the same. The rest of the table is engaged in a lively discussion that Eddie only occasionally adds to. You try to get him engaged in the conversation, but every question or comment you shoot him is met with a limited response. 

None of the others seem to notice, or if they do they don’t mention it, but then again you suppose a gaggle of teenage boys can’t be expected to have an outpouring of emotional awareness. You notice, though, and it's highly concerning. Whether Eddie’s mood is somehow related to your relationship or if it’s something else causing it, it’s clear he’s going through something right now. All you really want to do is find some way to help him, but without knowing what’s going on, you’re not sure how to do it. 

-

It’s not a surprise when Eddie doesn’t appear at your locker at the end of the day to walk you to your car. Truthfully, you’re a little hurt by it, but try to remind yourself it might not be because of anything you did. 

You don’t see Eddie, but you do see Jeff and Gareth walking by, and decide they’re probably your best bet at figuring out what’s going on with your boyfriend. Maybe he mentioned something to one of them. 

“Hey”, you call, walking over to them.

“Oh hey”, Jeff greets. 

“Do you guys know if something’s going on with Eddie?” you ask, “he was acting really weird today.”

“Oh yeah, I’m not surprised”, Jeff tells you, “he sometimes gets like that this time of year.”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t know?” Gareth asks. 

“Know what?”

“He probably wouldn’t want us telling you this”, Jeff explains, “but this is right around the time his mom died.”

“Oh”, you say. 

Logically, you know that Eddie’s mom isn’t in his life. He’s made an off hand mention or two of his dad being in prison, but you can’t recall him ever bringing his mom up. It’s really not something you’ve ever thought about before, but it does make sense.

“Yeah. He was a little kid when it happened but sometimes, when it gets close to the anniversary, he gets a little weird”, Jeff informs you, “Don’t worry, he’ll be back to normal in a day or two.” 

You give him a little nod before walking off. Dustin is already waiting for you in your car when you get there. As you start the ignition, your mind races with thoughts of Eddie. 

Jeff and Gareth didn’t seem all that concerned, but you’re not so sure. You honestly feel a little bad for thinking Eddie’s behavior was somehow about you. Maybe this is normal for him, and maybe it is only temporary, but it’s still extremely jarring to see your normally energetic boyfriend behaving so strangely. 

By the time you’re pulling into your driveway, you’ve come to a decision. Dustin climbs out of the passenger seat, but you don’t follow his lead. 

“Aren’t you coming?” he asks. 

“You go ahead”, you tell him, “I’m gonna go to Eddie’s. Be back later.”

He gives you a confused look, but ultimately just shrugs and heads inside while you pull back out and head off towards Forest Hills Trailer Park. 

-

Thankfully, Eddie’s van is parked in front of the trailer when you get there. You knock on the door and wait patiently for him to answer. 

He does, after a moment, looking surprised. 

“Uh, hey”, he says, “what are you doing here?”

“Well”, you explain, “you seemed so off today at school. I wanted to come and make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine”, he insists once again, “you don’t need to check up on me.”

“Eddie”, you admit, “I know about your mom.”

He deflates slightly. You almost expect him to get angry that you learned this detail behind his back, but instead he just sighs and steps to the side, gesturing for you to come inside. 

“I feel bad”, you say as he leads you to his room, “I know you probably would’ve told me if you wanted to talk about it. I just, I was worried because you were acting so weird and I asked Jeff and Gareth so they told me.”

“It’s fine”, he says, motioning for you to sit down on his bed, “I didn’t mean to worry you. I was just distracted today.” 

“You don't have to apologize”, you say, hopping onto the bed while he walks over to his desk and starts rooting around for something. 

“No. It’s stupid”, he says, “I mean, I was 7 when it happened. It shouldn’t, you know, affect me so much.”

“You lost a parent”, you reply, “I think you can be forgiven for still being upset about that.”

Eddie just shrugs, like he doesn’t quite believe you. He walks over and sits down beside you, handing you what you realize is a worn old photo of a young woman. 

“Is this her?” you ask, but the answer is obvious. Her soft, plush lips and big brown eyes? They’re just like Eddie’s. 

Eddie nods. 

“She’s beautiful”, you tell him. 

“Yeah”, Eddie says wistfully, “I always kind of wondered what she was doing with my old man. I mean, I know why. ‘Cause of me. But I just…she was young and beautiful and she could’ve had anyone. Why’d she pick him?”

You gently rub his shoulder. You don’t have an answer for that. 

“Anyway”, he continues, “she um, she took a bunch of pills one day. I came home from school and she was…she was gone. I mean, I don’t really blame her or anything. Things were rough. Her and dad fought a lot. He was a drinker and he’d always be out all night doing who knows what. He had problems keeping a steady job, so we had a lot of money trouble too. I guess it was all too much for her.”

“Oh my god”, you say, “that’s awful.”

“I used to be kind of mad at her, you know”, he sighs, “I know she had issues and stuff, but I just…I hated that she left me alone with him. My dad I mean.”

“I’m really sorry you had to go through that”, you tell him softly. 

“I’m not mad anymore”, he assures you, “I just miss her now.”

You run a hand softly across his back. You’ve never seen Eddie like this before. It’s honestly a little overwhelming, because you know this isn’t something he’d tell just anyone. He’s putting an insane amount of trust in you right now, and you wish you could do more to help him. 

“Do you ever go see her?” you ask after a moment, “I mean, is she buried in town?”

“Yeah”, he answers, “but I don’t…I haven’t been in a long time.”

“Do you want to?” you say, “I mean, you don’t have to or anything. But I’ll go with you if you do.”

He thinks about it for a moment, and you worry you might have overstepped your boundaries, but then he lets out a sigh. 

“I guess we can, yeah.”

-

You buy a nice bouquet of daisies on your way to the cemetery. Eddie clearly doesn’t know anything about flowers, but he does recall his mom having daisies in her garden and liking them a lot. 

He wasn’t kidding when he said he hasn’t been in a while, or so you assume because it takes a little bit of effort for him to locate her grave. 

The grave itself is well kept, but bare. You take a second to read over the inscription on the headstone. 

Pamela Eileen Munson

January 11th, 1947-November 15th, 1973

Beloved Wife, Mother and Daughter

Eddie, for his part, just stands there, clutching the bouquet awkwardly. You start to feel a little bit of guilt creeping in, then. Did you make a mistake by convincing Eddie to come here? You know some people find comfort in visiting the graves of their loved ones, but maybe he doesn’t.

“Um…hey mom”, he finally starts, “I uh, I’m sorry I haven’t visited in a while. I’ve been…busy I guess. My band is still going. We play at the Hideout every week. We don’t get much of an audience, but hey, it’s a start.”

You grab a hold of Eddie’s hand and give it a gentle, encouraging squeeze.

“Oh, and Hellfire Club”, he continues, starting to sound a little more enthusiastic now, “I’m still running that, too. I still, um, still haven’t graduated yet but I’m working on it. Let’s see, what else?”

He looks over at you and a small but genuine grin starts to creep over his features. 

“I have a girlfriend now”, he says, but his eyes are still on you, not the grave, “she’s…she’s amazing, Mom. She’s beautiful and smart and puts up with all my bullshit.”

His arm wraps around your shoulder and he pulls you in close, pressing a small kiss to your temple. 

“You’d like her a lot”, he says, addressing his mom once again, “in fact, it was her idea to come visit you. I wish you could meet her.” 

As quickly as his smile comes, it’s fading again, and you think you can see tears starting to gather on his lashes. 

“I miss you, Mom”, he says softly, “I love you.”

The two of you stand there for a little while longer, your head on Eddie’s shoulder and your hand gently rubbing his back. Eventually he turns to you. 

“I think I’m ready to go”, he says. 

“Alright”, you reply, “how about we grab some dinner? I’ll buy.”

“You don’t have to do that”, Eddie replies. 

“No, but I want to," you insist. 

A hopeful warmth blooms in your chest when you see Eddie’s grin return, timid but definitely there. 

-

“She loved music”, Eddie recounts as the two of you chat over burgers and milkshakes, “she played piano and she was always listening to her records.”

You smile softly. 

“And she loved gardening too”, Eddie continues, “she was always in the yard. She used to have all these bird feeders and she’d just watch them from the kitchen window.”

“She sounds amazing”, you reply. 

“She was”, Eddie tells you, “I always feel kind of bad, you know? I mean, she gave up everything to take care of me and I repaid her by being a fuck up.”

“You’re not a fuck up”, you assure him. 

“I mean, I’m a third time senior who deals drugs to high schoolers”, Eddie counters, “I know there’s not a lot to be proud of here.”

“Of course there is”, you tell him, “I mean, you’re an amazing guitarist, and you’re super creative. Plus, it’s really sweet how you look out for Dustin and the others. Surely your mom would be proud of that.”

“I guess”, Eddie replies. 

You reach across the table, taking Eddie’s hand in your own and gently rubbing a thumb over it. 

“She would be”, you insist, “you’re an amazing person, Eddie.”

“Maybe”, Eddie sighs, “I just…I can’t help feeling guilty, you know? Her marriage was Hell. My dad was a fucking drunk and half the time didn’t even come home at night. Probably sleeping with other women. And when he was home, he was always angry about something. I saw him hit her a few times.”

“That’s awful”, you say. 

“He-he used to say it was my fault. That if it weren’t for me, she’d still be here…”

There’s tears starting to well in his eyes. You squeeze his hand, your heart stinging at the pain in his voice. 

“It’s not your fault”, you tell him, “you were just a kid. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m sure she wouldn’t want you to blame yourself.” 

“She wouldn’t have married him if it weren’t for me”, Eddie mutters, “she wouldn’t have been miserable if it weren’t for me.” 

“Eddie”, you insist softly, “don’t put that on yourself. It’s not your fault things happened the way they did.”

Eddie doesn’t argue, but you can tell by the look on his face that he doesn’t believe you. To most people, Eddie is the very picture of confidence and bravado. Few people get close enough to see beneath all of that. In the time you’ve gotten to know him, though, you’ve come to understand that Eddie has constructed that persona for himself, a carefully crafted suit of armor he wears to protect himself from the world. The words he’s heard from both his peers and his father, they’ve chipped away at him, deep down. Much as he plays it off as him not caring, there’s a part of him deep down that does. You understand now, why certain things bother Eddie so much. Being told he was somehow to blame for his mother’s death, that had to be painful, that had to leave some lasting marks. 

You’re struck in that moment with how profoundly intimate it all is. You know it couldn’t have been easy for Eddie to open up this much to you and you know it means a lot. 

“I um, I’m ready to go now”, Eddie says and you agree, standing up to deposit your food in the trash can. 

“So, um, thanks for all that”, Eddie says as you walk back to your car. 

“Don’t mention it”, you say while the two of you climb in, “and Eddie, you know you can talk to me about anything, right? I won’t ever judge you or anything, I promise.”

“I know”, Eddie says and there’s the faintest glimmer of a tear in his eye and you lean in and press a kiss to his lips. 

-

“Want me to wait around until Wayne gets home?” you ask Eddie. 

“You don’t have to”, Eddie says, “he’s working a double so…”

“Are you sure?” you offer, “I could always call my mom up and tell her Vickie’s cat got put down and she needs emotional support.”

A smile breaks out on Eddie’s face at your proposal. 

“Are you sure you won’t get in trouble?” he asks. 

“Nah”, you say, “I really am helping a friend in need. I’ve got some emergency underwear stashed in my car, so maybe I can just borrow something of yours to sleep in.”

“Yeah”, Eddie agrees,”that sounds good.” 

-

Wayne gets home from his shift in the early hours of the morning. As he walks inside, he’s greeted by the sight of you and Eddie, passed out on the couch, while some movie plays on the tv. He shakes his head, letting out a fond chuckle before preparing for bed himself. 

[gabriel-xander]

Don't Forget

[Sans x Female!Reader]

24: I'm Not the Kind to Fall for a Guy Who Flashes a Smile

♪────✿⁠(⁠✧◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕✧⁠)✿⁠────♪

“Where do you want me, Grillbz?”

“…Don’t say it like that.”

“Awe, but you always get so fired up when I do.”

“…You’ve been spending too much time with Sans, I think.”

“Yeah, probably. You think it’s curable?”

Grillby gives you a once over, “No.”

Dang.

But why did he have to check you out first? You’re not complaining by all means, but it does make you think…

“What are we, Grillby?” You ask him with a sigh, crossing your arms on the bar table.

He just looks at you, regretting every waking moment of ever agreeing to hire you in the first place.

He wants you eff-are eff-are.

Sans, who was sitting next to you this whole time, minding his own damn business, just shrugs at the exchange. He puts an arm on your shoulder, looking up at the fire elemental with a scheming look in his eyes.

“isn’t a good thing i finally have someone who… hey, [y/n], what was that thing you said the other day?”

You snort, “You mean ‘match my freak?’”

Sans nods while patting your arm, “yeah, that’s it. i finally have someone who can match my freak.”

You groan and hide your face, “Oh, God. Please never say that again. You are not meant to speak my lingo, bone boy.”

“but this is [y/n] exclusive content, remember?”

“Jesus–You remembered that? That was, like, almost three weeks ago at this point.”

“ouch. you dare doubt my memory?”

“I just find it hard to believe that you remembered that from when we first met, but couldn’t remember when I asked you to get me a bagel a few days ago.”

Sans raises his hands in defense, “swear on my father you didn’t ask.”

“Oh, don’t you even dare go there!”

So work with Grillby has been pretty chill! You started working with him officially about 2 weeks ago, and things are great! It was a little rough at first during your training, and you have reason to suspect that Grillby knows you’re human.

You haven’t exactly done anything to hide it per se, but it’s still nerve-wracking considering that you thought you (and Sans) were careful enough not to expose anything. The reason you suspect this is because not once were you asked to assist with cooking or making drinks.

Sans even vouched for you that you perfectly saved a few meals when Papyrus would get too overzealous in the kitchen. Yet, you were stuck solely on cleaning duty: washing dishes, cleaning the floors, bussing tables–all of that was done by you. The shorter skeleton told you that the food and beverages were made with magic, so Grillby never allowed you to at least attempt it was suspicious on its own.

──

“it could be that it’s ‘cause he’s like me.” Sans brought up randomly after your shift a week ago, “there are some monsters that can kinda sense magic in other things, myself included. you don’t got a spect of that magic in you. i never thought ‘bout it, but grillby might be the one of those few.”

Wonderful!

“So, what determines if you’re a monster that can distinguish something like that?” You asked him.

“ehh, i dunno. let’s say, just for example, you went and dusted a few monsters and got covered in it-”

“You say toxic shit and for what?”

“-you’d be pretty hard to distinguish like that 'cause you’re covered in magic. dead monsters, sure, but still magic.”

You think of Frisk during the No Mercy runs, and how sometimes monsters couldn’t tell they were a human even though they would normally in the other routes. Is that why? Undyne was still able to tell, but you suppose at that point it didn’t matter when she had outsider information from Alphys and the general “covered in monster dust” thing.

“That’s kinda fucked up, man,” You wanted to flick his forehead, but a strong gust of wing and his 1 HP is gone, “So, because I’m not covered in monster guts, I’m a super obvious human to a lot of people in Snowdin? Is that what you’re saying?”

Sans only shrugged, “probably. i wouldn’t worry ‘bout it, [y/n]. by now a lot of these folks know your face and still haven’t said a word to undyne.”

“I guess you’re right… Anyway, wanna blow up these hotdogs in the microwave one by one?”

“hell yeah, let’s go.”

──

Are either of you going to bite the bullet and ask Grillby if he knows? No, of course not. But it still makes you nervous all the same. You’re comforted that he treats you the same even if he knows you’re human or not, and he totally wants you. You’re not delusional, what? He wants you sooo bad.

God, Grillby is so fine. It doesn’t help at all that you got to know him more as well, he’s pretty funny and witty, but so soft-spoken and patient with you.

You love that man so much, it’s so unfair…

Sans leans against your side, moving his arm so it's on your shoulders again, “aw, are you mad at me, sweetums?”

You roll your eyes, “Totally. Let’s divorce, now.”

Grillby gives you two a “knowing look,” shaking his head while leaving to get something from the kitchen. You reach out to him weakly, not wanting him to go but you didn’t want to make your obvious crush even more obvious.

You slowly turn your head towards Sans, frowning comically at his cheeky grin.

IT’S SO UNFAIR THAT SANS HAS BEEN COCKBLOCKING YOU SO MUCH LATELY?!?!

You even asked him straight up: “Brother, is you gay? Do you want him for yourself? Is that what this is?”

“…huh??” He looked genuinely confused so you guess that wasn’t the case.

But still, it started almost a week ago, a little after you began working for Grillby. Sans visits almost daily, but more noticeably during your work hours. While you’re busing doing what you need to do, Sans is there chatting away on company time. Grillby had to chastise him a few times for “harassing his only employee” whenever you got successfully distracted.

Ever since that night as well, the night you came out about Gaster, Sans has been more friendly with you in terms of touch. You think before that, both of you were similar in thinking that neither of you wanted to be touched. But then that accidental cuddle session(?) during the movie just broke the barrier.

He stopped wearing gloves around you more often, too. No, he didn’t have anything suspicious on his hands, you assume he just didn’t want to freak you out about his skeletal anatomy.

There are also times when Sans kind of drops his mask just a little bit. He’s more cynical and dark with his humor. Sometimes, when it is just you and him, you guys will sit in silence together, doing your own thing. A silent understanding that you two don’t have to keep pretending to be something that you’re clearly not.

And that is so nice…

BUT GODDAMN IT, SANS!! YOU WANT HIM TO STOP GIVING GRILLBY THE WRONG IDEA!!

You so love that your relationship with Sans is developing, but why must it be at the cost of Grillby’s hot ass!?

“Hey, Sans.”

He raises a brow, “sup?”

You pout a bit, “Your arm is on my hair.”

“oh! uh, sorry.”

You snort as he quickly moves away, clearing his throat to keep his embarrassment on the low. You’re supposed to start your shift soon, but Sans has been keeping you here with his shenanigans.

“By the way,” You take out your phone, “I need you to buy me a few things while I’m working. I promised Papyrus I’d make Parmesan Chicken with him, but I think I saw you guys ran out of tomatoes and some other crap.”

“sure thing, buddy. is it gonna be edible this time?” He asks, pulling out his own phone.

“Hey, the last time we made something together, you were supposed to make sure he didn’t do anything while I was looking away. That’s entirely your fault!”

“caught me there.” DING! “is that the list?”

“Ya-ya.”

You snuck a peak at his screen, wanting to see what punny name he put you down as in his contacts. He doesn’t bother hiding the screen, so you’re able to see your name in his list of contacts. There were a few names you recognized alongside a long list of unknown contacts. Your name, much to your delight, is saved as ‘“The [Y/n] of All Time” in a very fancy font (somehow).

That’s actually… sweet?

“I’d be so mad if there were other me’s out there that was the me of all time,” You said with a grin, “But surely, I have nothing to worry about, right bone boy?”

he waves you off, “nah, i know better than that. can’t have you jumping my bones over it.”

“Boo, that was weak.”

“how the mighty has fallen,” Sans hops off the stool, patting the bar lightly, “i better get going, then. i’ll be here at the end of your shift, there’s a place I wanna show you at the capital in waterfalls that i think you’ll like.”

You smile in excitement and anticipation, “Oh, sweet! Okay, see you soon.”

The skeleton monster gives you a lazy wave, leaving the establishment while saying a few goodbyes to passing friends. Red Bird, your friend with a growing bond, laughs as soon as the skeleton leaves. Great, this is all part of the routine.

“Back in my day, you ain’t ever see Sans so buddy-buddy with anyone ever! You wanted a rare glimpse of that guy having a heart? You just had to bring his brother around,” Red raises her glass and salutes you, “To [Y/n]! You better make me the ring bearer at the wedding!”

“Ughhh!” You groan over the sound of almost everyone in the bar giving you congratulations, “This is the fourth time, guys! Don’t you think this is getting old?”

“Girl, it’ll be a hot day in Snowdin until I let this go,” Red Bird takes a sip of her drink.

You can’t deny that yes, you and Sans have gotten closer, but it’s really not as sweet and romantic as she’s making it seem. At most, you could probably call each other great friends–In another world maybe even best friends, but you have that title reserved for your man Elliot.

Sans still remains a mystery to you, and there is that small, underlying tension still but that’s not–It’s really not like that. God please, don’t let it be like that. You don’t want to fall into a cliche, you’re so much better than that, surely!! Also, Sans is so… He’s such a… He’s really…!

You don’t want to think about this anymore, actually. You’re on the clock, you’re not allowed to have feelings for anyone other than Grillby while you’re on the clock!

“LA-LA-LA-LAAA!” You put your hands over your ears, “I CAN’T HEAR YOU, I HAVE HEPITIES B!!”

“What?”

You stand up straight and stretch your arms above your head, “Okay, I gotta clock in now. Nobody talk to me so I can lock the fuck in.”

Ugly Fish cheers you on, “You go, girl. Do your thing.”

“Thanks, man…”

The only one who ever treats you with kindness is him and Doggo. Sigh.

It should also be mentioned that you still have yet to meet Lesser Dog. You’ve heard him be brought up a few times, something about being relocated, but you didn’t hear where. You want to ask, but you feel like you’re not close enough with them to ask something so personal.

YOU ALSO HAVEN’T RUN INTO THE NICE CREAM GUY, EITHER?! WHERE IS HE?!! (Where’s Tobias?! WHERE’S MY HUSBAND?!)

You hope everything is all fine. You hope there’s a happy explanation for it.

────

Sans showed up 10 minutes before your shift was over, most of the customers were gone and you were cleaning up some tables. He was content to drink ketchup while waiting for you, more or less just watching you in silence (for once). Lucky for you, Red Bird was too shit-faced to make any remarks about it.

You’re in the employee room (which is in the kitchen, which you were permitted to enter despite not being made of fire) Grillby tells you before you leave that you’ve been a huge help to him. That because of you, he’s actually had decent sleep the past week, and he owes it to you. You leaned against your pile of good deeds (you posed against nothing), 100% about to woo his ass with your immaculate rizz, but Grillby saw it coming.

He shakes his head and smiles at you, “I’m not sure Sans would like that. He and I are good friends, after all. It wouldn’t be right. Besides, he went through a lot to find this place for you.”

…HA???

You squint your eyes at the fire-man, “Wanna run that by me again? What do you mean by that, Willis?”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“…I’ve said too much.”

“I DON’T THINK YOU’VE SAID ENOUGH, ACTUALLY!!”

“You’re off the clock now, [Y/n],” Grillby gently guides you out of the employee room, “Best not to keep him waiting.”

“What did you two plan? Are you joining him in his schemes? Are you scheming?!”

Grillby decides now that he suddenly can’t talk anymore. He forcibly pushes you out of the kitchen, making you yelp at the effort to not eat shit. Sans perks up at your arrival, his grin relaxing into something more natural as he gets off the stool.

Grillby isn’t subtle with his thumbs up towards the skeleton, and neither is Sans. These fuckers are definitely scheming. Sans winks at your deadpan expression, gesturing for you to follow him and get going.

Oh well. You suppose you shouldn’t be over skeptical of what’s going on. Sans has clearly put in effort to whatever the hell he wanted to show you on this fine Sunday night, the least you can do is be grateful about it.

“So,” You start casually as you two begin walking out together, “the Capital, huh? I really liked the Waterfalls last time we were there, is the Capital prettier?”

“nah, i don’t think there’s anything that can beat the waterfalls, but that’s a matter of opinion,” Sans puts his hand on the door, “ready to take a shortcut?”

You nod eagerly, closing your eyes with a slight smile, holding your hand out for him to take. Just like always when he’s about to take a shortcut with you, you just trust that he’ll do what he needs to do. You trust that he’ll take care of it.

What a dangerous trust for Sans to carry.

Yet despite that small fear, he takes care of you. He takes your hand and guides you through the door carefully, pulling you two through another shortcut.

You don’t feel the glug glug glug glug this time; apparently, it was just that one time a few weeks ago. A small squeeze of your hand lets you know that it’s okay to open your eyes, so you do so.

Wow.

This looks a lot like…

“The mall?”

Sans nods, “maybe another time when you’re not straight off work, we can spend more time actually walkin’ around the capital. but right now, there’s a specific place i wanna show ya. i think it’s right up your alley.”

This place is a little empty, though you suppose it’s because it’s “night” and most have gone home. You don’t mind it one bit, the fewer people see you, the better. 

“I’m getting pretty excited here, Sans. Where’re you taking me?”

Sans pulls you along (he hasn’t let your hand go) to walk, giving you another wink because that’s apparently his signature look. You can’t blame him, there’s something special about that wink.

“you’re gonna have to wait and see. it’ll shock you right out of your bones.”

“Puns have been kinda weak lately, Sans,” You hum teasingly.

Like a champ, he doesn’t take it to heart, “heh, i guess i don’t feel like i gotta try as hard around you.”

He might’ve worded it a bit off, but you know what he's trying to say. And you understand just how deep that really is for someone like him. Sans isn’t making a big deal out of it, so you suppose you shouldn’t either.

“That’s sweet, Sans.” “yeah, well… don’t let it get to your head. gotta keep you humble.”

Of course, who else if not Sans?

You let Sans take you through the mall by the hand, wondering if he’s even aware he hasn’t let go yet. Or maybe he’s doing it on purpose and it’s all part of his scheme. You’re not so oblivious that you can’t put two and two together about Grillby’s comment earlier, you’re smarter than that. However, you’re not sure how you feel about it so you’re not going to address it.

More importantly, Sans didn’t tell you anything (directly or indirectly), so if he doesn’t want you to know, then you shouldn’t know. He’ll tell you or hint at it when he’s ready for you to know. Until then, you’re fine just continuing as you are.

All that to say, you try not to think about it too deeply when Sans brings you to the trashiest thrift shop you’ve ever seen in your Goddamn life.

“Oh… my… fuck…” You stare in awe and wonder as the colorful and landfill-coded store, “Sans… How did you… This is so… The thrift store I usually go to isn’t even as trashy as this…”

Sans’ smile twitches, “in a good way, or…?”

“IN THE BEST WAY, SANS!!”

“oh, nice.”

“Sans, how many times have you been here?”

He scratches the side of his skull, “uh… actually. now that i think about it, i don’t think i ever been here. i heard of it for sure, but never been inside.”

“Dude.”

“yeah, dude?”

“A thrift store is where the heat is at,” You squeeze his hand and start to drag him inside, “This is literally the best, thanks, Sans!”

His smile softens a bit, letting you practically rip his arm out of the socket from your eagerness. He really hasn’t been to this place before, even in past resets. Sans just wanted to give you a little gift of appreciation for your… friendship? You two still tend to tease and bump heads with each other, but now it’s more playful and 100% unserious compared to before. There are less underlying motives and trying to “expose” each other and more “you just like me fr” moments when talking about risky subjects.

This thrift store trip is… just his appreciation for you.

And that joy on your face when you realized where you were… Well, Sans wouldn’t mind doing something like this for you again. You’re a great friend who’s worth it (so far), and it’s always nice knowing he makes his friends happy.

“yeah, yeah. it’s no problem, [y/n].” Sans shakes his head, “so, what’s first?”

“We gotta have matching shirts that have weird shit on them!” You light up with a smile, “You think they have 50 Shades of Beige merch?”

“absolutely not.”

“I think Papyrus would like a matching set with us.”

“i regret taking you here.”

Taglist:

@lemonboy011

@adriixboo

@fluffyart5000

[hypergamiss]

Yes! I know exactly what you’re talking about!

It’s always the girls with no prospects and ambition who try to make me feel bad about not being in a relationship. When someone has nothing else going for them, being in a relationship is their biggest accomplishment. Even if he’s terrible.

I was in my feelings for a few months, about not being in a relationship, and all of my 40+ female mentors looked at me like

👁️👄👁️

“Okay? And what’s wrong with that?”

😂😂😂

That’s literally what my mentors say too LMAO

It's like, even those in seemingly perfect marriages whisper that "free as a bird" longing with a mischievous glint in their eyes.

It's not that they regret their choices, it's more like acknowledging the trade-off: A fulfilling family life comes with its own unique set of responsibilities and sacrifices. Gone are those spur-of-the-moment adventures, that carefree feeling of waking up without a worry besides what to wear or where to explore next.

Motherhood, especially, seems to come with a whole new level of "always on" alertness. There's this constant awareness, a beautiful but undeniable weight that's hard to explain according to them.

So, yeah, when my mentors (married or not) tell me to savor this time, to relish the freedom of making choices based solely on my own wants and needs, it resonates. It's a gentle reminder that every phase of life has its own unique beauty, and it's perfectly okay to embrace the freedom of right now, even as I dream of future possibilities.

[naneun-no]

✨New positive self-talk phrase unlocked! ✨

(unrelated to BTS heads up).

I hesitate to even share this 1) because it’s kind of vulnerable and 2) because it’s probably so obvious to so many of you, but I think maybe it could help someone who struggles with a harsh inner critic like I do so here goes. A couple of days ago I started using a new phrase when my inner critic comes out pointing fingers at something I (debatably) didn’t do exactly right, and here’s what it is:

“Ah, I didn’t do it perfectly this time.”

That’s it.

Lemme splain. Like most anxious, highly sensitive people (like many of you probably), I am a perfectionist. Debilitatingly so, sometimes, and it’s really silly, because I KNOW that I cannot achieve perfection. I know it consciously, at least. But subconsciously, the quick as lightning, mean little voice in my head that criticizes me every chance she gets must actually believe it’s possible. And I realized that when I say it out loud it highlights how futile and unrealistic that expectation actually is.

I was walking to my car and noticed that I parked a bit wonky. Not even that bad, I was well within my lines, but it wasn’t perfectly straight like I for some reason expect it should be every time and my little inner critic was like “wow nice parking job dumbass, didn’t your dad teach you to swing wide and cut sharp? What’s wrong with you?” And I just decided to chuckle and say, “ah yeah, I didn’t do it perfectly this time.”

And boom, it was like suddenly the voice in my head was the dumbass, not me. It made the expectation that I could park perfectly every single time sound petty, and very inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, and like something that I could try next time, since I will have countless more opportunities to park my damn car again and it’s literally a nonissue.

Last night I was consolidating expressed breast milk into one bottle, a task I commonly undertake in the dark of the night by light of a kitchen nightlight and while operating on about 2 hours of sleep in the last 24, and I spilled some. It sucked, and breast milk isn’t the easiest for me to come by, and I wanted to actually break down in tears but instead I said, “Ah, I didn’t do it perfectly this time.” And whoosh, what a sense of relief. There’s always next time.

Obviously there are times when that phrase won’t work, when there’s an actual problem and you need to take accountability and figure out how to not do it next time because it causes actual problems, but when it comes to the snarky inner critic?

Make the snarky inner critic look rude, by exposing how unrealistic its expectations really are.

Try it on your inner critic! Or outer critic, next time your mother-in-law or rude family member or friend who’s actually kind of a bully makes a snide little remark about something you didn’t do perfectly. Cause at the end of the day, you did it, and that’s a hell of a lot better than the alternatives.

[themonotonysyndrome]

Hello !! I just wanted to share some of my headcanons if you don’t mind :DD sorry if its too long :((

Sometimes I just can’t help but think about the Baroness’ feelings the moment Castin presented lingerie to them as a gift before their courting. Adding onto that, I also think about the way they feel during and early on in their marriage with Castin, and I’m talking about SUPER early. Like, “got married 2 hours ago” married.

Courting is a two way street in both nations, both parties agree to court and be courted. Although the motives for such things are different when it comes to country, social class, etc., what remains are the courting methods that they do.

As I said before, the motives are different for each country. In the Coastal Empire, it’s more common for nobles to court each other to get more leverage in life; more money, more connections, more land, you get the gist.

The same motives can’t be said about Intacia, their motives of courting aren’t exactly the same. They don’t care about the type of gift that they give, so long as the recipient accepts it. To them, it’s the thought that counts, no matter how inappropriate the gift / timing is.

How does this intertwine with the burning ache in Castin’s chest whenever he sees the Baroness smiling, laughing, or just having fun in general? Well I’m glad you asked <3

I like to think that the Baroness and Lord Reyes made an agreement when they were still in university. The agreement says that if they are both 27 years old and still unmarried, they would court each other, then get married to one another. Why 27? Because married couples who are 25 and older get some tax benefits, doesn’t matter what type of married couple they are, as long as they’re married.

Lord Reyes was already 27 at the time the Baroness broke the news of them and Castin courting, the Baroness on the other hand, was 26 and there were only 2 months before their 27th birthday.

The Baroness made their Intacian debut on their birthday month, with two of their friends in the audience as they were then embarrassed to the point of tears in front of hundreds of nobles. The Baroness looked to the king for him to reprimand the crowd and his dear, guarded brother, only to be met by Rhett minimizing their feelings, saying to “not make a scene”.

Adding insult to this newly inflicted injury was the realization that this could all be avoided if Castin knew the protocols to gifting someone a gift deemed too inappropriate for the public, especially nobles from both respective countries. If the gift was something like a sex toy, condoms, herbal contraception tea, or in this case, lingerie, he should’ve put a pink star on the packaging.

Hello, Neptune! Dude, dude - don't apologise about how long your headcanons are. I LOVE READING IT!

I love how Intacia and the Coastal Empire view courting differently; your ideas fit with the cultures perfectly! The Imperial sees courting and marriage as something to elevate themselves in love (though marrying of love does happen every now and then) while the Intacians put great value in the thoughts of who would be their future partners and the meanings behind every courting gift.

(Still though, lingerie at a first meeting? Castin, I really, REALLY, wanna know your thought process behind that one!)

Having the Baroness and Lord Reyes discuss their possible future was a good move, honestly. Even if Lord Reyes' feelings for the Baroness is nothing more than platonic, they would make good allies.

AND OH MY GOD, THE MOMENT RHETT SAID TO US NOT "TO MAKE A SCENE!?" I WOULD'VE GIVEN HIM AND CASTIN THE BIGGEST ATTITUDE EVER! IF I CAN'T RESORT TO VIOLENCE, I WOULD GO OUT OF MY WAY TO MAKE RHETT'S LIFE FUCKING HELL! I WOULD LITERALLY MAKE THE QUEEN ASCENDANT CHOOSE BETWEEN ME OR HIM; I WANT THIS MAN TO FUCKING GROVEL ALONGSIDE CASTIN!

...so yeah. I have some opinions about how Rhett behaved during our Intacian debut.

But again, cultural misunderstanding is definitely a thing and wait - did Castin ever apologise for humiliating the Baroness?? He had that whole confession about how he wasn't like the other Intacian boys, always struggle to fit in and yada, yada yada, but did did he ever shown genuine remorse about the lingerie incident!?

I... I can't remember.