#whenever reagan was around

[dollfat]

pls stop introducing more characters i can only imagine so many white men 😭

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Corporate Bullshit

I'm coming to BURNING MAN! On TUESDAY (Aug 27) at 1PM, I'm giving a talk called "DISENSHITTIFY OR DIE!" at PALENQUE NORTE (7&E). On WEDNESDAY (Aug 28) at NOON, I'm doing a "Talking Caterpillar" Q&A at LIMINAL LABS (830&C).

Corporate Bullshit: Exposing the Lies and Half-Truths That Protect Profit, Power, and Wealth in America is Nick Hanauer, Joan Walsh and Donald Cohen's 2023 book on the history of corporate apologetics; it's great:

https://thenewpress.com/books/corporate-bullsht

I found out about this book last fall when David Dayen reviewed it for the The American Prospect; Dayen did a great job of breaking down its thesis, and I picked it up for my newsletter, which prompted Hanauer to send me a copy, which I finally got around to reading yesterday (I have gigantic backlog of reading):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/27/six-sells/#youre-holding-it-wrong

The authors' thesis is that the business world has a well-worn playbook that they roll out whenever anything that might cause industry to behave even slightly less destructively is proposed. What's more, we keep falling for it. Every time we try to have nice things, our bosses – and their well-paid Renfields – dust off their talking points from the last go-round, do a little madlibs-style search and replace, and bust it out again.

It's a four-stage plan:

I. First, insist that there is no problem.

Enslaved people are actually happy. Smoking doesn't cause cancer. Higher CO2 levels are imaginary and they're caused by sunspots and they're good for crop yields. The hole in the ozone layer is only a problem if you foolishly decide to hang around outside (this is real!).

II. OK, there's a problem, but it's your fault.

An epidemic of on-the-job maimings is actually an epidemic of sloppy workers. A gigantic housing crash is really a gigantic cohort of greedy, feckless borrowers. Rampant price gouging is actually a problem of too much "spending power" (that is, "money") in the hands of working people.

III. Any attempt to fix this will make it worse.

Equal wages for equal work will cause bosses to fire women and people of color. Protecting people with disabilities will cause bosses to fire disable people. Minimum wages will cause bosses to buy machines and fire "unskilled" workers. Gun control will only increase underground gun sales. Banning carcinogenic pesticides will end agriculture as we know and we'll all starve to death.

IV. This is socialism.

Income tax is socialism. Estate tax is socialism. Medicare and Medicaid are socialism. Food stamps are socialism. Child labor laws are socialism. Public education is socialism. The National Labor Relations Act is socialism. Unions are socialism. Social security is socialism. The Fair Labor Standards Act is socialism. Obamacare is socialism. The Civil Rights Act is socialism. The Occupational Health and Safety Act is socialism. The Family Medical Leave Act is socialism. FDR is a socialist. JFK is a socialist. Lyndon Johnson is a socialist. Carter is a socialist. Clinton is a socialist. Obama is a socialist. Biden is a socialist (Biden: "I beat the socialist. That's how I got the nomination").

Though this playbook has been in existence since the nation's founding, the authors point out that from the New Deal until the Reagan era, it didn't get much traction. But starting in the Reagan years, the well-funded network of billionaire-backed think-tanks, endowed economics chairs, and latter-day propaganda vehicles like Prageru breathed new life into these tactics.

We can see this playing out right now as the corporate world scrambles for a response to the Harris campaign's proposal to address price-gouging. Reading Matt Stoller's dissection of this response, we can see the whole playbook on display:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/monopoly-round-up-price-gouging-vs

First, corporate apologists insisted that greedflation didn't exist, despite the fact that CEOs kept getting on earnings calls and boasting to their investors about how they were using the excuse of inflation to jack up prices:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/11/price-over-volume/#pepsi-pricing-power

Or the oil CEOs who boasted that the Russian invasion of Ukraine gave them cover to just screw us at the pump:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/15/sanctions-financing/#soak-the-rich

There are all these out-in-the-open commercial entities whose sole purpose is to "advise" large corporations about their prices, which is just a barely disguised euphemism for price-fixing, from meat-packing:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/04/dont-let-your-meat-loaf/#meaty-beaty-big-and-bouncy

To rents:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/24/gouging-the-all-seeing-eye/#i-spy

That's stage one: "there's no problem." Stage two is "it's your fault." That's Larry Summers and co insisting that a couple of stimulus checks a couple years ago are responsible for inflation, because it gave you too much "buying power," and so the only possible fix is to jack up interest rates and trigger mass layoffs and sharp wage decreases across the economy:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/14/medieval-bloodletters/#its-the-stupid-economy

Stage three is "any attempt to fix this will make it worse." When Isabella Weber pointed out that there was a long history of price-controls being used to fight price-gouging, corporate apologists lost their minds and brigaded her, calling her all kinds of nasty names and insisting that her prescription didn't even warrant serious discussion, because any attempt to control prices would destroy the economy:

https://www.theglobeandmail.com/podcasts/lately/article-the-millennial-economist-who-took-on-the-world/

You may recognize this as cousin to the response to rent control proposals, which inevitably trigger a barrage of economists screaming that this will not work and will actually reduce the housing supply and drive up prices, which is true, provided that you ignore all evidence and history:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/16/mortgages-are-rent-control/#housing-is-a-human-right-not-an-asset

And stage four is "this is socialism." Look, I am a literal card-carrying member of the Democratic Socialists of America and I can assure you, Kamala Harris is not a socialist (and more's the pity). But that didn't stop the most eminently guillotineable members of the investor class from hair-on-fire, ALL-CAPS denunciations of the Harris proposal as SOCIALISM and Harris herself as a COMMUNIST:

https://twitter.com/Jason/status/1824580470052725055

The author's thesis is that by naming the playbook and giving examples of it – for example, showing how the "proof" that minimum wage increases will destroy jobs was also offered as "proof" not to abolish slavery, ban child labor, add fireproofing to textile factories, and pay women and Black people the same as white guys – we can vaccinate ourselves against it.

Certainly, we've reached a moment where the public is increasingly skeptical of claims that we can't fix anything because the economists say that this is the best of all possible worlds, and if that means that we're all going to boil to death in our own skin, so be it:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/27/economism/#what-would-i-do-if-i-were-a-horse

In other words, after 40 years of subordinating politics to economics, there's a resurgence of belief in politics – that is, doing stuff – rather than hunkering down and waiting for the technocrats to fix everything:

https://www.programmablemutter.com/p/seeing-like-a-matt

Corporate Bullshit is a brisk and bracing read – I got through it in about an hour in my hammock yesterday – and, in laying out the bullshit playbook's long history of nonsensical predictions and pronouncements, it does make a very good case that we should stop listening to people who quote from it.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/19/apologetics-spotters-guide/#narratives

[reareaotaku]

[Toxic!] Brett Hand Headcanons

Obsessive and needy to a fault

He knows it's toxic, but he's rather insecure thanks to not only his family, but also his college days

He loves you a million times more than you love him. He has an unhealthy attachment to you

If you would let him, he would literally attach himself to you

Huge on hugs. Anytime he sees you whether it's been 24 hours or 3 minutes, he rushes to hug you

Like a puppy dog, loves to follow you and is sad when you're gone

Whenever him and Reagan are alone, all he talks about is you, much to her annoyance

He and Reagan are the complete opposite on the dating/relationship scale. Where he loves you more than anything in life, Regan hates people more than anything in the world. She doesn't understand why he's so enamored with you, until she meets Ron

Has a picture of you on his nightstand, so you are the first thing he sees when he wakes up [He'd rather have you in person, but he'd settle] and the last thing when he goes to sleeps

He doesn't care what the both of you do, as long as he's with you

Hell, he'll hang out in your cubicle and do work, just so he can be around you

[art-that-fucks-you-up-tournament]

SEMIFINALS MATCH ONE

"Can’t Help Myself" (2016 - Sun Yuan & Peng Yu) / "NAMES Project AIDS Memorial Quilt" (1985-present)

CAN'T HELP MYSELF: It’s better to watch a video of it in action. It’s a large robot arm that’s only programmed to repeatedly sweep a pool of red liquid around it. But its task is never done, the liquid eventually oozes back out onto the floor. It just makes me so sad, the futility of its work. Brilliantly, the artists even programmed it to do little gestures during its work. Sometimes the arm will shake or almost wave at the audience. So it feels less mechanical, like it has a personality. People have interpreted it to symbolize many ideas. Like the futility of violence, and those who are tasked with the endless recovery and clean up. It could be about worker exploitation, the dehumanization of victims of violence, policing borders. Regardless of what it means, I feel pity whenever I see it. (nicolaleecallahan)

NAMES PROJECT AIDS MEMORIAL QUILT: fucks me up bc so many people died and so many people suffered and their partners didn’t have legal rights as next of kin and so many had been disowned by their parents and had to be held by a stranger while they were dying and if i could resurrect anyone in the world i’d dig up either reagan or thatcher and kill them again (jaskierx)

("Can't Help Myself" is a Kuka industrial robot made of stainless steel and rubber mopping up cellulose ether in coloured water made by two Chinese artists, Sun Yuan & Peng Yu. This installation was displayed in Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York but was removed from display.

The "NAMES Project AIDS Memorial Quilt" is an ongoing community art project honoring people who passed away due to AIDS-related causes. It consists of approximately 50,000 panels of 3 by 6 feet (0.91 m × 1.83 m) panels, which is an estimated 54 tons of material. It is currently housed in San Francisco, but is often displayed in various places in the United States.)

[robthegoodfellow]

I'm Glad My Dad Died

mungrove | slightly expanded version of fic written for @strangerthingscharityzine | ao3

.🌱.💀.🌱.

Billy had a secret: he was glad his dad was dead. So glad that even when his mom sold their house in Ocean Beach and moved them to Hawkins, Indiana, uprooting him from his friends and the sea and everything Billy loved, he still wouldn’t go back to the way things were. Given the options—California, dad alive; or Indiana, dad dead—he’d pick the second every time.

He would, even though Hawkins was its own hell. Learned the hard way that among prepubescent country bumpkins, embroidered roses on your shirt and hair like Shirley Temple bought you a one-way ticket to Loserville.

It was the fall of 1979. Disco was dying and former flower children were gearing up to vote for Reagan. Kumbaya over, time to make America great again.

So, yeah—sixth grade sucked, but stuff at home was world’s better. They were living with Aunt Doris—because San Diego was too expensive, his mom said, and wouldn’t it be nice to get a fresh start?

Mom was really into the whole fresh start thing—which Billy suspected was fueled by guilt and determination to be the kind of mother she hadn’t been before. And… he appreciated that. He did.

But—he wished she would stop? Put down the pen, step away from the extracurricular sign-up sheets.

Because if the outfit put a target on his back, swim team aimed the bow, and band fired the arrow. 

You’ll miss the water, honey. And you love music! 

She wasn’t wrong. He did love those things—but not enough to willingly wear a Speedo in public or blunder through some Beethoven on the flute. Also in public.

Oh—why the flute? Because she’d fed him a steady diet of hippie tunes from the cradle and knew how much he dug Jethro Tull. Perfectly reasonable explanation—his peers would definitely understand.

Here lies Billy Hargrove, innocent victim of social homicide. 

The bullying was relentless, but Billy figured he could take it. No middle school bully could come close to the one he’d lived with all his life. 

You know, the one he was glad was dead.

.🌱.💀.🌱.

Billy hadn’t wanted to attend the talent show, but Mom insisted it was important to support his friends. By which she meant her friends—women she’d been palling around with who had kids in said show.

Kids she’d been aggressively arranging playdates with like Billy was five. 

Patrick’s talent was making twenty free-throw shots in a row. Robin’s was singing “This Land is Your Land” in four different languages. His mom and Mrs. Buckley had laughed about keeping the less than patriotic lyrics, assuming the Spanish rendition would fly over people’s heads.

Billy felt bad even thinking it, but he did wonder if his mom pushing these particular friends at him was part of her fresh start campaign.

Pat was black. Robin was a girl. And his dad had a habit of muttering snide remarks about anyone who wasn’t a WASP packing a sizable stinger—who wasn’t a clone of Neil Hargrove, basically.

And look, Pat and Robin were—fine. But he knew and they knew that they were only hanging out because their moms wanted them to, which was awkward as hell. Made his palms sweat whenever they were together or whenever they said hi at school despite him being a fairy freak according to kids whose opinions mattered. 

They were nice, but it felt like pity. Embarrassing in a way that made him shrivel up inside.

So he wasn’t in the best mood, slumped in the auditorium between his mother and Doris, praying no one pelted him with shit from behind. Mom felt crappy enough about all those years with Neil—Billy didn’t need her kicking herself for scooping him out of the fire and into a frying pan.

Pat set a record—28 in a row—and Billy clapped. Robin sang her song wearing a daisy crown, and Billy clapped. Dully, he watched as stagehands set up the next act, hauling out a drum kit.

Gareth, this shrimpy sixth grader, sat at the drums. Then an eighth grader came out, followed by a couple kids in seventh, the former bearing an electric guitar, one of the latter a bass. The guitarist waved, leaned into the mic—skinny guy with a buzzcut, eyes big and dark as an alien. 

We are Corroded Coffin—paused as a contingent of the audience went nuts—and this song is called Paranoid.

In the next row, a kid whispered, excited: Think they’ll make Coleman pull the plug again?

Gareth banged his drumsticks, counting them off. 

The opening riffs were like nothing Billy had heard before—this grind of chords that rattled teeth, thrummed in the chest. He straightened, compelled forward, a fishing line hooked deep.

Buzzcut was bent over the strings so low that all you could see was the top of his head, a fuzzy cue ball. Then Gareth kicked in, and the front man wailed the first verse, this nasal staccato, sort of speak-singing.

Billy scrambled to decipher the rapidfire—caught bits of the first verses. Then the bridge begged for help, and the rest landed loud and clear.

I need someone to show me The things in life that I can't find I can't see the things that make       true happiness I must be blind

The words were meant for him—just for Billy. It’s me. The guitarist leapt, plunged into a driving solo. The song’s about me.

Make a joke and I will sigh And you will laugh and I will cry Happiness I cannot feel And love to me is so unreal

Helpless, Billy turned to his mom, who grinned, whispering they’re great, aren’t they? He could only nod, swinging back to the guitarist, riveted until the final blaring note.

For Christmas, Billy unwrapped the smallest package under the tree—a cassette. It was all he’d asked for: Black Sabbath’s greatest hits album.

Because that night of the talent show, he sold his soul for rock n’ roll.

More specifically, for heavy metal.

More secretly, for the boy with the big brown eyes.

Eddie, he’d found out at school the next day, gossip overheard at lunch. The boy was Eddie.

Eddie Munson.

And whenever Billy caught a glimpse of him, the rest of that year, he thrummed like an electric guitar.

.🌱.💀.🌱.

Unfortunately, his passion for headbanging and powerchords did not meaningfully improve the remainder of middle school, and by the time he walked the stage at eighth grade graduation, Billy resolved to make a change—give himself a fresh start on his terms.

First, he mowed endless lawns and bought a new wardrobe: bootcut jeans with matching boots, which lent him some height and a certain swagger; button downs in dark colors worn open to his sternum and white tees like the crew from Outsiders; a bitchin’ leather jacket.

His hair had progressed from Shirley Temple to Farrah Fawcett, so he trotted to the barber for a Bon Jovi bi-level. Almost chickened out at the mall when he got his ear pierced, but loved the way the earring swung from his left lobe… though the right would’ve been more accurate. 

He quit band and swim. Thought maybe he’d try basketball instead, and enlisted Pat to help him practice.

They were actual buddies by then.

Lastly, he took up smoking. Marlboro Reds, because they were badass. Soldiered through the pack all summer, suppressing a gag on every pull till he was puffing like a chimney.

August before ninth grade, Pat’s brother let them tag along to a party at the quarry; if Billy got in good with upperclassmen, it could pave the way to social acceptance—maybe even… popularity?

Total pipe dream, but then… it worked.

That night was one for the record books: first time smoking dope, shot-gunning a beer… first time a girl went down on him.

First time he’d seen Eddie in two years. Wouldn’t even have recognized him, except the eyes hadn’t changed. Eddie was a junior and looked it: taller, wild dark hair to his shoulders, tattoos peeking from his sleeves. He made a brief appearance and vanished—there to sell some supply, not socialize.

Billy wished he’d stayed. Admitted then what he was most excited about for high school: the chance to see Eddie Munson again.

.🌱.💀.🌱.

Ironically, the object of Billy’s obsession had suffered a fall from grace in the transition to the big leagues: swirling rumors swore he was a Satan-worshiping anarchist and a burnout to boot. A weirdo who played geeky games with his loser friends.

Except—unlike Billy, Eddie didn’t give a fuck. While Billy strutted around vaguely unsettled, ill at ease with his costume, this immersive performance for the foreseeable future, Eddie had unveiled his freak flag—reveled in it, let it fly.

Regret gnawed at him, grew in Billy’s gut—knew if he were a little braver, he could trash this cool kid stuff and… 

End of Eddie’s senior year, Billy was sick at heart. Knew he’d missed his shot.

.🌱.💀.🌱.

So imagine his confusion, surprise—his hidden euphoric delight—when Billy spotted that dark mop atop a wiry frame loping across the parking lot on the first day of eleventh grade.

Eddie should have graduated, but for whatever reason… hadn’t.

Thus, a new resolution: seize this chance. Be Eddie’s friend.

By second semester, Billy had worked his way up to casual chit chat and also, incidentally, was a raging pothead—so much so that his mother was worried, and she had spent the 60s stoned out of her gourd.

Let him experiment, Doris advised, winking at Billy over dinner. His grades are fine. What’s the harm?

The following evening, Doris showed him her special cookies stashed in the freezer, cautioning him to only ever take one bite and be patient. Billy asked if he could give one to his friend.

Top tier moment, right up there with Dad dying. Eddie’s eyes lit up all starry, demanded Billy come hang so they could make like Keebler—try the old elfin magic—and Billy was blessed to learn that Loaded Eddie = Handsy Eddie.

Blessed and cursed, because Eddie learned that Blazed Billy = Honest Billy. Tell me a secret, Eddie said, tickling. Tell me a secret.

Nothing happened. Eddie was just… affectionate. Bit of a snuggler. Who now knew he was the reason Billy was such a metalhead. 

And that Billy was glad—about his dad.

.🌱.💀.🌱.

Eddie was held back again, and suddenly math and history were Billy’s favorite classes because Eddie sat next to him in the back row. Seemed to do decently with Billy there egging him on.

Thus, his final resolution: graduate with Eddie. Drag him across the finish line if necessary. Billy held study sessions he didn’t need at the library after school, invited Eddie to join—and Eddie did.

Eddie invited Billy to come see his band play at a local bar on Tuesdays—and Billy did.

Tell me a secret, Eddie said one weekend, when they were sharing a bowl, and Billy snorted, gazed into bloodshot eyes. Glad you got held back. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be doing this. Eddie smirked, soft. Getting high? Billy laughed. Hanging out.

Billy turned eighteen that March, and the Buckleys and McKinneys came over to celebrate, as usual. Unusual was the doorbell as they were about to eat, Eddie and Wayne trooping in, sorry for being late.

Robin picked up on something that night—cornered him in the bathroom. Are you and Eddie…? Billy went tight, and she rushed to reassure. It’s okay if you are. I am, too. So Billy breathed, calmed. I am. I dunno if he is. Robin arched her brow. From where I’m sitting, odds are good.

Billy spent weeks yanking hope by the roots.

.🌱.💀.🌱.

Come May, they walked in green cap and gown—hugged in the milling crowd, Eddie cackling wet in his ear, a clinging koala. Didn’t think I could do it.

Billy brought him along to Robin’s graduation party. In the backyard, her old childhood treehouse beckoned, and they heeded the call.

Tell me a secret, Eddie said, sitting back against mossy boards. They weren’t even high. He flicked Billy’s earring—set his heart swinging. That should be on the other side, Billy said, and stared until Eddie flushed red, understood. I got a secret, he said, and Billy didn’t dare to know but did. 

Eddie said it: I’ve wanted to kiss you all year.

A click as Billy swallowed, bone dry. Then do it.

And Eddie did.

.🌱.💀.🌱.

[sparrowrye]

Demi Demon || Alastor x Reader, A3 part 5

Synopsis: Alastor disappeared for 8 years, leaving you confused, crushed, and angry. You spent those years building up your new self and protecting the haven from dangers left and right. What will happen when he returns to the new changes? Will he return anytime soon? Could you even go back to the way things were?

Previous part

Part 5: trouble in paradise

WARNING! You should make sure you're in the right mental headspace to deal with a challenging chapter like this (several mentions of suicide). Also, it's very long.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I am not having this conversation with you." I whisked around and headed for the front door, making sure my tail whipped against his leg as I did. He caught the end and yanked me back. I spun on my heels, teeth bared in a snarl, and eyes dark with anger. "How dare--"

"We are having this conversation." He took a step to meet me halfway, causing me to nearly run into his chest. He slammed his cane on the wood floor and brought his face close to mine. "Your behavior has been abrasive, rude, and unacceptable."

"My behavior? My behavior?" I slammed a hand on my own chest. "How about yours? You've been short with me and the children, you and Reagan can't seem to be adults and be in the same room for more than five minutes without tearing each other's throats out, you snap at Husker left and right, and you keep trying to tell me what to do."

He straightened up so he was looking down his nose at me. His smile was quirked up in a black gummy snarl. "The children are misbehaved, I refrain from speaking to Reagan but she insists on eliciting an argument, I'm treating Husker as I always have, and I am in no way telling you to do anything." His staticky voice was sharper than usual and he attempted to break through my shield with his mind. It edged on my anger as I reinforced the shield.

"That's right, you're not telling what to do." I jerked back my tail from his grip. "You're telling me what not to do. I've been on my own for eight years. Even longer than that before you came into my life. I don't need your protection or your help."

His ears bent back as his smile strained to stay up. My snarl fell from guilt.

"We have magic. You have far more advanced magic. If I'm in danger you can easily come and be the great savior. For now, leave me alone to hunt this bastard's factory down. I need to clear my head. Reagan and Lucas will take care of Nym and Thatcher." I turned back to the door, being extra careful to keep my tail close to my heels, and closed it behind me.

I morphed into my Dragon form and took to the skies. The wind whipped past my face and the clouds were a soothing dousing to my hot anger. I flew from cloud to cloud, keeping well out of sight until my wings grew tired from the exertion.

Incorporating Alastor back into my life, into everyone else's lives, didn't go as smoothly as I had planned.

The first biggest issue was the children. He didn't care for Nym and Thatcher in the slightest. He was actively annoyed by their mere presence and they knew it, too. It made them more avoidant of the house itself and more clingy to me when they were inside. They were either at my side or in their room -- never did they spend time with each other in the common spaces of the household. I felt guilty for letting that happen.

Reagan wasn't helping either. She and Alastor were always arguing whenever they were left alone together. Sometimes they even argued about me when I was present in the room. Reagan was protective of me, a trait I found admirable, but it was causing more problems than solutions. Alastor being Alastor, he didn't let any snide remarks or comments slide. I felt guilty for letting Reagan know more about the complicated relationship. I should've kept her oblivious for as long as possible.

Husker was also being avoidant. He didn't frequent the old house like he used to and any time Alastor stepped in the room he fell silent and stood on the opposite side of the room as me. It didn't take long to realize Alastor was upset that Husker and I were close--closer than Alastor and I. Guilt gnawed at my chest for not defending my friend.

The others, from Charlie to Vivian, to Althea, to Vilcin, and to everyone in between, were constantly asking me how I was holding up with Alastor. Reagan's words echoed in my head about how she and Husker had to deal with my affects of Alastor's disappearance. So I put on a smile and told them we were working on it.

Althea had caught me on the streets and tried to dig deeper, claiming that the thread between me and Alastor was very transparent. I kept up the act and told her we were taking small steps to make it stronger. She didn't believe me--I could tell by the way she looked at me--but there was nothing she could do about it.

I touched down in a random forest and melted into the shadows. I skidded across the unoccupied plots of land until I came to a town. I picked a random shadow and stayed hidden in it, listening and watching all around me. How much more simpler were these people's lives? My own life felt so vastly unique that it actually felt tragic.

I jumped from shadow to shadow, from town to town, for hours on end. No amount of hunting could reveal any kind of information. Though I wasn't really searching for anything. I knew Vox's trackers would lead us right to the factory but I needed something to do. My responsibilities in the haven had vanished--likely from Charlie's input--on the account of giving me more time to spend with my family. If only they knew that it would better help me if I had something to occupy my hands and mind.

So I stayed off the haven's grounds from dawn to dusk, and further on. I was procrastinating my next interaction with Alastor. I knew he wouldn't severely hurt me but the memories from when we first met had begun to resurface. Alastor always had a screw loose so what would happen if he was pushed to the very edge? I was likely going to be the one on the receiving end of it.

I manifested in an alley of a small town and sat down. I was exhausted; physically and mentally. I leaned my head against the cold brick and listened with my Demon ears, no magic, to the sounds of the quiet little town.

I could hear mumbled conversations from family's and couples, could hear the static of radios and televisions, could hear the rustle of a cat looking for dinner in a nearby street, and could hear my own labored breathing.

I was feeling panic. Why was I panicking? Why was I sweating so much? I hadn't used a lot of magic today or even recently. Why was my chest so tight?

My fingers gripped the stone beneath me. I scraped my foot claws so they drew little white lines in the pavement. My heart was thundering in my ears and adrenaline was confusing through my body for no apparent reason.

I leaned to the side on my forearms as it became difficult to breathe. My throat was so tight and my hands felt cold. There was no magic around me. I couldn't feel anyone. I couldn't hear or see anyone either, meaning any of Blackwater's legacy weren't nearby.

So what was wrong?

My breathing came in wheezes. I gripped my maroon jacket as I my vision darkened. My claws were scrapping against the pavement. I needed to breathe. My magic wasn't working. Why wasn't it working? I couldn't sit still. I just needed to breathe.

"What's wrong with you?"

My head snapped up at Vox's familiar voice. My lips pulled back in a snarl as I scrambled to my feet and attempted to collect myself.

"What do you want?" I demanded.

"You seemed like you were struggling so I came to check."

"How sweet," I mused sarcastically. I was so out of breath.

He gave me an unamused look. "Trouble in paradise?"

"That's none of your concern."

"Oh sure it is," he held his hands behind his back, "When my lovely guardian is shriveling on the cold ground in my territory, it becomes my concern."

Shit. I hadn't realized I was on Vee territory. I hadn't paid attention to any of the trademarks of their land.

"Don't you have a ring fight to broadcast?" I snapped. I was so hot. My magic was struggling to cool me down. Why couldn't I control my magic? Was Vox in on this? Was he causing this?

"My champion doesn't fight on weekdays." He casually pulled out his phone and started scrolling on something. Vox had concocted a strange mix of willing and unwilling fighters for a massive ring fight. He broadcasted these fights nearly every evening. They didn't always end in death but that didn't make it any less. It made me grateful that part of our deal included that I would not defend his stations if there was an active ring fight. It kept my name from being tarnished.

I hate politics.

I put my hands in my pockets and left the small alley. I tried to get Alcine to wrap around my legs to teleport me but she wasn't willing. Her large hat stayed within my peripheral as I tried several times over to melt into the shadows. Something was very wrong.

Vox's loud, metal boots tapped the ground as he came running up to me. I turned right as he reached for my face. Blue claws zapped with blue electricity. It ran through my body and left me frozen in place in the new location. My hair was sticking up and my tense body was ready to kill someone.

As soon as Vox's flat face came into view, I struck. My black claws wrapped around his throat and the other gripped the corner of his screen to keep his head from moving. I wrapped my tail around his torso and stepped my massive foot claws on top of his feet.

"I made it very clear that you were to never do that again," I hissed, spit falling on his screen in tiny drops. My voice had dropped and my eyes blackened. My own vision had a coat of dark purple across it.

"F-figured you could...use some personal space." Vox choked against my tight hand. I examined the room. It looked like a simple lounge room. The bright pink and various other colors told me we were in one of Valentino's studios. My magic reached out to feel we were down in Hell.

Vox stifled a cough. I shoved him away so his back hit the wall. "Why is everyone attempting to protect me? I'm the one who protected the Haven for eight years straight. I'm the one who killed Blackwater. I'm the one who you asked to protect your surface stations. I don't need help or protection!"

Vox rubbed a hand on his neck. "It's out of care," he shot back, "You've done a lot for everyone and we just want to return the favor."

"You can return the favor by staying out of my way and leaving everything to me. I can handle it." My tail whipped furiously behind me as I stepped in a circle. My foot claws tapped the tile loudly.

Vox fixed his suite. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're hella good protecting everyone but shit when it comes to yourself."

"What is that supposed to mean?" My eyes narrowed and I grew very still.

"This isn't the first time you're having mental problems. You almost didn't come back after killing Striker and Blackwater."

"How do you know that information?" I took several steps towards him.

"I have my sources." For the first time, he wasn't smug about it. Was he actually trying to be kind and helpful?

"You're an awfully nosy person." I was gradually reigning my magic in. I knew how to pick at the smallest bit of magic, thanks to Adam and Blackwater, but doing it while awake and conversing with another Demon was a different story.

"It helps me stay connected with everything that's happening. Hence why I gave you a phone but don't listen in. You need to stay just as connected as me." He reached his magic out to touch mine. I magically flinched away. There were few times in our interactions that we had had genuine conversations. This felt like one of them.

"You seem interested in helping me more now that Alastor is back." I put my hands in my pockets and pulled my shoulders back.

He gave me a funny look. "I've been trying to help for the past eight years. Are you telling me you haven't noticed? I'm the one who approached you about our deal."

"I know you've done nothing but flirt with me and try to convince me to leave Alastor."

"Now that he's back, I know you won't leave him. Well, I know he won't let you leave." He flicked his hand dismissively, eyes averted to the side.

Something about the way Vox said that itched the wrong part in my brain.

"You realize I have as much a say as he does."

Vox's sly look returned. That's the Vox I knew how to handle. "Do you? You're not even a hundred years old. He's got centuries on you."

"And centuries are supposed to mean he's in charge of my every step and word?"

"You're his soulmate. And he's--well--he's Alastor. He's not one to just let things happen."

"Are you trying to stroke my ego or degrade it? I've gotten both from you in the span of five minutes." I faked a look at a nonexistent watch on my wrist.

"I'm trying to talk you down from whatever panic attack you were having in the alley. And it looks like I did exactly that."

I took stock and realized he was right. My magic was back in my grip, my hands weren't as sweaty, my heart was at a normal rate, and my head felt clear. So that had been a panic attack? I didn't get panic attacks. I had meltdowns when things were too much but I never had a panic attack before. This wasn't good.

"I appreciate the help," I said, suddenly very sullen and not at all representing my Dragon Demon persona, "but I need to return home now."

"I'll be here if you ever need someone to grab a cup of coffee with." His tone was just as sullen as mine as he walked to the door. I melted with Alcine and found a small, empty alley in Pentagram City. Before I could convince myself otherwise, I teleported back up to the surface.

It was a new moon which made everything look pitch black. I could hear the splash of the waves at the base of the cliff and the whistling of the wind. I reached my magic out to feel Reagan, Lucas, Nym, Thatcher, and Alastor all safe in the house. I checked in on the young pair, the horrid nightmare of Adam standing over them resurfacing, before going to my bedroom.

Alastor was in his office so I quickly changed into soft night clothes and glanced at the old timey clock on the mantle. Why was he in his office at this hour? What was he doing? Was he avoiding me as much as I was avoiding him?

I casted the small fire out and climbed into bed. Alastor walked in a few minutes later. My ears strained to listen to his soft movements until he was lying in bed next to me. I ignoring the guilty pit forming in my stomach and put myself to sleep.

Had I known what would happen, I wouldn't have gone to sleep that night.

****

I let out a sigh and hung up the towel. I looked at my red eyes and saw another bright pair behind me. I screamed and spun a cast back at him, slipping on the tile as I did. The back of my knees hit the rim of the tub and I fell backwards in it. I scrmabled back with my hand outstretched. The faucet dug into my spine. He practically glided into the small room.

"Don't come closer!" I yelled. "My accuracy gets better every time."

"Your Slight magic stands no chance against me," he mused, "but I appreciate the confidence."

"The fuck do you want?" I demanded again.

"Should it surprise you that I want to meet my soulmate?" He tilted his head to the side.

"If you kill me you also die," I reminded him.

He chuckled. "I know how the magic of soulmates work, my dear." He stepped close and held out a hand to me. "If I wanted you dead, I would have done so already." The deepening of his tone didn't make me want to accept his gesture any more than already.

------

I landed hard on my back and felt a crack run through my spine. I sucked in a gasp of air and stared up at the gray sky. I gripped at the wet grass and tried to pull my strength back in. Alastor appeared above me a moment later, smiling down at my paralyzed body. He knelt beside my head so his ugly yellow smile came closer to my face.

"This suites you," he said, "this desperation. You're trying so hard to escape no matter what it does or if it kills you." He pushed a strand of hair out of my eyes. "Unfortunately for you, it matters to me because we share the same fate."

"Fuck you."

His smile lessened slightly. "I'll add another rule for you to follow." He grabbed my throat and hoisted me to my feet. His claws dug painfully into my skin until I could feel my blood soaking my shirt. He pushed me against a tree and leaned in close to my face. I pulled on his wrist and tried not to cough in his face. "Rule number five. Never speak to me in such a way again." He paused. "Words like that are unbefitting for a woman."

"You can..." I struggled to speak clearly, "you can...keep me here but...but I'm...but I will not play...play by your rules." My heart was racing as his grip tightened even more so. He dies if you die. He dies if you die. I repeated in my head.

He let go of me and I fell face first into the ground. I gasped and coughed up spit as I rubbed my throat. "Give it time." I saw his feet walk around to stand in front of me. "I can be very persuasive."

------

"I know what you're trying to do," I jutted a finger at him. I leaned against the wall to get off my injured foot. "You did this to me on purpose. You're trying to make me grateful for you."

"So what if I am?" He put his hands up like sharp ugly flowers. "After all, you should be grateful. You could carry on with a life in the rings or spend it in a distant safe house with nothing to worry about ever again."

"It's a cage."

"To you, my dear, everything is a cage." He walked over and put his hand out to me.

"What?" I looked between his red eyes and his dark claws.

"Are you ready to return home now?"

I almost wished he had just teleported me back without asking. I didn't want to touch him let alone take his hand. Who knew if he had conjured up some kind of magic deal that solidified when I grabbed his hand?

And yet, when I looked around at the quiet, dangerous town, I knew there wasn't another option. He would keep looking for me and a Full mage with his power could most certainly find me with ease. I didn't want to go back in that cellar. All because I had the worst luck in the world and had him as a soulmate.

I looked down at my feet and took his hand.

------

"What is it, doll? What's happening?"

"He's...the man...he's wearing a white suite...exactly the color of his hair...and he's yelling with her. They're fighting. There's yelling. He hits her. She's arguing back but not fighting. Why won't she fight?"

"Stay with me dear." She touched my lap. I tried to lower my tense shoulders but it was hard.

"He picked me up and...he closed the door on her. She's screaming. Why is she screaming? Why is he taking me away from her? I can't...I can't reach her. I don't...where is he taking me? I don't want to leave her."

"Enough sweetheart, come back. Come out of the memory." She touched my shoulder this time. "Come back to my store. Come back to this world. It's all just a memory."

"I can't stop crying. Why...is that my mother?"

"Sweetheart, you need to come back. You're going in too deep. Stop the emotions."

"But...I want to see her."

"We'll look next time. We can come back next time but you need to take a break. Come out of the memory. Come back to the store. Blink twice and look up."

I stared at the figure reaching out to me through the bars. I was so close. I just wanted to touch her hand one more time. But it was just a memory. She wasn't really there. She might not even be alive at all.

------

"You need to accept the fact that you will never leave this place for the rest of your life," he said with radio static behind his voice. He let me down so my feet were flat on the ground but so he could tower over me. I put one hand on his wrist and the other arm across his chest to keep him away.

"I'm growing tired of your antics. These little outbursts of yours will stop today." It was more terrifying that he was smiling through his anger. I leaned away despite the sheer drop beneath me and he followed, never more than an inch away. "If you don't want me to treat you like a caged pet, I suggest you apologize and quit it with this delusion of yours."

His smile was wide and his breath smelled like roadkill. He dug his claws further into the wound he created, making me wince. "I'm-I'm sorry." He held me over the edge for several heartbeats. Eventually he pulled me away but didn't let get off my neck.

"I never want to hear you mention anything about leaving here, again. To me or to Husker. Do you understand?"

I wanted to cough from the way he was holding me but I held it in. The tentacles were still pulling onto my wings and pulling them painfully down. My resignation made my shoulders fall. "Perfectly."

He let go. I turned to the side to cough, clutching at my bleeding neck. I felt the wounds closing but the blood was still plastered to my skin.

"Good talk." His cane appeared in one hand and he put the other behind his back. His voice sounded chipper again. "Come, dear, let's clean you up." He held his hand out towards the house, looking at me sideways. I took a deep breath and walked past. He walked close behind me.

------

"Sweetheart it's a memory. It's not actually happening," Rosie said.

I cried as the memory continued. I bit down on the man's hand but he just pulled my hands further away from my face. I tried curling in on myself but it did nothing. His other hand moved roughly over my skin as I screamed into the gag.

I felt Alastor's presence come from behind me. I squeezed my eyes shut and dipped into my mindscape. "Alastor!" I yelled as the memory dragged me back through my shields. I felt his presence wrap around my head and saw nothing but red. It felt like a string was being pulled out of my ear as he pushed me into the safety of my shields.

"You're safe. Come out of your head," he instructed.

I closed my eyes, pushing away the forbidden memory, and opened my eyes to the library. All three of them were surrounding me, staring down with panic-stricken faces. Alastor opened his eyes and took his hand from my forehead. His eyebrows were the only thing that told me he was upset.

Husker pulled me up to a sitting position as Rosie practically shoved a glass of water down my throat. I took several moments to catch my breath, the two of them trying to help calm me. I stared at the carpet and tried to think of anything other than that horrid memory. I didn't know I even had that memory.

"You're back, and you're safe," Husker said, holding out his paw. I took it and let him help me into a chair. I leaned back into the seat and looked around at the dark library. I was back in the house. I was safe. Relatively.

------

"Do you feel that?" Alastor stood, my hand still firmly trapped on his and pulling me to my feet. He smiled wide and tapped his fingers on his cane. It felt like a flow of magic was cycling between us. It was the same feeling as when a strong gust of wind blows in my face. It felt good.

"Did I do it? Did I unravel it?" I asked. Husker and Niffty were well awake and watching intently.

"Oh you most certainly did. The curse is gone and your true power shines through." His smile widened and looked janky, truly devilish. His eyes had a look of insanity to them. "It will only grow and grow with time. I will be there every step of the way to guide and harbor this power of yours."

I suddenly wanted to be twenty yards from him. I tried to let go but his grip only tightened. His shadow loomed behind him with a large smile and my own shadow turned into a dragon again.

"Our magic combined is like nothing I've seen before." He jerked my hand back so I stumbled into him. My head had to tilt way back just to keep eye contact. "Together, with our combined power, we will be untouchable." His hair had hardened into spikes and his antlers grew overhead. His eyes darkened and his smile reached well past them. Were those stitches on the corners of his mouth?

His claws weren't touching my skin but his grip was crushing my hand. I could feel pins and needles poking through my finger and it went straight up to my shoulder.

"You're...you're hurting me," I whimpered.

------

"Alastor...I..." It was getting harder to breathe. "I didn't...he took me. I...I didn't leave—" pain cut off my words. I squeezed my eyes shut as it rocked through my spine and into head.

"I'm aware." He pressed his claws around my temples and I felt the pain dull. He slipped his arms under my shoulders and legs, lifting me up effortlessly. "Take a look, my dear."

I opened my eyes to see the alley littered with dead and deformed bodies. There had to be at least thirty dead Demons.

"That was all you."

My shoulders fell with my spirit. I had killed all of them. I had even eaten some of them. Their sweet blood still lingered on my tongue and I found myself wishing for more. I could see their scared faces in my mind and feel my heart quicken at the mere thought of them being terrified. They had all been so scared when I had transformed.

Alastor turned the other way but I stared at the site over his shoulder. I actually wanted him to let me go so I could do it again. The energy from all of them still buzzed in my body despite the overwhelming exhaustion.

"I told you dear," my ear flicked at his voice, tears streaming down my cheeks and claws digging into his shoulders, "it's in your nature."

------

Striker grabbed Reagan by the throat and held her close to his face. I fought against the white rope trapping my limbs against my body, but it did nothing. My magic was gone from my grip and the rope kept me entirely immobile.

"You thought you could get rid of me that easily?" he taunted, eyes flickering over to me. "I'll haunt your dreams and your every waking hour. Just wait and see." He withdrew a white knife and plunged it into Reagan's heart.

I yelled and bolted upright from my bed. I fell off the side, covers trapping my legs, and tried to stand up. I choked on a sob and untangled myself.

------

"What does that mean?" she asked, voice quivering. He stopped his assault and took a step back to examine her fully.

"It means your family line has stayed pure since before the Great Collapse." When she showed no obvious sign of understanding, he let out a sigh and put his hands back in his coat pockets. "Magic was not a thing before the Great Collapse. Demons were leaked into our world and brought their wretched magic with them. They started having children with Humans and generations later, everyone had Demon's blood in them. You, my dear," he stood beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder, "are a rare, pure gem. You're not infected with their blood."

Reagan's eyes snapped over to mine. All I could think was - oh no.

He reached up to his face to remove his glasses and his horns. They were fake. "I, myself, am a pure Human." My eyes widened, mouth dropping open. He was a Human. He was a defenseless Human. No wonder he had made all those inventions. "And I'm so glad to have found another one to add to our family."

"Family?" she questioned with a tone of disgust.

"I've been all around the world and collected ten pure Humans. We're going to be the foundation of the new world. A world that isn't tainted by Demons." His eyes narrowed on me.

"We're not all bad," I tried, limply pulling against the chains. My energy was taking forever to return. "We've created a safe haven for everyone. A place where both sides can live peacefully together."

"That wont last long." He waved his hand dismissively. "Demons are ruthless killers and Humans can't fathom having anyone above them."

------

Blackwater's laughter reached past it all. "A true Demon thirsty for blood. I expect nothing less from Alastor's soulmate." He turned to look at Reagan. "Did you know about this?" She shook her head in response, eyes never leaving my writhing form.

"Not...not all...just me...just Alastor." I spoke through the spasms and clenched teeth. I don't know how any of them hadn't broken yet from the sheer force. My breathing was getting faster, my whines louder.

"This is the person you're entrusting everything to," he went on, ignoring my response. "Demons can't help but lie. Lie and manipulate. It's why they come from Hell."

------

"Hey hey, it's okay. It'll be okay. Please stay with me." Husker's pleas were faint. I was curled up in a ball in the corner of my room. My wings were wrapped tightly around my body and a shield of thorny vines kept Husker physically away from me. My claws were digging into the back of my neck, blood falling down my shoulders like a waterfall. My cries were loud and ear piercing.

The shadowed souls broke through my barrier and crawled over each other to reach me. They tackled me like ants on a sweet apple, hungry for my soul and the energy it could provide them. And I let them. My soul felt like it was being torn in eighteen different ways but I didn't fight back -- couldn't fight back.

Then they disappeared.

I looked around to see Lucifer sending them back and raising a bright white and gold shield in place of my shattered ones. My purple mind turned red. How dare Lucifer take away a much deserved death.

------

I pulled myself out of the dreams to see the same black souls pushing against my last shield. They were so close. They were crying out for my energy, crying out for passage, crying out of pain. They were stepping and climbing over each other. Some even tried to climb up my shield to claw through it from the top.

Voices. Voices everywhere. Voices I knew.

I will always be the master of the shadows. -- Alastor

You, half bastard, will get what you deserve soon enough. -- Adam

This involves all of us, especially me and Husker, because we're the ones who had to deal with how it affected her. -- Reagan

Tell me, dear, how's it feel to know that all your hard work will be for nothing? No one will challenge your haven now that he's back and defending it. You won't need our deal anymore but you're still bound to it. You might even be forgotten as news picks up on his return. After all, who can trump the Radio Demon? -- Vox

She has no idea where to even begin to understand herself. And you know only one kind of magic. I am the closest thing to whatever she is. And if you'd like to keep your soulmate alive and sane, I will be working with her to keep her mind from breaking. -- Lucifer

A shadow scraped a claw on my arm. I curled up on the floor and covered my head. "Everyone shut up!" I yelled out. Alastor was pushing against my shields, too, but I wasn't letting anyone in. Not Lucifer, not Husker, not the souls, and not him.

More claws caught my back. My shield was shrinking and their arms were breaking through the shield like glass. I couldn't escape the voices. I couldn't escape my past. I couldn't escape myself. Vox had been right. Alastor had been right. Husker had been right. Everyone had been right about anything and everything. Why was I so useless? Why was I so helpless? Why did I always need saving? Wasn't I strong enough? Hadn't I come a long way?

I would never be on Alastor's level, let alone surpass him. I would always fall short. My past would always come back to haunt me. I couldn't escape. Wasn't I enough?

Something shattered.

Something sharp and aggressive burst through my shields.

Something suffocatingly hot surrounded my mind.

Alastor filled my mind. Red and green colored my vision as his magic spread through my body like wild fire. I couldn't push him away--couldn't get him out. He pulsed through me like my own blood.

Then he pulled.

But I resisted.

My claws dug into the ground as he wrapped his red arms around my torso and pulled me into the darkness; pulled me closer back to reality. I screamed and pushed against him. I didn't want to go back.

"Leave me to die!" I yelled. I tried clawing deep cuts in his arms but they bounced off like rubber. I twisted in all different directions, jumped and dropped my weight randomly, and threw my head back in an effort to hit his face.

Sharp anger poked my mind an instant before I was roughly shoved into the mattress. My eyes snapped open to his glowing, towering figure.

I brought my legs up and shoved him away, nearly sending him off the end of the bed. I untangle my legs from the sheets and tackled him, sending him the rest of the way. "How dare you!" My claws enclosed around his neck. And he let me.

I stopped.

My hands were still around his neck, as was his mind around mine, and his eyes stared blankly up at me. Why wasn't he fighting back? Why wasn't he getting angry in return?

I stood up and backed away. He stood up and fixed his coat and bow tie, eyes fixating on me a second after. Orange sun was poking through the curtains. Was it the evening?

His unemotional eyes never left me as he folded his hands behind his back. I could see the faint string connecting our hearts. It wasn't tight. It was hanging loosely between us.

I fell to my knees.

My hands covered my face.

I began to cry.

I curled inward until I was as small as I could make myself. It wasn't until Alastor laid a hand on my back that I noticed he had moved. I fell under a breath holding spell for what felt like forever.

"Breathe my dear." His voice was soft, gentle, and exactly like I remembered it. "Take it slow." He threaded a hand past my shoulder and into the curled mess. The smell of cedar wood and sweat pinched my nose and I sucked in a huge gasp of sweet air.

I made several more as my body tried to regulate its oxygen intake. Alastor spoke more comfort words until my breathing wasn't coming in wheezes anymore.

His hand was warm. So warm. So comforting.

If I let myself bask in his warmth, how much colder would it be when he disappears again?

But the warm circles he was drawing on my back were oh so relaxing. So comforting. I've been waiting eight years for this. Waiting eight years to know why he left. Waiting eight years to be moved on a deeper level once again.

"My dear, I'm here," his radioless voice cut through the silence. "I am here to stay."

Against my better judgment, I unstuck one of my hands and reached his leg that was touching my side. It felt like I was trying to soak up the sun. 

His smooth claws laid carefully, lightly, on top of my hand. It moved up to my forearm and captured my arm in his warm grip. He was real. He was here. I was touching him. He wasn't a ghost--wasn't a hallucination. 

"I am here, love." His hot breath brushed against my ear. His other arm stretched across my back and hooked on my shoulder. He gave a small tug and this time I didn't resist, allowing him to pull me out of my tight little ball. 

He shifted his position so his legs were on either side of me as I leaned against his chest. He was so warm. He began to hum, the vibrations in his chest nearly sending me back to sleep. I wrapped my arms around his narrow torso and wrapped my tail around one of his legs. 

"I hate you." I choked on a sob. "I hate you so much."

"Shh, darling. I know." One arm kept my firmly against him while the other threaded smoothly through my hair. It felt so comforting, so relaxing, and so right. Alastor the Radio Demon was being careful, gentle, and loving towards someone. And I was the lucky someone. 

"I hate you," I mumbled again. But I love you.

He placed a gentle kiss on the top of my head. I love you too, he answered through our minds. The connection was back. We were back. How long would this good time last? 

He brought his hand around to my jaw and used his thumb to push my chin up. He locked eyes with me, his genuine smile stretching on his lips. He used another claw to push a small strand of hair out of my eyes. 

"There's my girl." 

And placed a soft kiss on my lips.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Note:

Big thanks to @wendigonamecaller for the help/ideas on this chapter.

We got over the big hump. Now is time for the sweet stuff :P

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist:

@wendigonamecaller @saccharine-nectarine @thesimpybitch @papas-ghoulette @masochist-downfall

[lostbetweenvampiresandmusic]

BESTIE could I get prompt 18 (if you’re still doing these prompts)

18. "You're legally obligated to keep holding me." with Marko and a casually clingy reader who most people assume they’re nonchalant and then Marko ALWAYS has them on him at some point?👀

Yes, of course! I hope you like this one, love!💜

----------------

If you had asked on the boardwalk about me, people probably would have said that I was cold. Distant. Cool. As if nothing bothered me. I mean, most people that I would have interacted with would have said that I was kind enough, I'm sure. But besides that, no - I kind of perfected the whole "I don't get bothered by anything, I don't need anyone, everything is going to go my way anyways and if not it still is" vibe. I owned it. And yet, behind that nonchalance, deep down inside, I knew that I wanted something else. I wanted someone to give me a reason. Someone who made me care. Who saw me, knew me, and was willing to stand beside me.

Luckily, about six months ago, I think I met that someone. He was careless and had a hint of danger around him. He seemed to live on messing with people. He lived for the thrill of the chase - or at least, that's what it looked like. When we met, he had tried to pickpocket me, and I had - just to see if I could - tried the same thing. On him. So there we were, looking at each other, hands in each others pocket.

"Bit cosy for someone whose name I don't even know," I commented, causing him to grin.

"How about we keep those hands empty and hand each other some names, hm?"

"Sure," I grinned, introducing myself. He, in turn, did the same. Marko - that was his name, and in all honesty, it suited him.

In the days that followed, we kept running into each other, and soon after, we became a thing. There was no need for any specific names to define what we were. It was simple. Before, we were a separate 'Him' and 'Me', and now there simply was an 'us'.

When we got together, I slowly started to realise that I liked being close to him. When riding around on his bike, I always scooted a little bit closer than absolutely necessary. Just to be closer to him. When eating out, I noticed that at the end of the meal, my chair would basically be next to his, our arms touching with every move we'd make. I didn't know why. It just happened.

Now, whenever I was with him, I was close with him. Holding hands, him slipping his hand in my back pocket, or the other way around. Leaning into him whenever we were hanging with the boys, playing with his hair while watching a movie. I was always near him, always touching him - and thankfully, he didn't seem to mind one bit. On the contrary, he seemed to like it.

Tonight, it was just the two of us. I had gone out to rent some movies. Marko had told me that he had never seen the Texas Chainsaw Massacre or The Exorcist. So, I had rented them from Max' Videos, and made sure we could watch them together. I'd also bought some snacks, ranging from popcorn to crisps and chocolates, and he'd promised to bring takeout.

"What do you want to watch first?" I asked as Marko sat down on the couch, handing me a carton with noodles.

"Exorcist? I remember that people went crazy for that one."

I chuckled, putting it on and enjoying my meal. That was until Reagan began to throw up. I was mid bite when the green vomit covered the screen, landing on the poor priests face - and when I felt my own bile rise up in my throat. I groaned, running to the toilet, sighing as I realised that this scene never sat well with me - and wondering how I could have forgotten it.

"Babe?" Marko stood in the doorway, making sure I was okay.

"Sorry about that," I smiled, but I was certain it looked more like a grimace.

"Shit happens," he shrugged, "do you want to watch something else?"

I shook my head. "Besides this scene proving otherwise," I motioned around, "I do quite enjoy the movie."

"Good," he grinned, helping me up. He handed me my toothbrush before leaning in the doorway, waiting for me to be ready.

"Are you sure about the movie?" He asked once we were seated again. The movie was paused at another scene, the worst being over. I nodded, smiling at him.

"One condition, though."

"Yeah? Which is?"

"You are legally obligated to keep holding me."

"As comfort or as protection for potential demons?" He asked as he moved me closer to him, covering me with a blanket.

"How about both?" I looked up, smiling.

"I think I can deal with both," he grinned, holding me as he started the movie again.

[creature-wizard]

Cathy O'Brien - The First Project Monarch "Survivor"

Cathy O'Brien is the main author of TRANCE Formation of America, a 1995 book in which she claims she was a victim of Project Monarch alter programming. She was allegedly deprogrammed by Mark Phillips in 1988. Here's a selection of the claims she makes:

She claims she was recruited from "a multi-generational incest family" by none other than Gerald Ford, who personally came to her parents' house.

She claims that DID gives you photographic memory and a visual acuity of 44 times greater than the average person.

She claims that hypnotic regression can make old wounds (as in actual physical wounds) reappear.

She claims that Monarch slaves can be programmed to disguise themselves by shifting their facial muscles around.

She claims that she could read backward text because she was using more of her brain than normal, and claims this is a "typically occult based phenomenon."

She claims that Monarch programmers would use various movies to program their slaves. Alice In Wonderland and The Wizard of Oz come up a lot.

Pretty much EVERYBODY with a speaking role in her book is into horrible wordplay. She claims these double meanings are actually "double binds," which are part of Project Monarch's mind control techniques. They aren't double binds. They're just god-awful puns.

She claims Project Monarch was based on Nazi research, and is a key element of bringing about the New World Order. According to Cathy, the Vatican, Jesuits, Mormons, Freemasons, NASA, and the US military are all in on it.

She implicates a number of politicians, entertainers, sports figures, and various others as members of the NWO.

She claims to know what the NWO wants to do because she, personally was around many of its high-ranking members (which include but are not limited to Ronald Reagan, George Bush, Bill Clinton, and Hilary Clinton.)

She's very much into the whole "the conspiracy runs the entertainment industry" trope. She claims that entertainers usually only make it big when they participate in CIA operations and/or are slaves themselves. She claims that she knows "numerous entertainers in need of rescue and deprogramming."

She claims Marilyn Monroe was a Monarch slave.

And typical of conspiracy theories in the time period, the conspiracy is supposedly behind the distribution of drugs, porn, and CSEM.

Like many conspiracy theorists, she claims that a snuff film industry exists. There is no evidence that any such industry exists.

She claims NASA has a drug called "Tranquility," which makes people follow whatever orders they're given.

She has her own take on the reptilian conspiracy theory. She claims that the president of Mexico, Miguel de la Madrid, told her that he was descended from reptilian aliens who interbred with the Maya to produce reptilian shapeshifters. She claims George Bush and de la Madrid used holographic technology to make it seem as if they were transforming into reptilians. She also claims NASA uses reptile themes in its Mexican operations.

She claims that the evil plan includes establishing free trade between the US and Mexico, so that drugs can freely be transported into the US, and Monarch-enslaved white people can be transported out.

O'Brien claims that she and her daughter were brutally tortured, sleep deprived, dehydrated, and starved. At the time she claims she was forced to run drugs, she was supposedly allowed only two hours of sleep per night and 300 calories per day. Yet in the pictures of her and her daughter included in the book, they both look perfectly healthy.

She claims that the entire country of Haiti is under Monarch mind control, and that she was involved in a plot to murder Haitians by way of poisoned vaccines administered by Jesuit missionaries (who were secretly NWO operatives).

Whenever she writes about an alleged event involving a foreigner… let's just say Cathy O'Brien's love for national and ethnic stereotypes rivals JK Rowling's.

She claims that her personalities were integrated after she was freed from Project Monarch.

Mark Phillips, her alleged rescuer and deprogrammer, whisked her and her daughter away from Tennessee and took them to Alaska before beginning the "deprogramming" process. At this point, she fell in love with him. That's right - her "rescuer" flew her across the country to a remote location before using hypnosis to help her "recover" memories of Project Monarch and the New World Order. Can we say "yikes"?

It's unclear who exactly came up with the idea of Project Monarch itself, but H.P. Abarelli Jr., who researched Project MK-Ultra, wrote this in response to a question about Project Monarch:

I researched the CIA's programs for over 17 years.

As far as I could see and find, there is/was no Monarch project. Indeed, I was told by the fellow who first wrote about it that it was a fabricated project on his part and that he has regretted the creation for years. It is not necessary to make MKULTRA and Artichoke any worse than they were.

They were absolutely horrible programs and the attempts to embellish them with made-up projects is not helpful or needed. In fact, it readily serves the Agency's disinformation objectives to scatter this fabricated disinfo dust over the real story. (Source)

What we do know is that Project Monarch is a right wing conspiracy theory, and its tropes have roots in antisemitism and witch panic. There is no evidence that alter programming via the methods these people describe is possible, but there is plenty of evidence to show that confabulated memories can be cultivated with very little effort.

[dizzybee03]

Something Sinful Happening on Sunday

A Beau “Cyclone” Simpson x OC (Ryan Reagan) story. #3 in the series

Warnings: slight smut (dry humping)

6 weeks, 42 days, 1008 hours, that's how much time had passed since Ryan and Beau’s first date. In that time the two had been together as much as they possibly could- between life as a police officer and Navy admiral that looked a little different for them than most couples.

 True to his word, Beau had been nothing but a gentleman and they had taken things slow and not rushed into having sex. Sure there had been lots of cuddling and making out like teenagers but there had also been many hours just spent talking until the wee hours of the morning.

Ryan’s work schedule was not normal and made it hard to plan normal dates since one week she may be off on Wednesday and Thursday while the next she may be off Friday and Saturday . Beau didn’t mind, he understood better than most what crazy schedules were like and was willing to meet up whenever Ryan was available. That meant the two met for lunch (almost everyday in fact) and a few evenings a week Beau drove to Ryan’s house to spend an hour or two with her after her shift. This week Beau had invited Ryan over on her Sunday off-he wanted to impress her with his culinary skills.

As Ryan pulled her 1970 black and gold El Camino into the driveway of Beau’s 2 story bungalow she felt the weight of the work week lift away. Work had been extra grueling this week and she was having a hard time shaking it. An evening with Beau was just what she needed though and she couldn't wait to get inside and be in his calming presence.

“Honey I’m home” Ryan said as she walked in the front door without knocking and closed it behind her.  “I’m in the kitchen '' Beau hollers in response. Ryan kicked her shoes off, placing them neatly under the bench in the entryway before heading towards the kitchen at the back of the house. Everything in Beau’s house had a place and Ryan tried to respect that when she was there.

“Smells heavenly in here” Ryan said, walking up behind Beau and wrapping her arms around his waist.  He turned around in her embrace kissing her softly on the lips before taking in her appearance. The circles under her eyes were dark and her small smile wasn’t quite as bright as it normally was when she said “try to ignore the fact that I look like a hot mess.  I had every intention of wearing something cute tonight but couldn’t find the energy to do more than throw my hair up and change into these old sweats.”

“Sweets you take my breath away no matter what you have on. Did you get your errands done this morning like you wanted?”

“No, not at all, I had every intention of getting up when my alarm went off and pretending to be a productive member of society but instead I slept until noon and then binged The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. I didn’t move off my couch until it was time to drag my lazy ass over here.”

“ I think you’re allowed to have a lazy day after the week you had. I know you're tired and stressed out.  Did you end up saying anything to Sgt Hollon about your concerns for Officer Roberts not being cut out for patrol?”

“I’m not sure she wanted to hear what I had to say but yeah I talked to her. I get that his dad is a big wig on the city council, but that shouldn’t matter when the kid continues to make big mistakes. I asked him twice last night if he had searched the suspect we were getting ready to transport to the jail. He told me twice that he had and yet when I searched the guy I found 2 crack rocks in the toe of his sock. Not to mention the fact that twice this week he failed to do an inspection of our squad car before our shift started….I’ve taught him to do this not only to CYA (Cover Your Ass) but for officer safety.  Luckily I didn’t trust that it had been done and went ahead to check the back seats. I’m glad I did too because someone had ditched a knife under the bench seat. It’s bordering on an officer safety issue. Not to mention the fact that he sucks at building rapport, can’t write a report to save his life and instead of de-escalating situations has a way of making them worse.  Last night  I thought about leaving my gear in the driveway and telling command to just come get it cause I quit.  Shit I’m sorry for just throwing that all at you.”

“Don’t apologize, that’s what I’m here for. Sometimes it helps to just get that stuff off your chest even if it just comes barreling out in a jumbled mess. ”Beau said while running his hands up and down Ryan's back.  I’m just sorry your week has been so stressful and that the department seems to be showing so much favoritism because this douchebag's dad is on the city council. Maybe…..”Beau started to say before being interrupted by Ryan’s mouth covering his own in a kiss that was meant to stop him from talking.

“I don’t really wanna talk about work anymore tonight” she said before kissing Beau again quickly.

He chuckled saying “what DO you wanna do then?”

“Well…..first I wanna eat whatever yummy goodness you’ve got in the oven and then I wanna cuddle up on the couch with you…….and maybe make out like horny teenagers”.

“It’s chicken parmigiana and garlic bread and you definitely make me feel like a horny teenager. I’ve taken more cold showers in the last month and a half than I care to admit” Beau said while fixing a plate of food and handing it to Ryan.

“I’d apologize but I’m really not sorry” Ryan said, smacking Beau’s ass before taking the food and sitting at the small table in the kitchen.  “How was golf with Solomon?” She asked.

“It was alright, like usual he kicked my ass. I’m honestly not sure why I keep agreeing to play with him. Sol wants to have you and I over for dinner with him and Muriel one night soon. I told him I’d talk with you and see what your next nights off looked like.”

The conversation continued to flow while they ate dinner and once the dinner mess had been cleaned up they settled in the living room. Beau turned the TV on changing it to the NFL RedZone channel saying “Chargers are playing the Steelers tonight, mind if we watch for a bit?”

“Nope, I don’t mind” the two spent the next half hour sitting side by side on Beau’s couch watching football. Ryan was absent-mindedly running her fingernails up and down Beau’s thigh. Twice Beau’s breath hitched as Ryan’s hand got dangerously high. Ryan shifted closer to Beau on the couch, his arm behind her back and his hand caressing the side of her breast. Silently Ryan turned and straddled Beau’s lap. Her hands went to his hair as she whispered “I’m gonna need you to kiss me.”

“I think I can handle that.” Beau said, his voice thick with lust. His hand that was  tangled in Ryan’s hair  pulled her head down so that their noses were touching, their lips seeking each other out in the most sensual kiss. It was as if their tongues were dancing the tango. The kiss was slow, but intense. Beau’s other hand was kneading Ryan’s firm ass. The sensation caused her to rock her hips back and forth. There was no denying how turned on they both were. Ryan could feel Beau’s impossibly hard erection underneath her as she continued to rock her clothed hips back and forth over Beau’s. Kissing down his chin and neck  Ryan moaned “God Beau I’m gonna cum.”

“Do it baby, you've got me close too” he said as the hand that had been on her ass came around and started palming her covered pussy. His thumb stroked her clit causing Ryan to rock her hips in a frenzied manner, Beau's own hips jerked up the faster that Ryan went bucking up one last time as he climaxed while Ryan leaned back slightly squeezing her covered breasts as she rode out her own high. Ryan slumped over Beau’s shoulder, tucking her head into the side of his neck chuckling. “What’s so funny?” Beau asked.

“Oh just the fact that it’s been long enough since I’ve had sex that you barely touched me and I came like it was my first time. Can you imagine how good it’s gonna be when we do this with our clothes off? God it’s almost sinful the way you make me feel.”

“Honey I think about it all the time. Now if you’ll excuse me I need to go clean myself up and change my pants because you aren’t the only one that came like it was your first time.” Beau said, rising up from the couch.

“Don’t take too long Admiral, the football game is almost over and then it’s my turn to pick a show.” Ryan said, pinching Beau’s ass as he walked off towards his bedroom. “Aye aye ma’am” he said, giving her a mock salute.

Ryan settled back on the couch chuckling to herself “we are such horny teenagers.”

[pinkeoni]

Reagan/Bush ‘84 and the Looming Danger of Homophobia

I was doing a rewatch of some of season 2 and I wanted to share an analysis on something that always caught my eye: the Reagan/Bush ‘84 campaign signs. I might have to rewatch season 2 more closely, but for now I’ll focus just on how the set pieces are used in episode 2x02.

Whenever these signs show up they are very eye catching. The sign is bright white and the text and colors are bold, whenever they show up ESPECIALLY during the nighttime scenes, they really grab the eye. These could just be there to establish that this is taking place during the ‘84 election season, but I think they have much more meaning on that based on when they show up.

The first time they pop up in this episode is when Jonathan is dropping Will off at the Wheelers house for trick-or-treating. The sign isn’t too visible as it’s covered by the mailbox, but it’s still in frame.

Typically the appearance of the Reagan/Bush sign involve Will, which is in part due to his focus in this episode but also due to his sexuality. The 80’s was a turbulent time to be gay, in big part thanks to the AIDS crisis and the Reagan administration’s negligence to act. The show never addresses AIDS directly, but it’s likely many viewers (especially older ones) would be aware of this history.

The Reagan/Bush ‘84 signs are meant to signal looming danger and represent the presence of homophobia.

I believe that the signs point to danger (pun intended) based on when they show up. Will has an episode while trick-or-treating, and the placement of the sign here could be a way to foresahdow this threat. Part of why I think this is not only the history behind it but also the selectiveness of when the the Duffers choose to show the sign. They could have placed one at every house to really hammer it in, but the choose only a handful of times to show it.

For example, this is a wide exterior shot where the sign could have easily fit in, but the yard is empty. This is also the part where the boys are joking around about nougat right before Max shows up. The tone is supposed to be humorous and fun.

In this shot when the party is getting candy in Loch Nora, we start with Lucas, Max and Dustin in frame while they have a lighthearted discussion. The sign is not in frame. Mike and Will are seen in the background but aren’t the focus.

When Lucas, Dustin and Max cross in front of a Reagan/Bush sign, this is when the focus shifts to Mike and Will.

Right after the above shot, it cuts to the POV of Will’s camera and Mike and Will have their conversation about Max’s presence. Mike then storms ahead, and we get the sign in two sequential shots:

Following this seperation, Will is called a freak by some strangers and then has an episode.

Considering the fact that the Mind Flayer is a representation of forced conformity, what with it being the remote control to a literal hivemind, it makes sense to pair its looming presence with the other looming presence of Reagan era homophobia. ESPECIALLY considering Will’s struggles with sexuality and the external forces at play there.

It’s also important to note that the Reagan/Bush sign is not just present with Will, but with Mike too. With Will it’s clearer because more focus is placed on him, and his encounter with the Mind Flayer makes the metaphor more obvious, but this ever present danger of homophobia effects Mike as well.

The next time we see the sign its this exterior shot of the Wheeler house, right before we get the crazy together scene where Will talks about his episode.

Now the crazy together scene is about safety and comfort, so why use a set piece that is meant to signal danger? Well, I think it’s there to show how the danger isn’t gone, both the danger of the Mind Flayer and the danger of homophobia. The boys are able to find momentary solace in one another here, but they are unable to escape what lies ahead. Even once they’ve gotten rid of the Mind Flayer at the end of the season, they are unable to get rid of that OTHER danger. Ronald Reagan is reelected in 1984 and serves a second term.

So earlier I mentioned how the sign was just as important to Mike as it was to Will. I think that’s easily seen by the fact that the sign is in front of the Wheeler house. From what I could tell, Mike is the only one out of the party members to have that sign in front of his house. (I could be wrong, again just going off of what was shown in this specific episode)

Now obviously Mike didn’t vote for Ronald Reagan in 1984, this is meant to shine some light on the type of household that Mike lives in and how that might effect his psyche. The Wheelers are a go with the grain, conservative type suburban family. The sign in their yard reinforces this. The Byers do not have the Reagan sign out front. That’s because the Byers are a much different type of household, one where Will might feel more comfortable being himself in.

In the two screenshots I showed that focus on Mike and Will, Will is seen with his back turned to the Reagan/Bush sign while Mike is seen walking voluntarily toward a house with the sign prominent. Furthermore, the sign behind Will is out of focus, while the one in front of Mike is perfectly clear. This is emblematic of their season 3 arcs. Will has chosen to turn his back on conformity, while Mike has decided to embrace it.

[captainsimagines]

pretty woman, this is me trying || six

Summary: Bucky Barnes does not like to be touched. He’s completely ready to live a distant life and give up when the time is right. Until Stark hires him his own personal pretty woman. Over time, Bucky Barnes begins to learn how to touch again. How to feel again. How to love himself again.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female SexWorker!Reader

Trope(s): Holiday Fanfic ; Slow-Burn ; Friends to Lovers

Based on the Song(s): sweet nothing by Taylor Swift and Iris by The Goo Goo Dolls

(6/14)

Mini-Series

Warnings: explicit language; angry Steve; overthinking idiots

Word Count: 4,170+

~

     “His ass looks insane in those pants.”

Bucky tucked his face into his shoulder as innocently as he could. This was not the time to talk about Stark’s ass, especially at a public charity event. But damn did you liven these events up with just your presence alone.

You had called him asking if he was free today and he had begrudgingly said no. After a sad moment, he asked if you would like to tag along to a Firehouse grand opening, after which you said only if lunch was promised.

So here you two were, sitting behind four other Avengers and one Tony Stark, who was giving one of the strangest speeches Bucky had ever heard.

“If he squats—a couple squats, up and down, let’s be honest—they’ll rip. You think Pepper bullied him before he left their bedroom?”

Bucky was about to respond, to answer a truthful ‘I actually think those are her jeans’, when a bright red head whispered over a poised shoulder.

“You’re both wrong. She encouraged it because she bet him fifty-thousand dollars he wouldn’t wear them in public.”

Natalia Romanov.

“And how would you know this, Natalia?” Bucky whispered back, eyebrow quirked.

“Pepper and I’s daily coffee and crumpets, of course.”

“Are crumpets those things that look like pancakes, but are really just bread?” you interjected, leaning forward in your seat. Natalia glanced at you, giving one look up and down, her face absent of judgment. Absent of anything, really. Bucky knew she had an ongoing sheet of notes in her mind ever since he walked in here with you. Maybe even from before that. He doubted it—Bucky’s been insanely careful whenever he goes to your apartment. Hiding you in the compound is unnecessary. But even if he trusts Natalia, he didn’t want her knowing where you lived. Surprise visits were unwelcome.

“They are,” Natalia answered, that lovely smirk growing. “As Bucky’s new friend, I believe an invitation to brunch with the gals is in order.”

You fidgeted in your seat, lips spreading thin as you struggled to respond quickly.

“Introduce yourself first, Natalia,” Bucky grumbled. Stark was still talking at the podium, and none of his other friends had turned to join the quiet conversation.

Natalia finally turned her body and held out a graceful hand, her manicure as perfect as yours. “Natasha Romanoff, the red-headed one.”

You shook her hand, your awkward smile now turned childish and happy. Telling her your name had never felt more natural for Bucky. He liked hearing you introduce yourself. It reminded him of the day you two met.

“I-I know. I have your action figure.”

Natalia chuckled warmly, glancing over her shoulder at Tony. “Nice meeting you. Bucky’s been absent around the compound lately. Is it safe to say you’re the reason?”

“What does it look like, Romanov?”

“It can look like anything, Barnes.”

“Do me a favor and keep the cameras away from us, please? Especially if you see Reagan,” Bucky asked, jutting his chin toward the cameramen near the podium. You squinted at Bucky as he said this, an unspoken question at the tip of your tongue.

“Favors? At this ungodly hour?”

“It’s eleven in the morning.”

“I don’t aid others until I’ve had lunch.”

You cleared your throat, rubbing your hands together. You weren’t this awkward while meeting Tony and Steve. What was different?

“I would appreciate it,” you told Natalia.

“Camera shy?” Natalia hummed.

No, Bucky thought. But your photo invited questions, involved search engines, and was only one click away.

“Something like that,” you replied, flushing with mock embarrassment. Good, it would throw Natalia off your scent.

“Well, I’ll do my best,” Natalia promised. “You two ditching the ribbon cutting ceremony?”

“Isn’t that the point of this thing?” you asked, looking over the seats to get a better look at Stark.

“Yeah, but Tony will prolong it to the point I’ll point a gun to my own head. I suggest you two run before that show starts.”

Bucky grinned at her, shaking his head at her audacity. “I’ll get her out of here.”

Then Bucky reached over and patted your thigh.

Natalia failed to hold in her gasp. She quickly turned back around, straightening her shoulders as casually as she could. But Bucky knew what he had done.

No matter the startled reaction from Natalia, he had touched you in public. Without thinking twice.

His chest burst with overwhelming joy just as Stark finished his speech and bowed to the applauding audience.

~

     Staring down at your boots probably wasn’t the most effective method of hiding your face from the cameras. Though, no one was paying much mind to you anyway. Especially when Tony Stark and Sam Wilson were currently posing for photo ops. Bucky was chatting with a donor about some other project, and Natasha had already snuck away.  The ribbon cutting was in a few minutes.

When you attended events like this with your dates, you always tried your best to interact with the general population. Small talk, politely declining photos, building connections in places that could benefit you in the future. It didn’t feel right doing the same here. For some reason, establishing relationships within Bucky’s social circle felt dirty. You weren’t presenting your true self to these people after all. Who knew what would happen in January.

And Bucky’s comment about having Natasha keep the cameras away from you and leaving as soon as possible didn’t help. Almost like he was ashamed of you. Ashamed if his friends ever found out.

A throat cleared from beside you, the person responsible doing their absolute best at seeming small. But you had become familiar with strong builds, muscles influenced by both practice and science. You narrowed your eyes toward Steve, lifting an eyebrow in greeting.

“You and Buck have been seeing each other a lot.”

“Two weeks, eighteen hours, forty-three minutes, and seven seconds to be exact.”

Steve’s head nearly twisted from his shoulders as he processed your words. You stifled the laugh bubbling in your chest, smiling directly at him instead. “I am totally fucking with you.”

He cleared his throat again, his voice becoming lower. “We don’t date a lot at the compound. Too many people in it for the wrong reasons.”

“Bucky and I are just friends.”

“No, Buck doesn’t make new friends nowadays.”

“Give the guy some credit. Damn.”

“That’s not—” Steve caught himself, faking a smile for the people passing by. “I meant, we don’t even see him as often as you do.”

You simply blinked at him, unconvinced. Bucky didn’t like to be touched, but he did crave companionship. Maybe it was effort that was lacking in the Avenger circle.

“Where are you going after this?”

Something in Steve’s tone was accusatory, fishing for evidence of wrongdoing. You tried to minimize the effect it had on you considering you’ve heard much worse directed toward you and the profession. It was blurring now, however—Was Steve trying to learn the specifics of his friend’s condition, or was he uncomfortable with your presence in general?

“Ice skating. But I did want to make a quick pit-stop at the bomb store before that.”

“Great, you’re funny.”

“I’m more than just my wit, Captain.”

“I see how Bucky would be attracted to that. I do. But I’ve been trying to get him out of that apartment for more than just three times a year. He’s been going out with you way too often.”

Honestly, it probably would have been a lot easier if Steve just punched you in the face.

“Why are you questioning him?”

“I’m questioning you.”

“Why are you questioning me, questioning him?”

Steve blinked, mouth parting with the absence of sound. He glanced around the crowded room, at the dozens of reporters and at the gigantic Christmas tree balancing on its measly stand. At the firefighters posing for pictures with Stark and Sam.

Finally, as if it took considerable effort to formulate a response, he answered, “Ice skating at Rockefeller?”

You rolled your eyes, expecting more than that. That earned you a set of wide eyes from the Captain.

“Yup. Oh, and since I’m sure you’re dying to know—My favorite color is green and my period doesn’t start until next month. I am ovulating, though.”

Steve continued to stutter as you lengthened the distance between you. If he wasn’t trying so hard to find out what damn color you bled, you’re sure you could get him to like you. Fall in love with you, even. Men were simple like that.

“Hey,” Bucky greeted, smiling wide as you approached him. Once you were close enough, he angled his body so that the cameras were stuck with odd angles of you. “You ready to go?”

“Always.”

You chanced a look over your shoulder out of curiosity, hoping to see something that would paint a positive image of Steve Rogers in your head. Yet, you witnessed Steve strip that tough demeanor and adopt what looked like distress. A once brooding, mountain of a man crumbling rock by rock, unable to stall the landslide of panic.

~

    “I’m going to look like an asshole.”

Your laugh sounded across the ice, startling surrounding skaters. Bucky had asked for an hour of skating instead of the usual thirty minutes per couple. After showing his ID, he was promised two. He hadn’t known, however, that out of the two of you only he knew how to ice skate. Who lived in New York for over ten years and hadn’t visited this skating rink at least once?

Listen to him. Talking as if these traditions made sense in his own brain. It was a new attraction in the 1930s, but he and Steve had never afforded it.

Steve probably really wanted to take him.

“You know how to skate. My ass does not. So you’ll be forced to save me from face planting!”

“Coercion.”

“Strategy.”

“Trickery.”

“Smart!”

Bucky huffed, skating around you in a perfect circle. You wobbled, stretching out your arms to gain balance. He didn’t want you to fall, but the sight of you trying hard not to was definitely entertaining.

“I’ve got it, look look look!”

“Oh, I’m looking.”

“To the center!” you declared, pushing yourself forward. But your skates were slightly tilted, so you scraped the ice instead.

“Alright, alright. You’re breaking my heart,” Bucky admitted, skating to your side. Your warmth was a welcoming distraction. Countless, nameless faces skated past him and although the voice at the back of his warned him of it all, all he focused on was you.

You and your mittens and your incredibly wobbly legs.

“Like this,” he instructed while holding out his metal hand. You gripped it tight, smiling like you had already won. But this wasn’t what was expected from a person who was sure to face-plant—You expected Bucky to catch you before you broke your nose. He would have to hold you, pull you up or pull you into his chest, and it scared Bucky to death.

He led you to the circle at an extremely slow place, barely pausing in time to avoid crashing into the other skaters. He struggled to protect your wobbly ass all while you laughed.

“I want to twirl like them!”

“I’m gonna need you to fuck off with that dream.”

“But it looks so fun!” you whined.

Bucky grumbled, scowling at the group of girls who were performing fucking Disney On Ice. “Can’t you just hold onto the ledge?”

“I spent twenty dollars to skate like a professional!”

“I spent forty dollars on both of us, don’t lie.”

You grumbled this time. Once you were at the center, you stopped and balanced yourself. “My feet hurt.”

“You complain a lot, you know?”

You giggled, “I complain about things I’m not good at.”

“How do you expect to get any better then?”

“Twirl me and I promise I’ll get better.”

Bucky shot you a stern look, watching as the air that left his mouth fogged across your face. You scrunched your nose, challenging his expression. Yet, the longer you two stared at each other, ignoring the skaters around you and the cold, Bucky folded.

He ran a hand down the top of his beanie to the back of his neck as he sighed, “Fine. But when you break your face, I don’t want to hear shit.”

You cheered, pushing away from him to prepare yourself. He forced himself not to smile. All these weeks, you have given him things. Confidence, soft touches, cookies, a damn dog. You wanted to twirl? This he could make perfect for you.

“Core and thigh strength, plus balance. That’s all it takes,” he directed, holding out both hands. You took them and nodded your understanding, preparing yourself for however way this was going to go.

“I’m going to skate in a circle, basically dragging you along with me. Once we gain some speed, I’ll twirl like they do when waltzing.”

“What if my feet get tangled with yours?”

“Then we both die. Alright, ready?”

He didn’t allow you time to prepare at all. He skated fast to start with, effectively avoiding all that awkward starter-wobbling. You yelled from behind him, expletives meeting his ears and no doubt meeting others. Bucky didn’t mind one bit. He used to worry about what people thought about him. Whether he was good or evil, that is. With you, he was carefree and at peace.

You could scream all you wanted.

“Ready?”  he called, speeding a little further. You squealed, your answer incoherent.

He waited until you occupied an area with little to no people, then turned in your grip. He raised his metal arm, disconnecting your flesh ones, and turned you in place.

Your feet didn’t collide with him or trip over themselves. You twirled like a beginner ballerina, clumsy and cut-off, but you twirled. It apparently counted because you were already cheering before he twirled you again.

And again and again.

He stopped as people neared, attempting to slow. But someone cut him off as he tried to turn back around, and Bucky could not catch himself in time.

With your hands still connected, Bucky plunged to the ice and pulled you down with him. He cupped your head as you rolled, using his metal hand to claw at the ice. Luckily, you stopped rolling before you hit anyone else’s feet. Bucky landed on top of you, air pushed from his lungs.

He looked down, meeting your merry gaze. You smiled widely, chest wracked with laughter. Bucky let himself sink into the feeling of being on top of you, of holding the back of your head, of his lips being mere centimeters from yours. He let himself feel it all.

And found that he wanted to remove himself because he was crushing you, not because his body was rejecting it. He breathed in the cold night air, nearly choking on it, ecstatic.

“I twirled!”

Bucky bit his lip, his cheeks turning even redder. “You did.”

“Do you want to come back the day after Christmas and show me how to jump?”

He chuckled, “It’s a date.”

He rolled onto his back, facing the night sky. If you two didn’t get up soon, you would be put on blast by the speakerphone. Still, Bucky relished the few seconds he was afforded, even chancing counting stars.

“Thank you, Bucky.”

Bucky turned to look at you and found an expression of pure joy. Like you were grateful for a mediocre twirl on an ice skating rink. Had no one taken the time to twirl you off the ice? Had you ever been twirled at all?

“You’re welcome.”

He reached a hand between your bodies, and held your hand. Flesh to metal, for longer than a few seconds.

He didn’t let go until your two hours were up.

~

     Bucky pet Axel’s head when he greeted you both at your apartment door. His food bowl was empty and his water needed to be refilled. You grabbed a glass and filled it, then bent down to do just that.

“Did you bring his treats?” you asked, waving at Axel like had full capability of waving back.

Bucky didn’t respond, so you looked to where he was standing in the middle of your living room. Perfectly still, eyebrows scrunched. Listening.

“Don’t tell me it’s the Ghost of Christmas,” you teased, walking straight to him.

“Get behind me,” Bucky ordered, physically pushing you back.

Bucky… Pushed you back.

Without preparing himself, without warning, without breathing deeply beforehand. Bucky Barnes pushed you back, to protect you, and did not think twice.

You stood behind him, an arm’s length away from his back, and stared at the window. Frost crept up the sides, taunting you with the unknown, before something cracked.

Not the window.

A line.

“Shit!” a man screamed from outside. A whoosh of wind caught up to his scream’s echo, then the culprit landed on the fire escape. With his gun steady, Bucky rushed to open the window.

“Clint?”

“Hey, man,” Clint groaned, rolling over onto his back. Gripping his torso, Clint struggled to stand as his lips spread into a sheepish smile. “How’s your day been?”

“Fucking chipper,” Bucky remarked, his expression hard. “Care to explain?”

“Uh, it was actually my idea,” a female voice echoed. Natasha shimmied down, still perfectly attached to her rope. Unhooking herself, she offered the same embarrassed smile as Clint. “I forgot to hook him.”

“She was trying to kill me,” Clint retaliated.

“Oh, hush. You’ve fallen a dozen times, you’ll live.”

Clint angled his head at her, offended.

“What. Are. You. Doing. Here?” Bucky questioned, his voice dangerously low. Never had you heard that voice from the man. It was the sweet side of him you were familiar with. Not even when he was bored, annoyed, or the slightest bit angry with you did his voice hit that low of an octave.

“Steve sort of—”

Before Clint could even finish his answer, Bucky pulled back from the window and stomped to the other side of the room. Probably to keep himself from wringing Clint’s neck.

“I told him,” Bucky interrupted, his lips drawing back in a snarl. He wasn’t angry—he was furious. Bucky Barnes had basically been told that his bestest friend in the entire world did not trust his own word. “That I knew her. That I’ve been seeing her for a while now. That she has not hurt me, has not tried to mess with my head, has not fished for Avenger information. She is my friend. And he sent you after me because he didn’t trust me when I said that?”

Natasha squared her shoulders. “You had not left the compound in months. This was… Changed attitude. Steve was just—”

“Even she has told him, a million times, that she is my friend.”

Natasha opened her mouth to say more, but it was obvious she had nothing. If Steve held worries, then Natasha believed him. In any way he described them, Steve and Natasha were friends before they were teammates. That’s what Bucky had mentioned a week ago when he was describing his own friendship dynamics between him and the group. Natasha believed Steve, and now she realized just how wrong he was.

“We’re sorry,” Natasha said.

“We’re wh—?” Clint began, but Natasha jabbed her elbow into his still sore stomach.

“We’re sorry,” Natasha repeated, shaking her head in guilt. “He really made this whole situation out to be more dangerous than it is.”

Bucky nodded, but it was evident he wasn’t going to forgive that easily.

“Do you want to come in?” you hesitantly asked, stepping out from behind Bucky’s broad back. “It’s cold outside.”

“I could smell those cinnamon cookies from up on the roof,” Clint commented, his smile widening into a true grin.

“No,” Bucky ordered, “Do not let them in here.”

“Your name isn’t on the lease, sir,” you teased, stepping around him. Holding out a hand, you waited for Clint to accept the greeting. “We can spare five minutes, can’t we?”

“Yeah, Barnes! Can’t you spare five minutes?” Clint shot back, reaching out to shake your hand.

“I don’t want to spare five cookies, let alone five minutes.”

You giggled, but understood where he was coming from. “Maybe some other time. Wait there, then. I’ll get you cookies to go.”

“How sweet,” Natasha said, genuine. She eyed Bucky, an unspoken conversation swaying in both their irises. Clint remained on the ledge, one leg inside and one out.

“You got roommates?”

“No,” you answered, packing ten cookies into a plastic container. “But I do have a baseball bat.”

“Nice,” Clint praised, nodding his head. “I can get you a gun.”

“Get me some arrows!” you cheered, suddenly excited. “I’ve always wanted to try archery!”

“Bet? Next time you’re at the compound, come to the training rooms. I can totally hook you up—”

“It’s nice and all that you’re getting along. Trust me, it will make me happy some other time. But I am still angry with you two right now, so we’ll catch up later,” Bucky interrupted, looking down at the floor. Natasha had turned her attention toward the city. “Tell Steve I won’t be coming home tonight.”

Natasha whipped her head around, eyes suddenly full of worry. “Are you sure that’s a good—”

“I feel safe here.”

Your heart leapt miles, bouncing in your throat and inside the confines of your skull. Happy chills spread throughout your body, the whole room. You were sure the other three could sense them.

Bucky Barnes felt safe in the one place you had made your own, called your own. The place you littered with stickers, and scrapbooks, and miniature busts of Greek goddesses. With paintings you bought on the street for ten dollars, with spices occupying every cabinet of your kitchen, with blankets of all shapes and colors. The place you had spent so many lonely nights, with cups of tea and books stacked in your bookcase—this place made Bucky Barnes feel safe.

Pride illuminated your features before you could reel it in, and it was obvious both Clint and Natasha registered it. That Bucky’s words made a delightful impact. And who were they to go against it?

“I’m guessing you want me to phrase it exactly like that when I return?” Natasha insinuated. Bucky nodded his head once, enough of an answer, and shooed them away from the window.

“Wait!” You rushed over with the container of cookies. “Here. It was nice meeting you both. No matter how awkward it was.”

“It was nice meeting you, too,” Natasha replied. That signature smirk lifted that lovely cheek over hers, and she whispered your full name under her breath. Something in her tone let you know that she was merely repeating what you had told her earlier. But that something was hiding a greater element, like she was telling you that you were just a google search away.

Your real name wasn’t on that website. But it was on your bills. On the debit card connected to the account.

Natasha Romanoff wasn’t a threatening woman when it came to other women. That wasn’t in her nature. Women hadn’t hurt her. She uttered this like a warning, that if she could find you online, it meant anyone could.

“Take me up on that offer,” Clint said, taking the container from you. “I’ll gladly teach you the ways of the nimble fingered.”

“Thank you,” you whispered. You waved goodbye as they scaled the wall to the roof.

Counting to three, you finally turned and quickly said, “Bucky, I was only being kind. They’re your friends and I know what they did was out of line, but it’s in my nature to at least offer them some water—”

Bucky Barnes lunged forward, cutting off your unnecessary apology, and wrapped his massive arms around you. Holding you tight, enveloping you in a warmth you hadn’t felt in ages. He squeezed tighter until he was certain he wouldn’t break you in his grasp, and remained there. Holding you for a few seconds longer before his body rejected the closeness. Slowly, he set you down. It wasn’t until then that you realized he had lifted you up.

“Can I stay the night?”

“You can stay the night,” you agreed.

“Can you brush my hair again?”

It was the hope in his blue eyes that had you immediately answering, “I can brush your hair again.”

Then, hesitantly, “Can we share a bed?”

No sound besides your stuttered breath was heard. “We… We can share a bed.”

“With a pillow wall in the middle.”

You sputtered a laugh, lifting a hand to your lips. “With a pillow wall in the middle.”

Bucky’s earlier rage had dwindled to nothing. You were sure he was storing it for later, perhaps when it was time to confront Steve. He closed and locked the window, rubbing his hands together to produce extra heat.

“Don’t offer my cookies to other people.”

You laughed loudly, falling onto the couch. Bucky watched, his eyes crinkled with joy.

You slept in the same bed that night, the pillow wall constructed perfectly. Two amateur engineers laughing the whole time.

But in the middle of the night, it was impossible to tell if it was nature or your ill math that caused the two of you to spurn those pillows, and spend the night close to each other.

~

[yurideification]

Absolute favorite historical SCPs are the ones that take a historical event or person but twist them around to be anomalous in some way. Like sure Johnny Appleseed was a Norse occultist, why the fuck not.

Some other examples:

- the Albigensian crusade started because a group within the Catholic church wanted to revive the Broken God and ended with a magician blowing up Languedoc, and several surrounding cities (4565)

- the German battleship Bismarck was taken over by a giant squid when it was sunk (4217)

- whenever a U.S president dies or needs to be replaced there's a non-zero chance they'll be replaced by someone wearing a pair of magical glasses that allows them to be perfectly imitated. Harry S. Truman shot himself in 1945 and Reagan died in 1981. (3782)

- Ronald McDonald is real, hostile, wants to hurt you and is endowed with "limited retrocausal control over local reality". It was created during a ritual in 1955 By Maurice McDonald, Richard McDonald, and Ray Croc. (4486)

- the moon is hollow (4220). I won't spoil anything more it's genuinely one of my favourite articles on the site PLEASE read it if you haven't already.

[blatantlackofdecorum]

hiii!!! can you do brett falling in love with a trans male reader from cognito? than youu :333

my time has come boys

Brett Hand x Trans Male S/O!!

- for one, expect him to talk about you ALL the time to the group, he doesn’t even realize he’s falling for you until it’s suddenly full throttle. now you’re definitely not his first guy crush, he traveled that road with Rafe, but it’s one of his most notable ones. (along with quite a few confusing high school crushes)

- he’s incredibly understanding of anyone with different identities already. not to say it doesn’t confuse him a bit at first, but once he gets the grasp of it, expect him to be one of your main supporters in the office.

- if anyone were to misgender you in front of him, he’ll quickly correct them, and try to move on. if it persists? he’ll be sure to try and go over the change in pronouns to them. he’s very stern about this and doesn’t let up. (even with Glenn, which only manages to surprise you)

- when the two of you finally go out for your first date, consider the entire office happy. he’ll still run around with little acts of chivalry, opening your door and getting you flowers. he gets reservations at a fancy restaurant, and it’s the only thing he can think about the entire day before.

- it takes him a little longer to fully introduce you to the team… absolutely not because he’s ashamed of you, he’s just a tad bit worried they’ll scare you off. (mostly myc and glenn)

- reagan met you early on, and gave her stamp of approval way before that. (guys do you wanna hear my genderfluid reagan headcanons) she’s gotten really good at correcting people when they mess up pronouns in a slightly threatening way. they tend to not mess up again.

- prepare brett to shower you in gifts, it’s one of his main love languages (which heavily developed from his parents) definitely surprises you daily, though it varies from being your morning coffee and going to get fitted for suits together.

- if you need help paying for testosterone or surgery? he’d be totally willing to help! you just might need to tell him if he’s ever overstepping (sometimes he genuinely can’t tell) a

- not to mention the pda at work. he’s not at all afraid of showing his s/o off.. he thinks you’re the best thing since the government implemented sliced bread. “have you met my boyfriend yet? he’s so awesome.” he will straight ramble on about you for hours if anyone lets him.

- if you’re dysphoric? he’s the actual best with reassurance. he understands certain circumstances can make it worse, so he’s always gonna be right by your side to help you handle it. for one, if showering is hard on your dysphoria there’s always room for another. staring into the bathroom mirror with him wrapped around you. whispering how perfect you are in his eyes.

- so mushy. makes you a puppet to give you motivational speeches. tiny y/n is your second biggest hype man. he pulls him out whenever you need extra support. he has his own little voice for him and everything. it’s pretty damn realistic and never really fails to make you smile.

- brings home therapy recommendations from his own therapist. just in case you need any extra support, especially while transitioning because he knows he can’t get everything you’re going through.

[jess-the-reckless]

I started out 2024 with a fervent prayer that it would be a nice, boring year with no major upheavals. Alas, that dream shat the bed before the end of February, so with one thing and another I've been a bit busy. Still chugging away with A Fete Worse Than Death, though, so here's a sneak peek of how pillow talk goes when you discover that your wife once spent part of the Cold War working undercover as a spectral chimpanzee.

________________________________

Crowley, champagne glass in one hand, flung back the covers. She patted the mattress next to her. “Get in,” she said. “Come on. Bedtime for Bonzo.”

Aziraphale slid down between the expensive sheets. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“No idea. Recurring brainfart, I think.”

Aziraphale plumped the pillow against her neck and settled in. She’d always loved this. As much as exploring each others bodies in bed was fun, sometimes it was just nice to talk. Whenever they were together she and Crowley had talked a lot, but it hadn’t been until they’d ended up tangled up beside the fire in the gardener’s cottage that their conversation had reached newer, deeper, more interesting levels. Sometimes the things they’d shared were profound, conversations carefully skirting the thing they had been unable to say out loud, and other times the details were small, and stupid, at least on a surface level. It was here, in a series of bedrooms, that Aziraphale had learned that Crowley hated Marmite almost as much as Aziraphale loved it, and that Crowley – for all her hair looked so shiny – sometimes fought a secret battle with dandruff. Aziraphale had consulted her library and determined that this delightful new level of conversation was that ‘pillow talk’ that lovers often did in books, and then had to make herself a very strong cup of tea, in order to remain sensible while grappling with the notion that she and Crowley were now lovers.

Pillow Talk – wasn’t that a film with Doris Day? The thought knocked something loose in Aziraphale’s mind. “Isn’t that a film, too?” she said. “Bedtime for Bonzo? I want to say Ronald Reagan, and I’ve no idea why that name rings a bell.”

Crowley blinked incredulously at her. “You amaze me sometimes. You know that?”

“Why? What have I done this time?”

“The man was President of the United States for eight years. You’re maybe the only living entity who can still write in cuneiform, but you remain wooly on Ronald Reagan? How?”

“I’ve been around for a long time, darling,” said Aziraphale. “I lost track of world leaders round about the time Alexander the Great was still handing out tips on intercrural. And there have been rather a lot of kings and emperors and presidents and such, especially lately. They’ve been going through them like lavatory paper in Westminster. Which one was Ronald Reagan again?”

“Cold War guy,” said Crowley. “Used to be in films.”

“How funny. I didn’t even realise he was an actor.”

“Neither did most people. He got upstaged by a chimp in Bedtime for Bonzo. Oh and that’s why it keeps coming back to me: it’s one of Satan’s favourite films.”

“Right,” said Aziraphale, perhaps even more confused than before. “Satan watches films starring chimpanzees?”

“Well, yeah. Eternal damnation. He’s got a lot of time on his hands.”

“I suppose so, yes. Was it a good film?”

“Fuck, no. It was a stinker,” said Crowley. “The chimpanzee playing Bonzo seemed to know Reagan was a wrong ‘un, too. She tried to strangle him with his own tie. Almost killed him, actually.” Crowley’s yellow eyes narrowed. “Wait…she wasn’t one of yours, was she?”

“One of our what?”

“Agents. Her name was Peggy. She was a girl chimp playing a boy chimp in the film, but in those days nobody minded if chimpanzees cross-dressed. She died mysteriously in a fire, and there were times when I wondered…well…if Downstairs had anything to do with her death.”

Aziraphale emptied her champagne flute in a long swallow, and topped it up. She had a feeling it was about to become one of those conversations. The kind where she needed a map.

“Right,” she said. “You thought Hell had murdered a chimpanzee? Why?”

“Because she tried to kill Reagan,” said Crowley. “Who was definitely one of ours, by the way.”

“An agent?”

“No, no. Just a very useful idiot. But it stands to reason that if you’ve got an idiot that useful to Hell, then your boss – what with omniscience being what it is and all – might have sent one of God’s creatures to…you know…” She pulled on an invisible tie and made choking noises. “…neck him.”

Too lazy to call room service again, Aziraphale miracled the bottle back to full. She was going to need a lot more champagne. “Crowley, are you seriously asking me if Heaven is in the habit of training chimpanzee assassins to eliminate future world leaders?”

“Yes,” said Crowley.

Aziraphale shook her head. “I think you’ve been watching too many James Bond films again, dear.”

“Nah. Like you always say, the Lord works in mysterious ways. If they’d known Hell had a target on Reagan’s back…I mean, that’s why they sent me.”

“You? To do what?”

Crowley shrugged, her bare, tanned shoulders bronze against the white linen. “Get in there and shake some things up,” she said. “The usual. At first I was like ‘don’t see what Satan sees in this guy’, but you didn’t have to know Ronnie for long to see that he was seething human crucible of vicious resentment and bile. He hated his fellow actors, especially the ones who were more talented than him, which was most of them. Including the chimp.”

“Oh dear,” said Aziraphale. “You don’t think he set fire to poor Peggy, do you?”

“No. Although he wasn’t exactly crying too much about her death. It was pretty much ‘rest in piss, you scene-stealing monkey.’”

“How rude. She was an ape.”

“I know. And she was a scene-stealer, to be fair. Chimpanzees are naturally funny, whereas Reagan had all the comedy chops of a bucket of rendered animal fat. And it wasn’t just Peggy he had it in for. When he wasn’t being upstaged by a chimp he was busy denouncing his fellow creatives as Godless commies. He was a bastard, and a nuisance. All he needed to become a full-fledged monster was a little push. So I…pushed. How was I supposed to know it was going to end in trickle-down, AIDS deaths, and ketchup being reclassified as a vegetable? I just thought it would be amusing to spend some time as a chimpanzee.”

Aziraphale frowned, still no clearer than before. “Crowley, what are you telling me?” she said. “Am I to understand that you were the star of Bedtime for Bonzo?”

“No. Of course not. This was after Peggy died. Perfect, really – well, for me, not for Peggy. But it gave me an opportunity to play the role of a spectral chimpanzee. What better way than to taunt him by turning up as one of his funniest co-stars? It was only a part time gig anyway. I’d chimp up and then appear at his breakfast nook in the morning, or turn up driving his limo, with the hat and everything. Hats were a big part of it, actually. If you’re going to be a chimp you might as well wear a hat, because it’s funny. And I was hilarious. I had a fez at one point, and one with a propeller on the top, even though they’re kind of hack as far as comedy headwear goes. The viking helmet in the downstairs toilet properly freaked him out, though. Quite proud of that one.”

Fascinated, Aziraphale topped up their glasses. “All these years,” she said. “And I had no idea you’d spent part of the twentieth century as a chimpanzee. I didn’t even know you could do that.”

“Of course I can,” said Crowley. “I’m like if a medieval bestiary could own shoes. I spent most of the seventeenth century as a series of witch’s familiars.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah. And not just snakes, either. I’ve got range.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “I’ve been black cats, hell hounds, bats, violent ferrets, suspicious toads – you name it. Regular menagerie, me. One time I was even a bewitched chicken in Norwich.” She winced at the memory. “That was an experience. Probably why I’m still quite elastic in the pelvic floor area, actually.”   

[sparrowrye]

Demi Demon || Alastor x Reader, A2 part 16

Synopsis: It’s been over a year since we were brought under Alastor’s watchful eye. We’ve unlocked our Demonic powers, discovered our own talents, and began building the Safe Haven with Charlie and co. Alastor seems increasingly interested in the power we hold as one and intends to use it properly.

Previous part

Part 16: may I have this dance?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A hurricane ransacked the nation.

The cities and towns that didn't have many Demons, or those who weren't well versed in their magic, suffered greatly. Overlords with heavy control on their territory did well to keep the raging storm from destroying them. The Hazbin Haven was among those who came through the storm unscathed.

Alastor kept the Haven wrapped in a safe little bubble that allowed only the rain to get through. However, he couldn't keep it up all the time and so, when he needed some time to recover, he had me do it. I found it surprisingly easy to control the weather so the magic hand off was fluent and easy.

Demons hated the rain, though, so construction on the site was momentarily paused. Yet I noticed the children, Demon or Human, loved to play in the rain. The littles were determined to make themselves as dirty and mud-coated as they possibly could, while the older ones were more prone to just laying in the rain staring up at the cloudy sky. Reagan was among them, making sure none of the littles wandered too far out of the slightly invisible shield. Whenever I wasn't keeping up the shield, I was down with Reagan in the rain.

"So how's Lucas?" I teased, nudging her with my shoulder. We sat under an overhang of one of the buildings, both holding out a hand to the rain. The others played in front of us.

"Fine," she said lightheartedly, trying to pass it off. Lucas had joined the Haven a few weeks ago. He had a complicated past. He lost his father four years ago, before the Demons revealed themselves, and has been trying to survive with his sickly mother. It wasn't until about a year ago that she remarried. The man had hidden the fact that he was a Demon and when Humans started hunting him, he took Lucas and his mother into Hell to escape. Lucas had seen the posters for the Haven and, after much arguing with his step-father, came to join us soon after. He had deeply rooted untrustworthiness for Demons since. It was no wonder he and Reagan, who had no magic whatsoever, hit it off.

"Any new updates?" I pressed with a smile.

"Nope."

"I do."

Reagan turned her head to look at me. "On what?"

"On him." I tilted my head up so my smile turned into a smirk. "Want to know?"

Her eyebrows furrowed and I realized just then how much she was starting to take after me. "Sure."

"You know how you two run into each other a lot on the main street? That's not an accident. When he sees you, he runs to one of the other buildings and pretends to be walking from the direction."

"You don't know that." She crossed her arms.

"You've seen me. I'm always on the porch when I'm not doing something." She turned to watch the youngsters playing in the mud. "Oh come on," I shook her shoulder gently, "admit that you like it."

"He's just being nice."

"That's the point, sweetheart." I leaned my head on her shoulder and wrapped an arm around her back. "So do the boy a favor and let him. Maybe he'll even ask for a kiss--"

She shoved me away and covered her ears. Her face was bright red. I continued to press the tease, quickly earning a tackle from her. We rolled out into the rain and started to wrestle, the others stopping to watch us. Our feet slipped in the mud and her small stature allowed me to pick her up and toss her to the side. She tried going for my feet to make me fall but I just went with the momentum and rolled over, taking her with me.

Eventually we were out of breath and stopped the play fight when we had put distance between us again. We were both coated in dirt and soaked to the bone. I noticed Lucas, his blond hair a stark contrast to his dark environment, and casted a sly smile at Reagan. She followed my gaze, defenses dropping as he walked over to talk to her. I gently nudged her back with my fingers and walked up to the house to change.

Alastor stood on the porch, watching and waiting. I came up on the steps and used magic to take the mud off my feet so I wouldn't track it through the house.

"I do not understand your desire to do that," he said.

"It's just fun." I faked a genuine, confused look. "Do you know what that is?"

He dulled his claws and gently shoved my head away so I stumbled back. "We have very different ideas of fun."

"You're right," I walked into the house, a smile on my face, and made my way up the stairs, "Mine are better."

"I left an outfit for you on your bed," he changed the subject, making me stop at the top of the stairs. "We have an Overlord meeting tonight." He then fizzled into the shadows before I could say anything.

As I expected, it was a dress. It was a deep red and silky smooth, and I was actually excited to try it on. I showered quickly and used magic to dry out my hair.

The front of the skirt came just past the middle of my shins while the back stretched just a few inches further above my ankles. It hugged the middle of my figure perfectly. The top half was form fitting but loose, not hugging anything too much to distract wandering eyes, and the sleeves flared at the end. The edges of the shirt, from the skirt to the sleeves to the area around my chest, were all lined in white.

I looked at myself in my Demon form. I looked astounding. I looked elegant. For once, I actually really liked the way I looked with my Demon attributes. I looked scary but beautiful. Gone was my scarred, child-like face and in that place was a young woman with experience.

A knock came at my door a second before Alastor stepped in. His eyes immediately looked me up and down, smile turning to yellow teeth. "You look gorgeous."

Heat rose in my cheeks and I looked down at the fabric to avoid his eyes. "Thank you," I said quietly.

He walked behind my back and looked at me in the mirror. He twirled his claw and I watched my hair smooth out and fall loosely over my shoulders. That topped off my look entirely and my mouth dropped open a little. Before I could say or do anything else, he pulled something from his pocket and draped it over my neck. It was a silver necklace of one of his symbols: a circle inside another with two arrows crossing each other.

A strange feeling creeped in my chest at the sight of Alastor standing behind me, colors complimenting each other perfectly.

We then walked to the symbol on the cliff, Alastor using magic to keep the rain from touching us. I asked about keeping the Haven safe while we were gone and he said Husker would take care of it if the storm grew worse.

I let him put an arm around my shoulder and wrapped my own around his back. Warmth merged with the energy, elevating my confidence despite the looming palace in front of me. Lucifer had been the one to call the surface Overlords under Alastor's request. At first, the King of Hell wasn't interested in obliging, but after Alastor had explained the instance with Blackwater, he found it necessary.

We were one of the first to arrive. I recognized none of them until Vox and his trio walked in not long after. The TV screen caught sight of me and instantly made his way over. I clenched my jaw and forced everything in me not to bristle.

"Well if it isn't a pleasure to be seeing you again, sweetheart." He gave a short, half bow. "I must say, what a show you gave me with that Striker fellow."

"It's a good thing you broadcasted it," Alastor said in my place, "Perhaps your audience will know not to test her again." A smile pulled at the corner of my mouth.

"Oh for sure, she's definitely trending," Velvette popped out from my behind me and stood too close for comfort, "as a cheater."

"We are Demons, darling," Alastor didn't skip a beat, "we don't play by the rules." He placed a hand on my shoulder and soothed the anger and embarrassment running through me.

"I must say you look stunning tonight," Vox drew my attention back to him. He reached for my hand but Alastor was fast, grabbing the man's wrist and pulling it far away from mine.

"Do not touch her," he hissed.

Vox took a step closer to him, mouth in a wide, sharp smile. "What are you gonna do, Alastor? You can't do anything while we're in Lucifer's palace."

"You are free game once this meeting is done." Alastor looked undeterred, smile nearly matching Vox's.

My nose curled at a familiar scent. I turned my head to see a trail of pink smoke coming from Valentino, the ring owner who had drugged me the first time. I casted wind to dissipate the smoke and hardened my stare at the Overlord. "You could be so much more than his accessory."

"So true." Velvette snapped a selfie with Alastor, Vox, and me in the background.

"I'm the guardian of a safe haven," I answered, trying hard not to let my voice shake, "saving Demons and children from persecution. What are you doing?"

"Having secure territory keeps plenty of Demons and their families safe from Humans," Valentino replied. He leaned his waist to the side and put one of his many hands on it.

"On their own free will?" I taunted, eying his pink smoke.

"That depends on what you consider free will."

Before anyone could say anything else, the doors to the usual meeting room opened. Alastor dropped Vox's wrist and wiped his claw on his coat. Vox's smile turned into a snarl as we walked into the room. Just like before, the surface Overlords brought a second-hand that stood behind them against the many pillars.

"Alastor called this meeting." Lucifer joined us a moment later, sitting himself at the head of the table. It was strange, but oddly satisfying, to see him in a commanding aura. From my sessions with the King of Hell, I discovered he was a lot more anxious, depressed, and self conscious than he let on to others. "So, what do you want?"

"How many of you know the name Blackwater?" Alastor immediately got to the point. Only three of the twelve present Overlords raised their hand. Vox was one of them. "Do you know what he does?"

"He's an inventor," Vox answered.

"Of what?" Alastor pressed.

"He's an inventor. Anything is on the table, but he likes bringing back technology from before the Great Collapse."

Alastor turned to look at the rest of the table. "Blackwater has recently created a device that uses Demon's blood to allow Humans with Slight magic to have more than they're born with." Murmurs spread through the Overlords. "And in case you haven't noticed, two surface Overlords are missing tonight." Heads turned to examine who was present and who wasn't.

"So Humans can use more elemental magic. Why is that concerning for us?" Valentino asked, taking another puff of his smoke.

"If he's managed to craft a device that can gift a Human elemental magic, imagine what he can do with a powerful Overlord's magic."

The room fell silent. I glanced at Lucifer who seemed deeply concerned about this. His apple cane sat in his lap and if I listened close, I could just barely hear the sound of his glove gripping it painfully tight.

"Blackwater has been operating in the grey area of public and private for some time. He has several factories around the nation and has been presenting them to a private class of individuals. It wasn't until recently that he has started to go fully public and advertise his inventions. I want to know why he wasn't someone's concern before this point." He sent pointed looks at those who had answered earlier that they knew of his name.

"He wasn't and still isn't a threat," Vox said first.

"If he has factories all around the nation, it would make sense that he would go unnoticed," the woman with the huge white horns spoke next. "If all his assets were in one's territory, then of course it would cause concern. Sounds as if he knows we don't communicate with each other."

"His factories need to be destroyed. If his operation grows, we will find ourselves against an army of Humans with our magic." Alastor had a commanding tone and it was obvious the other Overlords weren't taking it lightly. Yet, he had a point. Humans with Slight magic still outnumbered Demons ten to one and if they were given a way to harness more powerful magic, it would lead to a devastating war.

"If we want to stay united against the Humans and keep Hell from becoming even more overrun," Lucifer finally gave his insight, "then we will need to communicate with each other more often. I will make these meetings more frequent. For now, each of you should search your territory for any of Blackwater's assets."

The meeting ended soon after, each Overlord leaving the palace before teleporting back to the surface. Lucifer pulled me aside to ask about Charlie. He didn't want her to going out with me to break up the ring fights anymore. If Blackwater was serious, having the blood of the Princess of Hell would be the worst thing possible. He knew if he told Charlie not to do it, then she wouldn't listen on the account of "not needing to be protected anymore". I reassured him that I would make sure she didn't go with me.

It was still raining by the time Alastor and I teleported back to the house. The storm blocked out the moon, casting the whole haven in darkness. I could feel that Husker wasn't in the house and couldn't help but smile. Recently, he had been spending some of his nights with a certain Demon in the huts.

I walked through the living room to the stairs but stopped when the radio turned on. Green magic whisked out of sight from the dials as a slow, unfamiliar song began to play (I love you for sentimental reasons - Nat King Cole).

"Will you indulge me, darling?" Alastor bowed low in front of me and held out a hand. "It has been some time since I last danced with anyone. And you do look astounding in that dress."

Nerves prickled in the back of my neck. "I uh...I don't really know how to dance." I backed away with my hands raised.

"It is more of a sway, then a dance. It's rather easy to teach." He didn't move from where he bowed, hand still outstretched. "I suspect there won't be another time I can ask for a dance from you."

"Why do you want to?"

"You have intrigued me, dear. And I do so miss dancing."

For awhile I still didn't answer. The song played softly in the background and Alastor's appearance seemed less sharp and intimidating than usual. He straightened up but still held his hand out, eyes refusing to leave mine.

"It is easy to learn," he pressed gently, "I will not make fun."

Against my better judgement, I stepped forward and placed my claw in his, letting him pull me from the entryway to the center of the living room. He restarted the song and the fire grew, illuminating the room with its orange glow. The muscles in my body tensed as he raised our clasped hands and slid an arm around my back. I wasn't sure where to put my free hand and settled on the outside of his arm, anxiously pinching the fabric between my fingers.

He moved slow, taking one step towards me then followed with his other foot. He shifted his weight side to side then stepped away to repeat. I had my head down as I tried to move in time and prevent myself from stepping on his feet. The sweet piano played in the background as I gradually moved in time with him and the music.

"Head up, darling." His radio filter was gone and his smooth voice filled my ears. It made me tilt my head back to meet his red eyes that were somehow softer. He wore a gentle, simple smile. No teeth. I felt his warm magic seep into my back and force my muscles to relax. My shoulders lowered, as did the fear, and moving in step with him became second nature.

His smile grew and he tilted his head to the side. The gesture made my face grow warm and I looked at the fire instead. His arm around my back pulled me closer so I was flush against his chest. I instinctively pushed with my free hand but he held me firmly, patiently waiting for me to look up at him. And it worked.

"You're a natural," he praised.

The song ended too soon. Before he could play another song, I let go of his hand and put both hands on his chest, trying to put space between us again. In retaliation, he interlocked his fingers behind my back and kept me securely against him.

He was the master of silence. I kept my gaze averted while his bore into the side of my face. I made sure to keep my claws off his jacket in case they caught a thread, but my foot claws openly dug into the carpet. My tail was wrapped around my own leg.

Another slow song came on, this one slightly more upbeat and full of violins in the beginning (welcome to my world - Jim reeves).

"My mother taught my sister and I how to dance when we were little," he admitted.

"Your sister?" I suddenly stopped trying to push away from him. We were now simply swaying side by side, no footwork needed.

"That's the woman you saw in my memories." His smile was still gentle but there was an edge to it. Was it perhaps pain from the thought of his deceased sibling? "She is my twin sister."

There was prolonged silence as I looked between his eyes and observed the strange expression on his face. Alastor, the Radio Demon, once had a twin sister. "Wow," was all I managed.

"Surprised again?" He tilted his head in the other direction.

"Well...yeah. I'm not sure why, though."

He let out a small chuckle. "She loved to dance. Once my mother taught us how to slow dance she could never stop. She explored different styles and settled on the more upbeat and sporadic ones. Couldn't say I minded it much myself, either."

My eyes were wide and glued to him now. That was the most he had ever shared about his past in the near four years I had known him.

"She caught everyone's attention," he went on, "and I was always there to keep the bad ones away. We couldn't ever be separated." His smile faltered and I guessed he was now thinking of her death that did in fact separate them.

"I'm surprised you had the time to watch her. I'm sure you were also popular on the dance floor." The compliment had slipped out and inwardly cringed when his smile turned into a smirk.

"Perhaps I am sensing jealousy?" he teased, lowering his face closer to mine. His presence was sitting comfortably around my shields.

"You-you just...you know...you clearly know how to dance so I'm sure you were...well liked when you were..." my voice trailed off. I didn't want to say younger because that almost sounded insulting.

"Indeed you're right, I was quite different in the first fifty years of my life." He straightened up again and pushed his presence gently against my mind. "I had many good dance partners and acquaintances, but my sister always came first."

His tentacles crawled out from behind and gently wrapped around my wrists. He pulled my hands up so they would stretch over his shoulders and lock behind his head. The proximity made my hair stand on edge, a nervous bolt sprinting through my body.

"While you may not have danced before, music seems to have an effect on you as well." His clasped hands tightened ever so slightly behind my back. My tip of my tail tapped the floor nervously.

"W-well I...my mother...she uh...she...she had a radio in the cage. I remember falling asleep to all kinds of music." I hoped he couldn't heart how loud my heart was beating.

"It's no wonder you wait outside my room to listen, then."

I immediately pulled my hands back at the revelation of being caught. He wrapped his arms further around so he was gripping his elbows and holding me in place, trying to contain his laughter.

"Do not be embarrassed," he tried to reassure, "I'm quite flattered, actually." I tried pushed on his arms, face bright red and gaze averted to the floor. "I'm quite pleased you do not hate me so anymore." He dared to unwrap one arm and gently, but firmly, pulled my unwilling chin up to look him in the eyes. "Do you still despise me?"

My claws pressed into his arms, dangerously close to puncturing his skin and putting holes in his jacket. "I...well...I don't think so. Now that you're treating me properly."

Another chuckle. "I do suppose I wasn't as nice as I should've been when we first met."

The violins slowed to a stop and the room fell silent, save for a an occasional pop from the fire. My pounding heart blocked out all other noises. I suddenly became aware of his thick, earthy scent tinged with sweat. I tried to focus on that particular one as his breath, which smelled much like his last meal, fanned my cheeks.

His eyes moved so quickly and slightly that I almost didn't catch it. And even though I did, I still wasn't prepared for when he closed the distance, gently pressing his lips on mine in a careful kiss. My eyes widened and my ears and hair stood up. I wanted to run but wanted to stay. I wanted to scream but wanted to continue. My claws tapped his sleeves vividly, my body as stiff as wood.

He fixed that a second later, sending his magic up my back and spreading to the rest of my muscles. It forced everything to relax and he opened his mind to me. My eyes closed as he drew me further in.

I didn't realize how deep I had fallen until I was watching a memory from his eyes. He was speaking to Rosie in her store again.

"Oh Alastor, can't you see? You're falling in love with the dear thing." Her voice echoed like she was in a bigger room.

"I am not," he hissed. "Our connection has strengthened, that is all."

"Well, falling in love is a process after all, dearie."

"I am fond of her but I do not love her." Ouch. "Our bond will provide us with more energy and she may finally be able to handle her own magic."

I pulled out of his mind too quickly. It felt like a rug burn on my mind as I shoved him away and tripped backwards on my tail. He nearly lost his own balance and pressed a claw to his head.

"What the fuck is wrong with you!" I practically screamed.

"Perhaps I miscalculated—"

"Miscalculated? Miscalculated!? This isn't something to miscalculate. I'm not your accessory! I'm not something to be manipulated, I'm not a tool to be fined and sharpened so you could use me!"

I threw my hands up and spun in a circle, tail whipping about furiously.

"Ugh I can't believe I let you trick me into thinking you actually cared."

Alastor tried to say something but it never left his mouth. For once he was at a loss for words. His yellow smile was plastered on his face but his eyebrows were showing a strangled emotion I had never seen before. His ears were as pinned back as my own.

When he failed to say anything, I whisked up the stairs and slammed the door. I threw the dress on the window seat along with the necklace, pulled on an old outfit I hadn't worn in a while, and slipped out the window.

Althea would let me sleep in one of the empty beds for the night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Note:

Eat up my little devils >:)

[falling-star-cygnus]

just binged Inside Job, yk what that means 😃

hc, semi-supported by canon, that whenever Brett is excited about Reagan being excited

or when she helps him with a breakthrough or just- whenever they’re excited around each other and celebrating

he’ll pick her up and spin her around on instinct

Brett doesn’t even realize he does it at first, when their friendship is still relatively new, until he’s set her down and started walking away

-> “Reagan! You’re a genius!” -> “Hahah, uh duh- OHMYGOD”

-> “….I am so sorry-”